Summary: Where Harry has an oral fixation and you're the cure
Warning: Oral (f receiving), edging, mentions of overstimulation, dirty talk
Word count: 1.6k+
Author's note: Welcome to the first post of Kinktober! I hope you enjoy these little fics 😚
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Harry had a fixation… An obsession… A carnal desire that erupted from his chest and rippled its way through his body until he couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere other than between your legs. It was one that he had daily, even multiple times a day sometimes and he was just lucky that you were always there when he needed it. You always took it like a good girl, time and time again even when he overstimulated you or the complete opposite like today where he had you on edge after edge after edge, never allowing you to actually tip over.
You took it like a good girl. Like his pretty little angel. And boy did he love making his pretty little angel sing.
“Harry…” you mewled, your pitiful whimper filling the living room, just audible over the sound of the long-forgotten TV show still playing in the background. It was one of those nights where Harry couldn’t keep his hands to himself. They started innocently, rubbing your calves then thighs, giving a little massage that had you melting in his touch.
Your body was sinking deeper into the couch, head lulled back as his large hands found knots you didn’t even know you had. The show you were watching had faded in the background already at that point. You were too relaxed and Harry was too focused on your hums of delight and the idea of progressing things further so he could make those hums turn into cries and yelps of pleasure.
His mouth started to water and his vision turned a bit hazy, eyes focused on the way your shorts were tight and snug right against your pussy. It didn’t take a lot of effort to get you all riled up, especially with the way his hands kept inching higher and higher until his hands were sliding up the hem of your shorts. Harry was quick to mumble out a quick, “Can I baby? Just a little taste? Need a fix…”
When Harry gave you those sex eyes and had his fingers so close to where you were growing needier for him, how could you refuse? Plus… the man wrote Watermelon Sugar for a reason, and that was because he was a god of diving between your thighs and feasting on you until you passed out from pleasure. You were convinced it was a kink of his or something because never in your life had you met a man so obsessed with eating pussy.
“Being so good f’me, honey… taste so fucking sweet too. Like a dream” Harry mumbled, ignoring your plea.
He wrapped his lips around your clit again, moaning at your taste like he hadn’t spent the last 15 minutes edging you and tasting you non-stop. You let out a cry and fisted his hair, arching your back off the couch as his firm suction around your clit had your legs slamming around his head. Your hands remained in his hair, tugging it tight enough for him to moan against you due to the sting your touch delivered. But you didn’t really care about his pain, not when you were sensitive and all wound up and hadn’t seen any release in the last four times he edged you.
It was pure torture and you were struggling. Your belly ached and the rest of your body was all twisted and tight, your clit pulsing, thumping between your legs and swollen due to Harry’s licking and sucking. He ran his teeth over it, scraping your most sensitive spot before he soothed it with his tongue. But it wasn’t really a soothe, because he slurped at it not a moment later.
It was all in an attempt to prolong your suffering, to do the motions he knew you loved then switch it up with something that broke that increase in pleasure. It was confusing and painful and you could barely breathe anymore let alone think with how desperate you were to come. You’d take dozens of orgasms over this, of thinking you were finally reaching your release then have it taken away time and time again.
And Harry could go on for hours. Even when his mouth and jaw got sore or you were squishing his head between your legs and nearly killing him, he could keep going. In Harry’s perfect world, he could be between your thighs forever, just licking and tasting and being in absolute heaven.
“Please Harry… it hurts so bad… please baby just need to come” you begged, gasping for air and groaning in protest when he grabbed your knees and pushed them apart so you weren’t squishing his head anymore. It gave you some control to be able to buck your hips and squeeze your thighs and now he had just taken it away so you were at his utter mercy.
“Not yet… not yet, honey. Just need a bit more. Just gimme a bit more time” he shook his head, kissing your inner thighs briefly to give himself a breath of air.
He pressed his thumb to your clitoral hood, eliciting a gasp as he pressed it upwards so he had the perfect view of your swollen clit. You were just so goddamn wet it was like a dream, all slick and dripping and fucking delicious. With every clench of your pussy around his fingers or in the beginnings of orgasms he didn’t let you finish, more cream would drip down your ass, perfect for where his tongue was waiting to lick it all up.
He loved it. Every damn thing about eating your pussy turned him on and gave him the sickest sort of satisfaction. It was more than when you had rougher sex, or when you let him paint you with his cum, even more than when he was able to come inside you and watch it all drip out and leak from you. Sex just wasn’t sex if he hadn’t tasted your pussy. Sometimes that’s all he needed to finish, a little help from his fist and your pussy coating his lips.
Absolute perfection.
“Please… please baby, fuck-just please” you babbled, clutching onto the arm of the couch behind you then his hair, then the couch cushion below you. You weren’t sure where to hold onto, to be honest. No matter what you did it was just too much. Too much pressure in your belly, too much emptiness in your core because he decided to remove his fingers to prolong your torture and make it harder to cum. Just too fucking much.
But you loved it, you craved it like Harry craved you. You loved every painful stinging moment, every plea that made you want to sob for the love of your life to just let you have some relief.
“Yeah? You want to? Wanna come in my mouth, is that it angel?” He teased, looking up at you with a smirk as he made a figure-eight against your clit with the very tip of his tongue. It was ticklish and teasing and had your legs fighting against his hands due to how jumpy it made you.
“Yes… yes yes, please!”
That coil was building up in your stomach again, tight and alarming like a tsunami wave coming without warning. You couldn’t hold it, especially when he slid two fingers into you again and hooked them in just the right spot to have you seeing stars. He gave his permission, a low ‘give it to me’ that had your orgasm rippling through you in an instant.
You came with a cry, loud and pained while your whole heart, body and soul felt the immense pleasure from your orgasm. Toes curling, thighs shaking and your clit pulsing hard as Harry carried you through with gentle licks on your clit and around your entrance. He was getting as much of your release into his mouth as possible and only (reluctantly) stopped when you told him to do so.
“Can I do it again?”
“What?” you gasped, your arm slung over your eyes in pure exhaustion. You forced yourself to move your hand away, still barely able to open your eyes as you looked down at him. He still looked insatiable, eyes dark and chin soaked in your arousal.
“Please baby, let me have another. Know you can be a good girl f’me, can’t you?” He coaxed, leaning down to press a kiss to your slit. “You’re just so pretty angel and you’re so goddamn sweet, just can’t get enough of you” He pressed another kiss, this time higher and closer to your clit.
A shaky breath released from your lungs as you pushed his hair away from his eyes and nodded in agreement. You had barely recovered from your first orgasm but you just couldn’t help but want more. Harry was clear about his instability when it came to you, but you felt it just the same back. Having his mouth on you was heaven and sin all mixed in one and you’d take round after round until you died if you could.
“Don’t edge me this time, please” you requested through soft moans, your head already tilting back from the pure bliss of his tongue.
“Don’t worry honey, this time I want you to come. Want you to come in m’mouth again and again and again… can you do that f’me?” He cooed, looking up at you with mischief in his eyes.
You nodded, gasping softly and tugging on his soft hair once again. This was going to be a long night that’s for sure…
“Good girl, angel. Now just sit pretty and take it like I know you can.”
Author's note: Thank you so much for all the love on Kinktober #1! I genuinely am so happy with how much love and excitement everyone has for my kinktober! This fic is based on this ask. Happy reading! 🎃
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- Find my General Masterlist here -
“Please Daddy… p-please” you whimpered, clutching onto his forearms. Harry had been teasing you mercilessly, two fingers inside you and stroking your g-spot so languidly you were a squirming mess beneath him. His lips were against your neck, curled into a smirk that told you he had no plans of giving you what you wanted just yet.
And what did you want? It was obvious to Harry. It always had been because you were an insatiable little thing, a greedy, needy, whiny baby who could cry at the thought of Harry taking away his cock from you. Because that’s what you always wanted, his cock inside of you. There was nothing like it, no oral sex or fingering or vibrator could compare to him.
How could anything compare to it? The feeling of him deep inside you, filling you up just so perfectly. The stretch that burned so deliciously and left you with an ache for days when he fucked you just right. That first push of him inside you, that… that initial stretch that had you gasping and squirming, crying out his name and grabbing him desperately. It was all perfect and you needed it. You always needed it.
“Please?” He mocked, chuckling at your pleading. “You sound so pretty when you beg, sweetheart. But you know Daddy always gives you what you need, don’t you? I take care of you, don’t I?” He cooed, nipping at your neck while he ground his palm against your clit.
He was naked above you, kneeling between your spread legs so you couldn’t slam them shut. You could feel his hard length against your thigh, tempting you, teasing you. It would’ve been so easy for him to replace his fingers with his cock, but he just wasn’t and it was killing you.
“Uhuh, Uhuh so please. Need it” you babbled, scratching at his biceps a little.
He just chucked again and pressed his palm against your clit harder, eliciting a mewl right against his ear that had him holding back a moan of his own. “You need it, huh? Need what?”
“You know what I need.”
“I don’t, actually” he tutted, stilling his fingers while focusing on your clit instead. The lack of stimulation inside had your core clenching, trying to pull him closer to where you needed him… how you needed him.
“Your cock… please” you huffed, feeling frustrated at his teasing. You hated when he made you spell it out for him.
“Ohh, is that what you want? Y’just not good at using your words are you? Can’t even fucking speak and all I’m doing is touching you a little with my hand.”
You whined at the flush of heat filling your body from his degradation, your face growing hotter and hotter. “I need more Daddy, need more”
“You’re being so fucking greedy poppet.” He tutted again, scolding you for doing exactly what he wanted and that was begging. “I give you what you need, and right now, all you need is my fingers. Understand?”
His fingers started working faster, harder and stroking against your g-spot with more focus this time. He was actively trying to get you to come now and was no longer just teasing you to make you all needy for him. He just loved to make you all needy for him, it was his favourite thing to do really. Get you all wet and slippery for him… all whiny and desperate.
He craved that desperation above all else.
“How about this then, baby… beg for it.” He pulled away from your neck, looking you right in your eyes as he cupped your face with one hand, sliding to grab your cheeks and squish them. Your brows were furrowed, whimpering at the tight grip on your face. It just added to the pleasure he was giving with his palm, grinding against you perfectly. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours as he delivered the next line. “And if you do it good enough I’ll give you exactly what you want”
And then the pleasure stopped. His hand pulled away, and with the other still firmly gripping your face, he drew back far enough to bring the same fingers that were deep inside you into his mouth. You whined at the loss of pleasure while Harry just hummed and smirked as he licked his fingers clean.
“I don’t hear you begging. Must not want it then?”
“N-no! I do. I do want it. Want it so bad it hurts, Daddy. W-want your cock. Need it” you begged, words slightly muffled by the way Harry was squishing your face. He chuckled and finally let go of your face, pouting at you mockingly as he pulled your bottom lip down with his thumb.
“I didn’t hear that, baby. Wanna try again?”
So you did. You didn’t even know what you were saying to be honest, just incoherent pleads and babbles while Harry guided the head of his cock to your pussy. He pressed his hand above your head, staring down at you with menace in his eyes, getting sick satisfaction from the way tears were welling in your eyes with how desperate you were for him.
“Say it again.” He demanded, running his cock up and down your wet slit.
“Please” you ran your hands over his chest, looking up at him with a parted mouth. “Please”
“Again.”
“Pl-oh” you gasped, feeling him push his cock smoothly inside you. Harry didn’t give you time to adjust, he never did because you didn’t need it. “Daddy!”
“Look at that honey, feels good doesn’t it? Got your mouth open and all, don’t you baby?” He mocked, loving the way you were barely breathing, unable to do anything but moan and stare at him. Your brows were furrowed, jaw slacked open as he started rocking gently into you. Your nails dug into his ribs, scratching and marking him like he adored.
“Gonna say thank you? You’re not being very grateful.” He tutted, “Too dumb and fucked out already, is that it?” He cocked his head, smirking while his hips drew back and started snapping into you harder.
He pushed your knees down, spreading you open and pinning your legs to the bed so you had nowhere to go. No matter how much you squirmed, there was just no use because it changed nothing. You achieved nothing. His hands were gripping your thighs, digging deep enough to bruise and using them as leverage to snap his hips against yours. With every rock you cried out, your arousal dripping down to coat his length.
That same wet sound echoed around the room, mixing in with all the skin snapping together and your breathy gasps and moans. He fucked you enough to get you squirming, to fill your belly with heat before he demanded the ‘thank you’ he deserved. If there was one thing about Harry, is that he demanded gratitude. If you were thankful and good, he’d give you whatever you wanted, but only if you were grateful for it.
Though… he did enjoy making it harder for you to even get out the thanks he wanted. With how hard he was fucking you, and how floaty and teary you already were, he knew it would be a challenge.
You moaned and threw your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you grabbed onto him with dear life “No. Look at me and be thankful, otherwise, you get nothing” he tutted, grabbing your jaw roughly. You were thankful, you were so thankful you were already about to orgasm around him. But you could barely talk, barely think or breathe.
“T-thank you” you stuttered out out, forcing yourself to open your eyes despite it being incredibly hard to. You were all teary-eyed and so doll-like with your puppy dog eyes. Harry was obsessed with that look on your face, smitten and completely in love. Obsessed.
“Good girl poppet” he grinned, kissing you deeply and grinding his hips just right to stimulate your clit and g-spot perfectly.
Harry liked to tease and he loved to hear you beg, but at the end of the day, he always wanted to give you what you wanted. He just couldn’t say no to you, ever. You wanted his cock? He’d give you his cock. You wanted his tongue? He’d give it to you for as long as you wanted.
But it was always on his terms. Just like the rest of the night was going to be.
Summary: Where you can’t stand Harry, but he just gives it to you too good. Or, a corporate Halloween Party leads to you and Harry easing the tensions in the closest alleyway.
Warning: exhibitionism, degradation, cream pie, marking kink, biting kink, blood kink (scratches, biting that leads to the drawing of blood, however NO consumption), general rough sex
Word count: 4.8k+
Author's note: Happy Halloweenie!! This was meant to be posted a couple days ago then Kinktober would finish up today, but life happens sometimes and I didn’t manage to finish them before my trip 😅. Anyway, I hope you like it! x
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If there was one thing you knew about Harry Styles, it was that he fucked good. It was quite possibly the only redeemable quality of his, or at least the only quality that didn’t make you shiver in disgust at his mere existence.
He was just one of those men. The arrogant, big-headed, shit-talking assholes who could talk the talk but rarely walk the walk. He could command the attention of a room and mesmerise everyone with charm and that flirty smile of his but when it came down to actually doing hard work, he passed on the workload like he wasn’t being paid to do an actual job.
You hated him. Every fucking thing about him. Well… except his ability to make you orgasm that is.
You don’t know how it happened to be honest. Since he started working alongside you, he had been persistent in his flirting and teasing and you always responded with hostility because you hated everything he represented. It was like that for months, just stupid back and forth banter until one night something changed.
The two of you had to stay late at the office to finish up something for your boss. Everyone else had gone home leaving just the two of you in your office, which was poor decision making on your bosses end because he knew how volatile it could get between you two. Bet he couldn’t predict the 180 that would happen when you two were forced to be alone together…
Harry was just too close. His body was beside yours and the two of you were speaking in slightly hushed voices because it felt right given how eerily quiet the office was. And for some stupidly frustrating reason, things just changed in a matter of seconds.
The closer you saw his eyes and his mouth and felt the warmth of his breath on your skin, the easier you were able to succumb to his charms. You didn’t mean to, and you definitely pushed back and tried to express your anger and frustration with your body, but fucking hell. It was the best sex of your life. Dirty, rough, quick. You were bent over your desk with him inside you within minutes of the first press of your mouths. It was perfect.
Since then you two continued hooking up at work. A quickie in a supply closet, a late night where he ate you out on his desk because you two convinced your boss you needed to stay back, a daring fuck on the rooftop balcony where he bent you over the ledge and made you scream his name loudly for everyone below to hear.
And when things moved to his house, or your house, things only got dirtier. You found that you had a lot of common kinks, which was annoying because you hated the guy the moment the aftercare was over, but oddly convenient because you two worked and lived close together. That hatred you had towards him only fuelled it though, and you never softened on your banter or attitude because more often than not, it lead to hot sex.
“You look like a dickhead.” You rolled your eyes when Harry slid beside you on the wall you were leaning against, finding his Halloween costume too on the nose and stupid. Or rather, you felt stupid because you liked it. He was dressed as a vampire, which was ironic considering he was the biggest soul-sucker you knew. And while you wouldn’t admit it to him, ever, he actually did look quite good.
Dressed in all black with a cape and fangs stuck to his teeth, he had fake blood dripping down the sides of his mouth and even went as far to apply a little black liner smudged around his eyes. It was quite sexy, especially with that half-buttoned up shirt of his tucked into those form fitting pants. You couldn’t stop staring at his thighs even though you were trying extremely hard not to.
“Thanks sweetheart. And you look like a whore” He mused, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a sip of his cup and looked you up and down.
Your dress may have been borderline inappropriate for a work Halloween party, but it was hosted at a bar instead of the office and it had been made very clear by management that what happened off company property stayed off company property. In other words, they were covering their own ass so no one got too drunk at the office which had happened before.
So yeah, your Dortothy from Wizard of Oz costume was on the shorter side. But you were wearing high socks to cover more leg and the dress didn’t show any cleavage so to you it was perfectly acceptable. Besides, you knew Harry was just riling you up because he was sad you didn’t include him in the group costume with your work mates, or because he loved the exposed skin of your thigh. Either, or.
“You’re just jealous you weren’t included in the group costume.” You stuck your nose up a little, crossing your arms as you slumped further against the wall and observed the party.
Most of the company had shown up, all mingling and mixing with the general public at the bar’s annual Halloween Party. The mix of your colleagues and strangers had you a little nervous for some reason, but mostly you were just irritated that Harry was deciding to spend his time with you instead of anyone else.
“Yeahhh, I gotta admit y/n, that one stung a little” He sighed, rubbing his chest and feigning hurt over the situation. You both knew he actually was a little hurt, but that was beside the point.
“Ahh, well if you weren’t such a likeable guy, maybe we would’ve included you.” You remarked, sipping your own drink while observing his reaction. He just flashed his perly whites again and laughed, showing off those two sharp fangs he stuck onto his teeth. They actually did look quite sharp…
You werent sure why you were suddenly thinking about them piercing your skin for real… providing pain and a bruise that was sure to last weeks while Harry touched you… It was a thought that had you crossing your legs and tensing your thighs to try and get rid of the ache thumping between them.
This wasn’t the place for anything risky, not when there were so many people around.
“You know… you do look real good tonight…” His voice dropped to a murmur when his laughing subsided. There was a switch in the mood that you noticed instantly, but you were trying to ignore it.
“Thanks.” You replied dryly, swallowing thickly at how close his body was getting to yours. Ugh and that intoxicating cologne of his was so damn delicious it was hard to not act affected.
He ignored your attitude and let his finger twirl around the pigtail closest to him. Just his finger being so close to your neck was driving you insane and you hated how your body was already tensing up and feeling hot all over.
“And your hair is cute too. Would look cuter with me tugging at it though…” He leaned closer, using your twisted hair around his finger to tug at your head. You kept your eyes forward, but on the inside you were screaming at the tingly sensations on your scalp from that simple little tug. “Maybe even using it to guide your pretty little mouth to my cock.” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear with every word, causing a shiver to go down your spine.
“Ah. Thinking about yourself again? What a surprise” You muttered sarcastically, still keeping your eyes forward. If you looked at him you knew it would be game over for you.
Truthfully, you actually did like sucking him off. There was something about making a man moan and whimper for you that gave you the ultimate satisfaction. It was even better when you did it just right and he could barely even speak and open that big mouth of his.
“Now why are you acting like you wouldn’t like it, huh? We both know you like to be stuffed with my cock at any given opportunity… could even fill you up right now, sweetheart. Bet you’d love it too, being fucked in front of all these people…” He dropped his hand from your hair to the hem of your dress, running his fingertips ever so slightly against your upper thigh.
“You’re sick.” You shot back, voice shaky and nervous as you looked at him. Your noses bumped against each other as he pulled back to give you some room to turn your head and his fingers decided to dance up your thigh a little higher. He could tell how turned on you were already, and all he had done was play with your hair and graze his fingers against your thigh.
“So are you.” He smirked, looking between your eyes and your mouth where he nearly moaned out loud at the way you were biting at it. He reached up and cupped your face, pulling your bottom lip free from your teeth.
You hated how badly you wanted him inside you. But at the end of the day there was no use fighting it. You needed him. Just like you needed him every time he gave you eyes across the room or made some degrading comment. It was a little fucked up to be honest. He could call you a slut or patronise you and it seemed to flick the ‘turn on’ switch in your brain that made you wet between your thighs.
“I hate you, you know that?” You groaned, grabbing his cape and fiddling with it. “You’re annoying and gross and-”
“Sexy as fuck?” He finished the sentence, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as his hand slid up your side to hold onto your waist. If you weren’t in a bar where the majority of your office was plastered right now, you would’ve pushed him away. But no one was watching you too and it felt too good having his hand there.
“Sleezy” you corrected, eliciting a laugh from him that seemed to warm your belly. Gross.
“Yeah?” He flicked his tongue against his teeth, finding it utterly amusing how much you hated him. It was a turn on for him, he couldn’t lie. He just loved the way you tried to insult him time and time again, even when he had been inside you more times than he could count by now.
“Yeah…” you breathed, not sure what else to say. You weren’t about to make the first move. Even though you were needy, you’d never stoop so low as to proposition sex with Harry fucking Styles.
There was a moment of silence, one where you both knew what each other wanted but neither said or did anything about it. He just kept looking at you, his eyes trained on your lips like he was hungry for for them. Then Harry did say something, and you were quick to jump on the opportunity.
“Wanna go outside?” He proposed, leaning in just a tad further until your lips were brushing against each other.
You just nodded and fisted his silk shirt in your hands.
“Yes. Yes. Right now.”
The tension was palpable. Even as Harry weaved you through the crowd and down the back of the club towards the emergency exit, your whole body was on fire knowing what was about to happen.
The moment you were outside in the alleyway he was on you. He grabbed your hips firmly and walked you backwards while his mouth came onto yours in a searing kiss. It was hot and heavy, as was his pressure when he shoved you against the brick wall of the opposite building and pressed his body to yours.
The hit made you whimper and grab onto his shoulders, causing Harry to pull back. “You okay?” He kept his hands on your hips, his mouth pulling back just enough to speak the words coherently.
You nodded. “Yes… you know I like it like that.”
“I do.” He smirked, sliding his hand up the side of your body to loop it around your neck. He pushed your head back, applying pressure to the sides of your esophagus to make that woozy feeling cloud your brain. God did you like that woozy feeling. “So how rough do you want it baby? Be honest. Because I can be gentle if you want, give it to you real good and deep or I can fuck you so hard your back scratches against the wall. Your choice” he cocked his head just a tad, voice hushed so no one walking by would see you two in such an intimate position.
The alley was dark, but not dark enough for someone to miss two strangers fucking against a wall if they looked hard enough. That only made things more exciting. When Harry invited you outside you knew exactly what he was wanting to do. He wanted to stroke that exhibitionist kink inside of both of you and do something exhilarating.
“Second choice.” You gasped, your insides twisting at his words.
“Atta girl” he smirked before leaning in and joining your mouths again. Harry swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, fighting for dominance and winning easily despite your efforts to try and match him and even beat him. But it was no use really. Not when his hard body was pressed against yours and his hands were now tugging up your dress to find your underwear.
“Surprise surprise. Wet already, huh?” He gloated, kissing a path to the shell of your ear and tugging at it once two of his fingertips found your clit over your underwear. They were wet already, sticky with your arousal and Harry was living for it.
“Fuck you.” you groaned, sliding your fingers through his hair while bucking your hips against his hand. He was a lot taller than you and you wore flats with your costume because you couldn’t deal with heels tonight so you had to reach up on your tippy toes to meet his mouth halfway.
“Fuck me? That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who’s about to make you come is it?” He tutted, hooking his fingers into your underwear and pulling them to the side so he could trace your crease in a teasing manner.
“Harry…” you gasped, head tipping against the wall. He pushed a finger inside you, using the position of your neck to his advantage to press kisses in different areas. By now, Harry knew every sensitive spot on your body as he spent a lot of time learning everything that made you tick. So he knew how sensitive your neck was, even more so when he let those fake fangs of his brush against your skin. Your little gasp and clench around his finger told him everything he needed to know.
“What’s your colour?” He prompted, needing verbal confirmation on how you were feeling even though he had a pretty good idea already.
It was also just a reminder to you that it was there, an option for you to feel comfortable using. Before you two ever started doing anything on the kinkier side, it was mutually decided upon that a traffic light system worked. And it had for months now.
“Green… green”
“Good girl.”
He slipped in another finger, using the heel of his palm to grind against your clit. You were already wet for him, your arousal soaking his palm and his cock was aching to be inside you.
“Want me to do it for real? Want me to bite down and make you bleed?” He drawled, the cheap plastic of the fangs digging into your skin as he spoke. “I’ll do it if you want, baby. You know I like to see you bleed”
It was a bit sick to be honest, a kink neither of you explored very often but clearly was on the tables tonight. It was one neither of you would admit to anyone else but each other, being a bit too taboo for a lot of people. But you loved it. You had never used your mouths to draw blood before, except for that one time you busted Harry’s bottom lip because he was being a mouthy prick and deserved it, but the idea was clouding your brain like a fog of lust.
“I won’t beg for it so don’t ask me too” you slid a hand between your bodies to his pants, grabbing his cock through the expensive material and squeezing hard enough to elicit a throaty groan right against your ear.
“I’ll get you begging soon, darling.” He chuckled lowly. “Now take it out. You know you want to”
“I hate you.” You remarked, guiding his lips back to yours by his chin before using both hands to undo his belt and zipper.
“Liar.”
His cock was free in no time, hot and heavy in your hand. Without breaking the kiss, he slid his fingers from you and tucked both hands under your thighs to pick you up. Using the wall for balance he pressed you against it with a thud, fingers digging into your meaty thighs as the brick wall scratched against your back. Your legs wrapped around him automatically, as did your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Put me in.” Harry groaned, tugging your bottom lip back between his teeth. Just the feeling of your hand wrapped around him was driving him crazy, but he needed more. He propped you up a little higher, the slight scratch of the brick making your skin come alive with a prickly feeling that only turned you on further.
You followed his instruction without complaint and guided his cock to your entrance, gasping when he dropped you back down onto him.
“Fucking hell, y/n. Jesus-so fucking tight” he cursed, slamming his hand on the wall beside your head as he took a moment to adjust to the feeling of you completely wrapped around him.
“Harry-oh god” you whimpered with a small cry, wrapping your arms around him completely. You didn’t want to be too loud, not when a loud noise could alert a passerby to what you two were doing.
“Always take my cock so well. Fucking love it-love this”
Harry on the other hand, wasn’t as quiet. His words were loud and rumbly, similar to the sound you tried to muffle by biting down on his bottom lip when he started bouncing you down on his cock. He kept his hands grabbing your thighs, fingers dug into your flesh and almost kneading it while he slid your body up and down the wall and onto his cock.
The wall scratched at your back and if you weren’t so caught up in the way his cock was stretching you and filling you so fucking deep, you might’ve whined in pain.
“Harry” you gasped, tugging at his hair. You could barely even kiss anymore. Your lips were just brushed together, open and panting and breathing moans into each other's mouths like you needed that contact but physically couldn’t catch your breath. You couldn’t.
He bounced you faster, your legs tightly wrapped around his hips keeping your bodies attached and pressed together. The bricks behind you created resistance to each bounce, but Harry didn’t care. He fought against it, using more force to move your body against the wall. You loved it.
The pain from his fingertips and the scratchiness from the wall was all adding to the entire experience. It crawled through your spine, down to your clit which was pulsing and aching. It seemed to spur your pleasure, but Harry could’ve done anything and your body would have a similar reaction.
“You feel so goddamn good. The perfect little slut f’me” he rasped, breaking your kiss or breath exchange or whatever it was you two were doing to trail kisses down your neck. The feeling of his mouth there had your head tipping back against the wall, sliding up and down with each thrust. Your hair caught onto the wall and you knew it would be completely messed up by the time you two were done here.
“If anyone’s a slut, it’s you. Got your tits out and all. What would your mother say?” You snipped back, crawling your hands into his hair and tugging hard just like he liked it. It was a punishing tug, one that had his movements stuttering for a moment before he was able to gather himself again.
“What would your mother say to being fucked like a whore in an alleyway, huh? Would she call you cheap?” He nipped at your neck, those fangs digging into your skin hard enough to elicit a pathetic whimper in response. “Dirty?” He continued. “Because you are y/n. You’re a dirty. little. whore.”
With each accentuated word, Harry delivered a particularly hard thrust, forcing you down roughly which in turn made your back scratch harder against the wall. It arched into him, your nails digging into his scalp as his plastic fangs dug deeper into your skin. The pain seared up your neck, prickling your skin until tears gathered in your eyes.
“Want me to do it?” He taunted, scraping his fangs down your neck. You practically spasmed in his grip your clit being stimulated and ground against by his toned body with every swivel. “Do you?” He repeated, licking a stripe up your neck.
“Y-yes!” You cried. It was loud and echoed through the dark alleyway, giving you a bit of a fright due to the attention it might attract. But it was only fleeting, a stomach-flipping feeling that mixed in with all the other sensations you were feeling.
“Good girl.”
Harry’s teeth clamped onto your skin again, those two pointy fangs pressing into your flesh until you were squirming and panting uncontrollably. He pressed until he broke skin then immediately pulled away as two little drops of blood slid down your neck.
“Oh fuck”
“Colour? Now” he urged, knowing this was further than you two had gone before. His eyes searched your own, yet you could barely meet the contact with how floaty you were feeling.
“Green! Green green green” you mumbled, confidently.
“Good… bet you liked it, too. Can feel your pretty little cunt squeezing round me” he smirked, kissing you deeply. You clenched again at his words, kissing back desperately to try and muffle your noise. “Gonna make me come so fucking hard if you keep doing that.” He whispered in a filthy moan, noses bumping and eyes looking deep into yours as he spoke.
The feeling was euphoric, you just couldn’t explain it. It did something funny to your head and your body, warming you in such a fucked up way your orgasm was barrelling towards you already.
It was all too much. His body pressed against yours, his cock so deep and full inside you, you could barely breathe, your back scratching against the wall and now the pulse of pain from those two little puncture wounds in your neck. You were on the brink of an orgasm.
“‘m gonna come” you warned, scratching the back of his neck.
“Do it. Give me everything, y/n. Show me how fucking good I make you feel and I’ll do the same” Harry coaxed, bending his knees a little for extra leverage so he could reach between your bodies and connect his fingers to your clit.
Now that the stimulation was purposeful, it was an almost instantaneous trigger to your release. You dug your head into his neck, clinging on him and biting down on his shoulder while spasming around his cock. It rippled in waves, shattering your mind, body and soul. All you could do was shake around him and moan just a little harder when you felt him come as well, his release filling your womb and making you all warm inside.
Harry’s thrusts stilled and he slumped against you and the wall, panting and holding you close to him like the aggression was over and he was now protective of you.
“That was…” he panted, unable to finish the sentence. He had a hand under one of your thighs and the other on the wall, letting him slightly hover above you.
“Yeah…” you agreed, tipping your head back against the wall so you could look at him. “Fuck”
“Fuck is right” Harry breathed through a laugh and pressed a kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling himself out and helping you lower your feet onto the ground. Your knees buckled at the landing and you hissed a little at the sudden onset of pain from your back. He caught you and tucked your underwear back in place.
Now that the pleasure was over, you could feel the after effects of the rest of the experience… not that you were complaining. It was your favourite part of sex like this. The lasting effects was a reminder of how good sex and intimacy could be and if it were up to you, you’d let it last forever.
Maybe not from Harry. But even though he was a dick the moment the lust faded, you still loved the ache he left behind.
“Are you okay? Didn’t go too rough did I?” He asked, eyes soft and tender while tucking himself back into his pants. He cupped your neck, running his finger around those two little blood droplets that made their way down to your collarbone. They were dry down and could easily pass as Halloween store blood.
“I’m okay. It’s just my back” you replied, keeping a tight grip on his silk shirt. His brows furrowed and he was quick to usher you to turn around.
“Jesus y/n, why didn’t you say something? I didn’t realise it was this bad…” the cheap costume protected your back from most of the damage, but the upper portion that wasn’t covered by fabric was red raw and had faint scratches all over, some even bleeding.
You shrugged, looking over your shoulder. “I liked it Harry and you asked me beforehand if that’s what I wanted. It’s not a big deal. I was green” It wasn’t a big deal and the scratches would heal within a couple days, a week max.
“I know, but-”
“But nothing.” You spun around to face him. “I was green.”
Harry didn’t look convinced though, at all. He was quick to buckle up his pants and belt then grab onto your hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” You asked, a bit too out of it still to really complain or rip your hand away. The last thing you wanted to be doing was spend any more time with him, but you were tired and still not 100% back to yourself so that was better than trying to get home right now.
He tugged you out of the alleyway, the street was thankfully quiet as you were near the back of the bar rather than the front which relieved you immediately. “I’m gonna clean up your back at my apartment then we need some serious food. I’m thinking Chinese or maybe even Pizza.”
“Harry-”
“No.” This time he was the one to interrupt you, knowing you were about to complain about going back to his place. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the footpath and turned to speak to you. “You get your colours as do I, but I also get the right to provide you aftercare until I feel like you’re okay. This is still aftercare so no complaining, which I know you’re just dying to do right now. Kapeesh?”
You actually liked that he was so serious about aftercare, and that he ignored your blatant hatred of him to make sure you still got that. A lot of other guys wouldn’t.
You let out a sigh and nodded. “Fine. But you’re paying for my Uber home.”
Harry laughed, “done.”
If there was one thing you knew about Harry Styles, it was that he was a good fuck… and a decent guy when he wasn’t running his big mouth.
imagining frat boy anthrorry as irl harry in his frat boy era during the 1d days with the snap backs and graphic tee muscle tanks and honestly? if that man came up to me and started waxing poetics about the history of sex and the female orgasm to me in the middle of a party i’d laugh in his face and then immediately pull him into the nearest empty room and let him show me what he knows about said female orgasm
a guy in a muscle tank and a backwards cap saying he knows where the clit is…..would feel like an SNL skit 💀
But he actually didn’t know what he was going to major in when he first started college. He spent his first 2 years of uni getting his core curriculum out of the way, which included taking some history and ethics classes, and that’s when he found out he really enjoyed learning about ancient civilizations and philosophy. It led him to choose those topics as his field of study, and his interest in history from a sexual perspective came soon after, when he realized just how fundamental its presence was across humanity in art and culture, and noticed that no one ever really acknowledged it. Funnily enough, once he got a sense of purpose of what he wanted to do with his life, that’s when he started embracing his glasses instead of wearing contacts, and when his entire look gradually became more refined and mature.
Anthrorry would leave the most unhinged comments on students work
He’d be such a little shit, both with good and constructive feedback 💀
Read this over. Do you understand anything you’re saying? No? So how would I?
I like this paragraph, you were getting into the real importance of the subject…and then you randomly veered off course. You did a 180 and drove off a cliff, actually. Stick to what you had initially and elaborate on it.
I like your syntax, you have a way with words. But that’s all they are: words. You’re bullshitting me and I can tell, Ryland.
This is your best essay yet…maybe because it’s not actually yours. It’s pretty obvious someone wrote this for you— their writing style is completely different— so I’ll let you try again without penalty. You do well on the discussion questions, now please just take the time to channel that into this. I know it’s harder and takes more effort, but I can tell you’re smart so please stop behaving like you’re not.
I’m begging you at this point: come to office hours. Please.
Well, you made a typo and put “orgasm” instead of “organism,” but other than that, solid essay.
Sexy paper. Loved it. Can’t go wrong comparing and contrasting virtue ethics and the Divine Command Theory through Aristotle and Christianity. Have you considered majoring in philosophy? Come by my office sometime so we can talk, I’ll steal some donuts from one of the staff rooms. Yes, this is a bribe and a minor misdemeanor, but it’s for a good cause so I’m sure Aristotle wouldn’t mind.
Head empty- thinking about fishnet sex now. I have to imagine he’d go feral for a garter around the thigh too no?
He’d go insane.
He’d be in the middle of slowly dragging her dress up her opened legs, placing wet kisses along her silky inner thighs as he does so, when his lips suddenly brush against something rough and textured that definitely isn’t her skin. He draws back for a moment, disoriented and confused, and upon further inspection finds that the obstacle blocking him from descending further up her leg is actually a frilly lace garter. It’s made of ruffled black fabric strewn with glitter, and has cherry red rhinestones sewn along the rim, which glint under the dim lighting of the singular lamp on his nightstand. It’s clutching her thigh snugly, complimenting its plushness and complexion as it sits decoratively halfway up her limb, as if the band had been waiting patiently for the moment he would take notice of its existence.
Harry’s brain glitches for a beat, his vision washing in different shades of red as he processes the image before him. He seems to lose control of the impulse that keeps his mouth sealed, considering his response voices itself without his permission, weighing in as a breathy whimper. “Fucking hell.”
Y/N’s smug tone carries down from above, accompanied by a jesting tug delivered to the curls at the crown of his head. “Having fun playing iSpy?”
Harry slightly angles his head up to look at her from beneath his lashes, his pupils dilated larger than usual as his tongue swipes forward over his bottom lip, as if to collect his words in order to form an adequate sentence. “Is this for me?”
Y/N twirls a few of his shiny ringlets around her index finger for a second, proceeding to then drag her thumb down one of his sharp cheekbones and across the peaks of his Cupid’s bow, admiring the smoothness of his flushed skin. The way she’s gazing down at him, with a sultry glimmer in her half-lidded eyes as she digs her front teeth into her lush lower lip, sends a pang of electricity racing through the pit of his stomach. She looks so fucking hot perched on his bed amidst rumpled sheets, leaning back on one palm casually as the other cups his jaw almost teasingly, her legs spread around his shoulders with her dress bunched around her hips, exposing the matching black lace panties that barely cover the area he so desperately wants to get to.
Even when Harry is on his knees, he usually always feels in control, considering he’s the one pleasuring the other person, tuning and plucking strings as he deems fit. But right now, with Y/N suspended above him with a firm grip on his chin and her heels digging into his upper back, he feels like his signature dominance is very much up for debate. And, truth be told, he’s only slightly ashamed to say he likes it.
Y/N clears her throat softly, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly as she tilts her head to the side knowingly, her painted mount quirking into a crooked smirk as the sleeve of her dress rides down to expose her bare skin, which seems to glow under the warm ambiance of the room. The confidence that emanates off her in thick waves makes the fabric around his crotch tighten significantly. “I mean, last time I checked my schedule, you’re the only person I’m set on fucking tonight, so the answer is pretty self-explanatory. I might have to check my phone calendar again, though, just to make sure. I know how much you value credible sources.”
Harry takes a deep inhale, letting it out slowly as he bends down and drags his nose just underneath the cusp of the garter, following along its length until he reaches the inside of her thigh. Then, he retraces the trail backwards, but with his moistened lips instead. The breath that catches in Y/N’s throat and the shiver that simultaneously runs down her spine is only half the reward he needs. The other half will come directly from her mouth.
Despite the fact that he adores her fiery attitude and the clever banter she so readily provides, right now, he just needs her to be sincere and honest towards her reply to his curiosity. He needs the implied praise and underlying affection that comes from her admitting she’d worn it just to impress him. That she’d worn it because she knew he’d fancy it, and because she wanted to satisfy him, and because she likes him enough to take his preferences into consideration. He doesn’t know why, but he fucking needs to hear it from her, word for word. He just does.
“Y/N,” his accent comes out as a measured whisper, as if he’s using every last ounce of self-control to make his vocal cords function, “just answer the question.”
Y/N traces across the steep slope of his nose with the tip of her nail, pushing his blocky glasses up the bridge playfully as her lashes flutter from the feathery sensation of his mouth moving against such a sensitive region on her body. She instinctively opens her legs wider to let him in if he so wishes, and she can feel him print a cheeky grin against her leg as he accepts her unspoken request and shifts a bit closer to her core. The tip of his cold nose momentarily bumps her clothed clit as a result of his movement, and the watery gasp she releases is so pitiful, she wishes she could swallow it back up and disappear.
The action sends her senses into a frenzy, causing her to bury her fingers back into his hair for the sake of having something to grip onto, as a physical tether to her bearings. Her voice cracks as she speaks. “Harry, I—”
“Just answer the question.” He repeats with more insistence, his tone still as smooth and collected as before. She’s always envied the sheer amount of willpower he possesses; it’s like he can turn his emotions on and off at command, all while making an utter disaster of her own. “Is this for me, yes or no?”
“Yes.” She chokes out, and the effortless arrogance she’d been sporting prior begins to crumble to ashes; a consequence of his warm breath fanning over the dampening area spanning the middle of her underwear. Her answer comes out more strained and needy with every passing second. “Yes, it’s for you, H. I wore it for you.”
Harry hums appreciatively as she finally forks over what he’s been craving all along, and the thrumming sound gradually molds into a low, condescending chuckle that makes her abdomen twist into a tight knot. He’s gotten the upper hand again, just as he intended.
He slowly coasts the pad of his middle finger up the back of her calf and onto the front of her knee, walking it— along with his forefinger— across the top of her thigh, stopping at the garter and wedging both digits below the elastic band, pulling the flimsy material from her body to bring emphasis to it. His taunting touches are quickly dismantling her composure, and the manner in which he’s skimming his teeth along the seam of her panties isn’t helping any. “So this pretty little piece is all mine, then? You sat on your bed and took the time to tie it around your thigh, just so you could come crawl into mine and have me compliment it while I bury my face between your legs and make you cry my name.”
Y/N doesn’t know if his statement is supposed to be rhetorical or not, but the expectant glance he gives her through the reflective lens of his bifocals is enough to pull a numb nod from her fidgeting frame. That seems to be enough for him to continue, at least for now.
Harry pulls the garter higher off her leg for more significance, the jade around his pupils sparking with snarky amusement. “You put this on just so I’d tell you how fucking hot it looks while I grip your hips and help you bounce on my cock, one of my hands tangling under it and gripping your thigh to guide you against my lap, all while I moan against your throat and tell you how fucking good you feel taking every inch of me so fucking deep. You slid it below your dress so I could leave my teeth bruised all around it, and so I could watch the cute little rhinestones twinkle under the light while I mount your legs onto my shoulders and fuck you into the bed over and over until you’re begging me to give you a break. Is that right? Is that why wore it, just for me?”
Y/N swallows heavily, her chest beginning to heave the more bothered she becomes. “I…I wore it because— well, because I wanted to— I did it so—”
A cruel, boyish snicker escapes Harry’s throat as he watches her fumble for a coherent explanation, and his ridiculing only makes the task more difficult, evident in how her voice tapers off as she feels her cheeks begin to boil in humiliation. Harry softens his features into a dramatically sympathetic expression, pouting at her childishly as he sweetens his accent into a sarcastic drawl. “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t take it?”
The young woman clears her throat roughly, attempting to appear as steely as possible, though it’s painfully obvious that he can see right through her facade. And in all honesty, it’s hard— it’s hard to compete with Harry’s natural poise and skillful wit. Especially when he’s left her feeling so utterly exposed.
“Not so confident now, are you?” He jeers, stretching an arm up from his place between her legs to grasp her chin with just enough strength to stun her. He holds her face still, squishing her heated cheeks in a patronizing manner, just to toy with her. “Where’s all that arrogance gone, hm? Where’s all the back-talk and disrespectful little digs?” He then pitches his cadence higher to mimic her own, imitating her stuttering from earlier in a degrading fashion that makes her tummy bubble in a way it really shouldn’t. “I— I wore it be-because I wanted to— I did it s-so— I wore it because— I— I— I—” He scoffs at her expense, shaking his head conceitedly as he taps her nose fondly, getting off on cornering her. “Poor thing forgot how to speak, which is so fucking ironic considering you never seem to get tired of doing so.”
“Fuck off.” Y/N spits out, and she’s embarrassed to say that’s the best comeback she can muster at the moment, given the whiplash she’s undergone. He just knows how to push every single one of her buttons perfectly, and it’s both infuriating and exhilarating at the same time.
“Mm.” Harry simply simpers up at her without even the slightest bit of contempt behind his demeanor, but for some unknown reason, that makes the atmosphere of the room all the more eerie, as if a silent threat is floating in the air between them, waiting to be fulfilled. It’s almost like he can read her mind, because all of the sudden, Harry releases the garter he’d been withholding with his forefinger, allowing it to snap back onto her skin with a loud smack.
Y/N lets out a startled yelp, a throbbing pain stinging across her thigh as a result of the force that had erupted from the elastic band. One of her hands immediately flies to massage the wounded mark, rubbing over the welt starting to form across the smooth surface. Her brows knit together angrily at his antics, and she shoots him a petty glare as he quirks his own eyebrows daringly. “What the fuck, Harry?”
“I thought you liked a bit of pain. Said so yourself.” He states in an apathetic tone, sitting back on his heels to observe her carefully. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
Y/N purposefully ignores his assumption, particularly because it’s entirely accurate. She just refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “I didn’t.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He counters one last time, calmly pushing himself up off his knees to tower above her, rolling out his shoulders as he looks down at her over the crests of his defined cheekbones, a cocky flare interwoven throughout his behavior. “Wanna know how I can tell?”
Y/N narrows her eyes at him seethingly as she puts on a sardonic act, shackling her desires as she watches him reach for his belt to begin unbuckling it. “Please enlighten me.”
Harry tugs at the leather cord in even, leisurely motions, loosening it with no apparent hurry to get the article off his body. His attitude reflects the same type of indifference as his actions. “People tend to avoid eye contact when they lie; it helps stave off guilt, and keeps scrutinizing witnesses from divulging the truth through a fracture in their expression. ‘The eyes are the windows to the soul’ and what have you.”
“Okay? What’s that got to do with me?” Y/N grumbles, ogling at his large hands as they finish unclasping his belt.
“Good question!” Harry chirps theatrically, grabbing the zipper of his slacks and yanking it down in one sharp gesture, the sound ripping through the still room like a bullet. He folds the flaps of his trousers over, revealing the waistband of his black briefs, as well as the chiseled dips of his pelvis, which vanish temptingly below the fabric of his underwear. He gifts her an easy smile, as if he's completely unaware of the impact his indecent exposure has on her sanity, and she hates that she can’t find it in herself to deny his remark. “You haven’t looked me in the eye once since I said it.”
She stares at him bitterly from her spot on the bed. “Eat shit.”
“Get on your back.”
Her eyes widen at his abrupt boldness, appalled by his random demand. Who the fuck does he think he is, mocking and degrading her only to then boss her around, implying that she fold under his whims? He’s lost the fucking plot if he thinks she’ll actually cave. “Excuse me?”
Harry juts his chin towards the unkempt duvet, as if to point out exactly where it is she needs to oblige. “Get on your back.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She bites spitefully, fighting the urge to smack him across his stupid smug face.
“I just did.” Harry retaliates, the edges of his lips twitching with evil delight. He then ducks down until his mouth is level with the shell of her ear, his breath hot as it cascades across it, his energy shifting into a darker, more dominant one that leaves her mind spinning in drunken circles. He props both of his palms on either sides of her trembling body, bracketing her against the mattress in order to establish a certain degree of influence over her stubborn drive. When he speaks, it’s in the form of a low murmur, as if what he’s about to say is for her interpretation only. The words he grits out, alongside his authoritative mood, sends an aroused quiver down into the marrow of her very bones. “And you and I both you fucking loved it. So I’m gonna repeat myself once more, and it’ll be the last time I do so: shut your mouth, and get on your fucking back. Now.”
Nobody look at me I’ve been thinking abt y/n and anthrorry fucking for the first time for like an hour now
Thinking about her hands trembling with bottled nerves while she’s unbuckling his pants and he just puts his palms over her own for a second to steady them, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles while pressing his lips to her forehead and mumbling a soft, reassuring, “We can take it slow, yeah?”
“I just— we’ve been waiting so long and now that it’s actually happening, I can’t even—”
He shushes her gently, carefully guiding her fingers to aid her in undoing his trousers, his silky lips smoothing the worry lines etched into her sweaty forehead. “Don’t fuck yourself over, okay? You don’t need to rush it; we have the entire night to do whatever you want, as fast or slow as you want, however many times you want to do it. I’m all yours, Faulkner. Is that understood?”
Y/N swallows heavily, nodding apprehensively as she accepts the comfort instilled in his usual crass language and blunt tone. It feels good to have some semblance of familiarity while treading this new territory, even if it’s in the form of sarcastic quips and curse words. It keeps her grounded, and in turn, makes it all feel more attainable.
Harry taps two fingers along her Cupid’s bow playfully to garner her full attention, his accent weighing in as airy and mellow as always. “So unless you have somewhere else to be— other than in my bed, with your legs wrapped around my hips while I fuck every word out of that pretty mouth you love to run so much— just take a couple deep breaths, let them out, and get on your back.” His lips twitch with his typical arrogant humor as he delicately nudges her toward the mound of pillows below her. “I promise we’ll both make it out of this alive, though I can’t guarantee you’ll be coherent by the time I’m done.”
Y/N releases a huff through her nostrils, her hazy eyes rolling with their usual condescending tinge, but she can’t deny the way the edges of her lips twitch fondly at his dumb antics. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
Harry tucks one of his forefingers below the curve of her chin, tilting her face up until their mouths just barely brush, the tip of nose bumping her own as he mumbles his next sentence in the form of a triumphant, teasing, musical-like whisper. “Made you smile.”
anthrorry w austen’s thighs. i’m unwell. i’m gonna a start calling him thighrry
He’d start kissing all over them, licking and biting along the inner fleshy bits and dragging his nose across the curves, smiling against her skin when she starts squirming and squealing. “Ticklish?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He noses along the junction where her leg meets her center, humming a low chuckle when her hips buck in an involuntary response. “Seems to me like the answer’s pretty clear.”
“Keep it up and I’ll stop indulging your stupid kink.”
“You don’t seem to think it’s so stupid when I’m on my knees leaving my teeth bruised all over your thighs.”
Y/N’s breathing stutters as Harry sponges his velvet lips across her pelvis, massaging the inside parts of her legs with his large, warm palms. She clears her throat roughly, putting as much bite into her voice as she can muster. “Because in that moment, it benefits me.”
Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, spreading her open wider as his wet mouth follows the burning trail his hands leave behind. His next sentence comes out as a knowing, taunting purr. “Everything I do is for your benefit.”
“Refusing to fuck me isn’t.” She snaps bitterly, narrowing her eyes at him in spite.
“Trust me, it is.” Harry shrugs his brows indifferently, blowing over the damp patch he’d left on his most recent area of interest, satisfaction bursting through his chest when he feels a shiver coil down her spine as a result. “It benefits your patience, so you learn not to act like a spoiled brat.”
“I’m—” Y/N swallows thickly as he skims his two front teeth delicately across her dimpled flesh, stopping at her knee and giving it a lingering kiss. There’s something so fucking hot about him calling her a brat, especially with that smug scolding undercurrent sewn into his accent. She’d normally seethe at the idea of being chastised by a man, but when Harry does it, it has the opposite affect, and she loathes how it makes her stomach twist with pleasure.
He stares up at her expectantly, dusting another teasing peck to the inner slope of her knee as he waits for her to finish her statement, his brows poised in arrogant amusement. Y/N forces the words out in the form of a tight huff. “I’m not a spoiled brat.”
“That tone begs to differ.”
“Stop patronizing me.”
“I will, as soon as you stop acting like a brat.”
“I’m not a brat.”
“You’re throwing a fit because I won’t let you sit on my dick. Seems pretty bratty to me.”
Ok well can I suck anthrorry off while he’s eating his take out?
the feminine urge to deepthroat the hot liberal arts phd student with bad vision, a pretty smile, and a shitty attitude </3
Y/N is sitting beside him on the couch, watching him hunch over a bit as he shovels lo mein into his mouth like he hasn’t had a meal in days, using the end of the chopsticks to push his glasses up his nose as his sharp jaw flexes alluringly with his chewing. Despite the fact that Harry’s attention is glued to the ancient artifacts flickering across the screen of his TV, he can still feel her staring at the side of his head intently, and he lets it go on for a few more seconds before he finally intervenes. He glances over at her with his cheeks puffed out with food, his eyebrows raising curiously as he talks through a full mouth. “Can I help you?”
Y/N’s fingers halt their motions, freezing in place from where they had been playing with a loose thread hanging from the couch pillow cradled in her lap. Her response is dismissive and airy. “No, I’m alright.”
Harry swallows the bite he’d been working on, blinking at her in an unconvinced fashion. “Then why are you glaring at me like I shat on your favorite copy of The Crucible?”
Y/N casts her eyes towards the ceiling in mild amusement at his vulgarity, returning her gaze onto him with a flat expression weighing down her features, refusing to let him see even a sliver of the genuine fondness she holds for his antics. “I wasn’t glaring, I was observing.”
“That was some intense observing, then.” He huffs, picking up a vegetable dumpling from the black plastic container snuggled inside the hole between his crossed legs, dipping it in its designated sauce before stretching his arm towards her across the sofa, wiggling the appetizer temptingly. “Dumpling?”
Y/N’s lips twitch with endearment as she glances between Harry and his offering. “I’m good, thank you. Already stuffed myself full of noodles.”
“Your loss.” He shrugs his brows indifferently, shoving the dumpling into his own mouth instead before reaching for his drink. “Golden Palace makes the best. The best Chinese food in general, actually. I’d slut myself out for Mei’s sesame chicken.”
“Isn’t Mei, like, seventy?”
Harry waves his bottle around apathetically. “What’s your point?”
The sincerity behind his demeanor is utterly comical, and Y/N has to purse her lips in order to avoid bursting into laughter. “You’d pimp yourself out to someone’s grandma for a serving of chicken?”
“Not just any serving of chicken,” Harry motions to her correctively with the neck of the glass cup, “Mei’s chicken. I’d whore myself out for the egg drop soup, too.” Harry’s brows suddenly cinch downwards as some unspoken inconvenience, and he sucks at his teeth in disappointment as he brings the beverage up to his mouth. “I should’ve ordered a bowl. Remind me to next time we visit.”
Next time we visit. Y/N doesn’t know why, but the way he’d so casually included her into his narrative— the way he’d nonchalantly suggested that he sees them getting takeout together again sometime soon, as if it should be obvious that they’ll be spending more time with one another for the foreseeable future— makes her stomach knot into a silk bow. She’d love nothing more than to make this type of quality time a regular occurrence; she could watch him moan over egg rolls forever, honestly, as long it’s him. And Chinese food escapades aside, she loves how much she’s learned about him in the past couple of weeks as they’ve gotten closer. She loves noticing new little details about him every time they hang out, because it feels weirdly intimate somehow. From an outside perspective, Harry appears so regal and blasé, and due to this, she initially figured that getting to know him would be a challenge; getting him to open up seemed like it would be as easy as prying an iron door open with her bare hands. But since they’ve met, she’s been proven wrong in the most pleasantly unexpected manner yet.
Y/N has slowly begun to take notice of the little things regarding Harry, which has helped her build a profile on him that she can reference whenever she’s alone and finds herself daydreaming about being in his company instead. One of the first things she’d learned about him is that he doesn’t take sugar in his coffee or tea; he only likes honey, for the added earthy notes it brings to the table, and because it’s how his mother used to make him warm drinks when he was young. His favorite flavor of ice cream is cookie dough, but he’s a strong advocate for mint chocolate chip, as well, despite the controversy that surrounds the flavor (“It doesn’t taste like toothpaste, people just have immature palates. Just admit you have the tastebuds of a two year old and move on.”) He abhors sweaty hands, and sleeping with socks on, and 0.9 mm mechanical lead pencils because, “the lead is way too thick and makes my handwriting look like utter shit. It’s especially hard to write lowercase Es because of that tiny space in the loop. I just use pens, and when I do use pencils, I stick strictly to 0.5 lead. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Harry color coordinates his closet and drawers, he arranges bookshelves in alphabetical order, and he has to take melatonin supplements periodically in order to regulate his sleep schedule, but he despises swallowing pills so he buys the gummies instead. But he doesn’t eat the green ones, he says they taste like sewage. He uses a tea tree oil and rosemary shampoo because he likes the way it makes his scalp tingle, and he types faster on his phone than on his laptop, so he does a lot of his coursework on his device and then edits it on his computer. He opens the balcony door when it rains because he likes smell of the wet trees, and he likes the rumble of thunderstorms as long as they’re distant and nothing extreme. He hates sourdough bread, he loves goat cheese and raspberry marmalade on his toast— not jam, marmalade, because apparently there’s a significant difference— and his favorite comfort food is pho from that restaurant that’s a five minute walk down the street. He can’t sit or sleep in a silent room; the suffocating deafness of it drives him insane, so he always turns his fan on from the second he gets home to the moment he leaves, that way there’s always some background static present to keep him from going mental.
He likes sleeping naked, though he always keeps a pair of clean boxers folded neatly on his nightstand beside his glasses so he can pull them on first thing in the morning. He has asthma (the idea that someone so fit would have that kind of illness had made her snort, and she hadn’t been able to resist making jokes about triggering it whenever things get heated between them), so he keeps an inhaler on him at all times, and doodles on the cover with Sharpie whenever he gets bored during class. The smell of citrus Lysol makes him physically sick to the point of gagging, courtesy of when he drank some as a child after mistaking the liquid for lemonade. He’d been rushed to the emergency room and had his stomach pumped, which resulted in his distaste for hospitals, as well. His favorite flavor of soda is one that tastes like fruit, but not the Fanta kind. He likes a brand of Mexican soda called Jarritos, and he’s been buying the tamarind flavor from the same small Mexican market for the last four years, since it’s the only place relatively near him that carries it. He frequents the store so often for the same product that the owner— Eduardo— had eventually begun to set aside a box of that specific flavor just for him, for when he comes around to restock at the end of the week. Y/N had called it an unhealthy obsession, but he claims it’s just “customer loyalty.” Leave it to him to come up with the perfect philosophy to weasel himself out of trouble.
Harry’s voice breaks her from her thoughts. “You’re observing me again.”
Y/N blinks back into reality, mumbling a gentle apology under her breath as she admires the handsome— yet insufferably smug— grin painting itself across her companion’s face, highlighting his defined cheekbones and the dimples that wink into existence at the corners of his mouth. He looks so pretty, and she gets the sudden overwhelming urge to smother him in kisses until he can’t breathe, just to watch him giggle and scrunch his face at her doting. That wholesome instinct quickly molds into something much more crass, however, when he shifts his legs out from under him, slouching deeper into the couch as he spreads his thick thighs open suggestively. His lean tummy ripples with his actions, his strong chest heaving slightly as he maneuvers himself into a comfortable, exposed position that leaves his intentions open for interpretation.
Harry reaches forward and sets down his container of half-finished food, tossing both of his arms over the backrest of his sofa as his hips burrow into the cushions below, his biceps flexing as he folds one up to bring his drink to his mouth. He tucks the rim past his lips, tilting the bottle up and taking a slow swig of the pineapple beverage, his Adam’s Apple bobbing almost mockingly as the entrancing jade of his eyes twinkles at her sultrily over the end of the glass jug. He removes the spout with a wet pop, using the knuckle of his forefinger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, balancing the bifocals accordingly to get a good look at her through the lens. Y/N can tell her neediness has leaked into her appearance from the way he addresses her next, cracking a sly smirk as he locks gazes with her deeply for a prolonged second, proceeding to then glimpse down at where her thighs are clasped together tightly. His accent comes out low and throaty, just how he knows she likes it. “Wanna come sit on my lap? We can cuddle while we watch the rest of the documentary. Or we can kiss. Your choice.”
In that moment, Y/N decides that playing into his little charade isn’t within the scope of her patience right now. So instead, she decides to drop any act of civility she has left and voices her thoughts in a clear and unapologetic manner, with absolutely no remorse in sight. “What I want is to suck you off.”
Much to her surprise— and irritation— Harry doesn’t seem even the slightest bit fazed by her straightforward crudeness. In fact, the way in which he shrugs one shoulder easily and tilts his head to the side knowingly gives off the impression that he was expecting this type of reaction from her, and that only grates her even further. He knows how much she wants him, and yet he continues to toy with her like she’s a fucking doll set out for his entertainment, making her fold and bend to his will just so she can get a chance to experience whatever it is he promised, which will come after they’re acquainted enough to his liking. And as much as she hates this evil little waiting game he has going, she can’t deny how attractive she finds it, and it’s nearly enough to drive her mad.
Harry rumbles a quiet, concise hum in her direction, batting his lashes at her teasingly as he taps his pinky against the bottle in his large hand, pressing his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I know you do, sweetheart. It’s kinda cute, honestly.”
Y/N’s cheeks burst with heat at the condescension behind his tone. “That I want to suck you off?”
“How desperate you are to do it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. You are.”
“Why?” He gives her an artificial pout, oversaturating his words with a sugary lilt just to taunt her emotions. “Because I won’t let you fuck me?”
“Because you’re making me wait as some twisted form of entertainment.”
“It’s a bit fun, though, innit?” Harry motions between them vaguely, his two front teeth digging into his lush bottom lip. “This little back and forth thing with have going? I push, you pull, you push, I pull, so on and so forth. I leave bruises all over your neck with my teeth, but stop when I reach the collar of your shirt. You leave hickeys down my stomach, but have to stop when you reach the waistband of my trousers. I grab your ass while we’re kissing, but refuse to spank it even when you beg me to. You grind against me and feel me get hard between your legs, but you know you won’t be able to do anything about it so you just have to accept whatever you get and handle the rest on your own. It’s good build-up, I think. It’ll gonna make everything worth the wait.”
Now Y/N is actually doing what he’d accused her of doing earlier: glaring at him. “Bold of you to assume I’ll stick around that long, considering how often you get on my nerves.”
Harry belts out a confident laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re not going anywhere, Austen. We both know that.”
She tilts her chin up in a spiteful challenge. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because if you were serious, you would have left ages ago.” Harry spreads his legs even further apart, drawing her attention to his groin, exactly as intended. Even in his briefs, she can’t tell he’s well-endowed, and she can’t stop the way her mouth begins to water on impulse. “S’kinda funny.”
“What is?”
“How you’re dick-whipped when you’ve yet to receive any.”
thinking about the fourth date with anthropology!harry and they’re sipping wine and she goes to refill their glasses and he slowly drifts up behind her, moving her hair away from the back of her neck in order to press warm pecks across the area, trailing them up to her ear and mumbling his words in a strained voice full of measured desperation. “Do you know how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about this?”
Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, her grip tightening around the tilted wine bottle to the point where it might shatter. “About what?”
“About fucking you until you’re shaking in my arms and begging me to stop.”
She swallows thickly, allowing her back to rest against strong chest, feeling every dip and valley of the muscles that lie beneath his knitted shirt. “Why haven’t you?”
She can feel his smug grin spread across the shell of her ear. “Because I wanted to make you wait. I wanted to watch you squirm around me constantly any time I touched you, and I wanted to feel you get wet in my lap whenever we were kissing, and I wanted you to daydream about me in the middle of your lectures. Wanted you clenching your thighs together while trying to pay attention, but you’re really just thinking about me bending you over the podium and making you scream my name until its the only word you can remember. Wanted you playing with yourself in the middle of the night while imagining my head bobbing between your legs, or my teeth skimming across your thighs, or my fingers toying with that tight cunt while you moan into my mouth and tell me how much you need me to fuck you into the bed.”
Y/N gradually cranes her body sideways, her lips smearing against his as a result of their close proximity. She gazes up at him with obvious lust bleeding from her expression, releasing a trembling exhale as he ducks down closer, bumping their Cupid’s bows almost teasingly. Her tone is shaky and weak. “Is that…Is that what you want?”
“What I want…” Harry utters lowly as he eyes her temptingly over the crests of his define cheekbones, reaching around her hips as if to snake an arm across the small of her back to yank her forward, his aura authoritative yet challenging all at once. His chest presses unbelievably flushed to her lightly heaving own, one of his knees spreading her thighs open as he leans closer until she can feel his lashes tangling with hers. The line he delivers next leaves her disoriented and needy. “Is another glass of wine.”
The hand behind her back suddenly snatches the glass Y/N had finished filling before he’d walked over and distracted her, retrieving it from the counter as he draws back from their embrace. He brings the cup up to the crooked smirk strung across his dimpled cheeks, shrugging his brows arrogantly as he takes a leisurely sip, smacking his lips in taunting satisfaction. “Thanks. Was getting kinda thirsty again.”
“Fuck you.”
“If you’re lucky.”
“You said we would.”
“I said we could, never said we would. Aren’t you studying literature? Thought you’d have basic grammar down by now, Kafka.”
This is anthropology/philosophy student!harry who you meet at a museum on a random Wednesday afternoon, when you duck inside on your way home from class because it’s pouring rain and you figure you’ll camp out the storm in the lobby for a bit, just until it’s tame enough for you to finish walking down the block to your apartment. However, it ends up raining longer than you expected, so you end up wandering around to pass the time.
He’s one of the tour guides who works under one of the museum’s anthropologists, and he picks up shifts as part of his shadowing program since he needs the experience and enjoys educating people on the history the exhibits have to offer. You join one of his group sessions that are open to walk-ins, and you find his excitement and motivation about the artifacts and stories to be really adorable.
He’s good at explaining the significance and cultures behind all of the civilizations, and his expertise makes it obvious how passionate he is towards his studies. You wind up talking to him one on one a bit after the tour is finished, wanting to pick his brain for information given how interesting he had made everything sound, and you come to find that his specifications and preferences lie within researching ancient intimacy rituals across all of humanity. In layman terms, he’s spent the last couple of years becoming an expert on sex. He’d ingrained his interest in anthropology with his interest in intimacy (“I guess you could call me a historical sexologist, in a way.”), and wants his doctorate on the matter in order to teach it as a career.
It’s the first time you’ve ever heard someone be so invested in sex from such an unorthodox perspective, so you ask him what had drawn him to that subject. The way he constructs his answer leaves you wonderstruck and itching to get to know him more.
“Traditions that stem from vulnerability are some of the most fundamental behaviors observed across all of humanity, that much is known. I could sit here all fucking day and talk about human sacrifices and Egyptian embalming techniques and journeys through the afterlife, but what I find to be the most vulnerable and compelling phenomenon in humans is something that comes from a place nobody can truly understand: love. Death is interesting, sure— it holds that awe factor that comes from the fact that no one can evade it, and from fear of the unknown. Love lies on the other end of the spectrum, but it’s just as vital. No one controls who they fall in love with, or when, or how, or why, and no one knows what’s going to happen as a result. If you die, you die; you’re gone, and that’s really it. If you fall in love, it only opens a billion more possibilities for the future. No one knows if their infatuation will stay, if it’ll fade, if it’ll come back, if they’ll ever find it. Every single human that has walked this earth has had love cross their mind at one point or another; it’s inevitable, because even the cruelest of rulers have fallen victim to it. Fuck, Greece went to war for it, didn’t it?”
“That’s very true.”
“Of course it is. Why would I lie to such an outstanding pupil?”
“Oh, I’m an outstanding pupil?”
“You stayed after class to ask questions, so that gets you a gold star in my book. Maybe even a higher reward, if I’m feeling generous.”
“And what exactly would this reward be?”
“If you keep stroking my ego by listening to me word vomit my thesis, maybe you’ll find out.”
“Alright, I’ll bite. Go ahead, Plato.”
“Perfect. So with all of this in mind, what’s the one aspect that’s always naturally linked to love? Sex. Life depends on it, happiness comes from it, and it never loses its appeal. Civilizations that span across all of time have had different cultures, languages, customs, and circulated different continents, but the one thing that connects them all is that sex has always been held to a crucial standard. There’s hieroglyphics depicting smut on the walls of pyramids, there’s phallic engravings on the pavement in Roman cities, there’s naked angels painted onto the domes of cathedrals, there’s ancient Chinese art that’s basically just straight porn, Donatien Alphonse François wrote detailed erotica about his bdsm fantasies back in the 1800s, Catherine the Great commissioned furniture whittled into erotic scenes and genitalia— it’s everywhere. It’s always been a way to express some of the most important human emotions a person can experience: romance, passion, and power. Romance is obvious— it’s used as a gateway to connect your heart to someone. Passion is, too— you use sex as a way to perform what you can’t put into words. Power is the most fascinating one— sex is a way to express dominance, or give trust, or hold control, so when you strip it down to its core, it can be seen as an exchange of power. Despite the changes that humans have undergone over thousands of years, the habits and practices that pertain to sex have remained nearly the same. I think that type of timelessness and resilience is very beautiful, and it should be studied more often.”
That’s all it takes for you to get hooked on him. He’s smart, witty, kind, and well-spoken. He has ambition, drive, and philosophical diligence. He stimulates every curiosity you have, and if the way he glances down at you with a faint suggestive glint in his rosemary eyes is any indication, you seem to be stimulating his curiosity quite a bit, as well. You chat for a while longer, and by the time you decide to head home, the rain has long passed to the point where the pavement is dry. He offers to drive you the rest of the way to your apartment since his own is in route, and as you’re getting out of his passenger’s seat and turning around to thank him, you’re met with a scrap of laminated paper cradled towards you in his outstretched hand.
It appears Harry— you’d caught his name from the nametag that had been stapled to his sweater vest— has ripped off the corner of a museum brochure from the stack he keeps in his backseat, and when you take a closer look, his phone number is scribbled across its expanse in messy cursive handwriting. He shrugs his eyebrows playfully (perhaps you detect a bit of hope in his expression, as well) and uses the knuckle of his forefinger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose almost nervously. “If you ever wanna talk more about the philosophical implications of sex rituals, here’s where you can reach me. Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”
You end up getting coffee that Friday evening, and the more you talk and unravel his brain, the more unbelievably attractive he becomes. He’s easy on the eyes already, that much is ridiculously obvious; he has shiny chestnut curls, dimples that carve into his tinted cheeks when he laughs, defined cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, his irises remind you of raw emeralds, and he’s lean and broad in a way that isn’t overwhelming. But aside from his perfect physique, he’s intelligent, self-assured, and clever, yet he doesn’t come off as arrogant or condescending. And he doesn’t mansplain his knowledge, either. He listens to your takes on certain topics with patience and devotion, he compliments your way with words, and he tells you he really enjoys learning through you because, “your opinions and explanations are so elaborate, yet you express them so easily. Like, they’re complex, but you’re so confident in what you’re saying that it comes off really well. And the way you hold yourself when you speak— your brows kinda scrunch a bit when you’re thinking, and you gesture a lot with your hands, and you chew on your bottom lip when you’re analyzing something. It keeps me engaged; I like it.”
“Thank you. I think.” You laugh lightly as you set down your French vanilla latte, tapping your nails distractedly against the ceramic cup. You need somewhere to dispose of all the jitters he’s giving you, and drumming on your drink is the best outlet you have at the moment. “I’ve never had someone compliment me like that before.”
He gives you a cheeky grin over the rim of his coffee mug, humming smugly through the motion as the steam from the liquid fogs up the bottom portion of his glasses slightly. “S’kinda hot, not gonna lie.”
“My brain?”
“You in general, love.”
You can’t stop yourself from inviting him over that night after your date, but much to your surprise, he declines the offer. Apparently, he has a four date rule when it comes to getting intimate with someone. He explains that he does this in order to see if whatever they’re kindling is worth the effort, and you can respect that. It’s a mature state of mind, honestly— it’s a way to avoid getting ghosted or strung along, and that’s admirable and responsible. It’s not often you find a man who so readily turns down sex on the first date, and even though it’s somewhat startling, it’s oddly refreshing.
But you refuse to let Harry know that. His ego isn’t overgrown, but it’s there nonetheless, and you refuse to feed it out of jesting spite. “I mean, I never implied I wanted to have sex with you. I just invited you over for a glass of wine.”
He leans back against his car door, crossing his ankles nonchalantly and folding his strong arms over his sturdy chest, quirking his brows slyly as his lips twitch knowingly. You can see the definition of his muscles even through the thick fabric of his sweater. “We both know that’s just some cordial bullshit on behalf of societal norms. It’s a way of asking to get into someone’s pants without saying it outright.”
“Maybe to you.” You argue stubbornly, taking the spot beside him and copying his posture, craning your head back to gift him a deadpan expression. “I genuinely just wanted to continue our conversation about the ethical boundaries of genetic cloning.”
He gazes down at you with his tongue pressed along the inside of his cheek, his sharp jaw on full display as his eyes go half-lidded with sultry intentions. He’s so fucking fit, and the entrancing scent of his vanilla and tobacco cologne isn’t helping your pride at all. “Whatever you say. All I know is that you’re definitely interested in some genetic material, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with Dolly the Sheep.”
Your mouth drops open at his taunting— and perhaps accurate— dig, a sound of insulted astonishment choking out of your throat. You shove at one of his biceps as hard as you can, though his strength allows him to hardly budge even an inch. “Oh, fuck off.”
He giggles boyishly at your petty reaction, nudging you with his elbow teasingly just to ride on your last nerve. He bats his lashes down at you in mild amusement, leaning in close and murmuring his words in a thick, deep voice that’s much lower than his usual tenor. It sends flames racing across the pit of your stomach. “Four dates. That’s all I’m asking.”
You lick your lips carefully, and it takes all your willpower to not glance down at his plush mouth. Your question comes out as a whisper, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the way he’s looming over you dominantly while waging your own desires against you, or the way his eyes are gleaming in the warm lighting that pours out from the large glass walls of the café you’d just left, or the way he’s blinking at you all slow and tempting, urging you to make some sort of move and prove his infuriating point.
You clear your throat softly, parroting his statement back at him as you force yourself to maintain eye contact. “Four dates?”
He nods in a casual manner, the corner of his mouth curling further into a lascivious smirk as he leans in a hair closer, his warm breath is fanning over the bottom half of your face. He smells of hazelnut and chocolate, and it coils a shiver down your spine. “Four dates. If we make it to the last one without getting bored of each other, then I promise I’ll accept that glass of wine. And…” Harry trails off on purpose for the sake of instilling suspense, proceeding to brush the tip of his cold nose down the bridge of your own, daring you to fold under his influence. The feathery sensation makes your fists tighten against the inside of your elbows. “I’ll accept the wine, and anything that comes after.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you release a shaky exhale, and every cell in your body screams to feel his lips flush to your own. With how close he’s gotten and all the subtle hints he’s giving, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with kissing on the first date, and when he turns his torso in your direction and stretches a hand to cup your jaw, that’s all the confirmation your theory needs. It seems like he’s just waiting for you to initiate, and that very reason is why you decide to draw back instead. If he wants to make you wait for his own pleasure and entertainment, then two can play at that game. You won’t kiss him. Not now, and not in the foreseeable future. If he wants your lips on his, he’ll have to cave first. This little charade can go both ways, and you’re desperate to see if he can take it as well as he dishes it out.
You jerk your head sideways to avoid making a mistake, croaking out your response in a shockingly relaxed tone. “Fine. Four dates it is.”
Harry’s eyebrows inch upwards at your decision to stave him off, but he doesn’t argue or rebuke your actions. One glance at your face tells him everything he needs to know: you’re hellbent on playing hard to get, exactly how he is. He’s never been one to turn down a battle of wits and will; it’ll make his final victory all the more satisfying. This should be fun.
He sighs airily as he drops his palm from your cheek, taking a step back and fishing for his keys inside the front pocket of his dark brown slacks. His car unlocks a moment later with a quick flash of its headlights, and he yanks the passenger’s side open in one swift move, tilting his head towards the seat with an easy smile adorning his handsome features. “Ladies first.”
You mount into the cushioned spot, and the second the door slams shut, your puff out a breath you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding in. You only have a heartbeat to compose yourself before Harry is sliding into the other side of the vehicle, closing the door behind him and turning on the ignition with a deft hand and expert ease. He sets the car in reverse, and then halts in place, cocking his attention to the side to capture your own. His eyes glitter at you amidst heavy lashes as he reaches forward and squeezes above your knee, and the intimate action causes you to jolt slightly. The words he says next leaves you strung on a wire for the rest of the ride home.
“For what it’s worth, I hope we make it to the fourth date. I’d love to show you everything I’ve learned for my doctorate.”
Here it is. The big Dad Harold fic, and the sandbox in which I usually play in when H has a kid. Or, at least, I loosely borrow from it. This one is my favorite, although it was only the 3rd or 4th thing I ever wrote, and… he’s my favorite? I love him? Be gentle? Treat him well? Also: I hope he accepts my sincerest apologies.
A word: each thing with this sandbox could be the endpoint. But each thing… will likely not be the endpoint. There’s a part two of the official two part installment, and then after that… well, you’ll see. Enjoy! x.
P.S. I’m not from London and I’ve never bene, but I think this is how snowstorms go in a lot of places with public transit, so….
This is the storm of the season. At least, that’s what the weatherman kept saying when you left home that afternoon. And, navigating the winding streets, you have to agree that this was the nastiest one you can remember in awhile. You have slipped three times from the exit of the tube to the front door of Harry’s building and your knuckles are white from clenching fists so tightly to steel your nerves. You stomp your boots inside the lobby and nod to the concierge who is quite used to you popping in and out every other weekend.
The elevator ride to the thirteenth floor is short, if ear-popping, and you rap with icy fingers on his door. A few moments later there was a click of the lock and the door opens to reveal Harry.
do you think you could do an extra to “this relationship of ours” where harry and mia, now that they’re together, try out where harry is a sub for a night and mia try’s a dom role? or do you think that just wouldn’t work? up to you just wanted to suggest it because i loved that story so much!
I think it would work, but the plan would need to be carefully planned out.
the person who asked for mia and harry fluff i got a question okay so do you think mia and harry would have morning sex like all cuddly and kinda sloppy but like giggles and soft touches- he would go easy on her? cause that concept got my heart like ):)
yes of course!! there’ll be some days where he’ll turn over to see her and his heart will swell up with love, and he’ll be unable to hold himself back from touching her cheek softly with the back of his hand, gently coaxing her eyes open. it’d be early in the morning because he’s trained himself to be up for work at the earliest hours, however we all know that mia hates waking up early, so she’ll probably resist his attempts for a few minutes until he’s slinking over to her sides, warm hands on her waist, turning her to him.
he leans in and peppers soft, barely there kisses to her face, covering every inch he can reach. she sighs at the feeling, lashes fluttering at the warmth of his body as his hands roam across her back and ass. it’s not a stimulating touch. it’s just to remind her that he’s not going anywhere.
or the one where harry and mia work on her self confidence ft. some heartbreaking edging and an unsympathetic dominant. 5k words. i hope you like it and tell me what you think right here! read the other harry and mia fics/blurbs here! happy reading!
