warnings: kissing and suggestive sexual behaviour/conversations
a/n: heyyyy we are so back? here’s a fun short little blurb lowkey barely proof read hope it’s not horrifically full of grammar errors lol. don’t even need to say it but obviously am down bad for current era harry i want to scream into a pillow thinking abt him x
——— ⋆˙⟡
The feeling of him stumbling you both against the table in his room backstage was like no other. Heat of his body against yours going straight to your head, sweat still damp on his skin.
No one knows. Not a soul— everyone thinks you’re going to collect your things and head back to the hotel for an early enough night. Not that your boss is currently pressing his hands dangerously close to your ass as he tugs the back of your thighs to bring your bodies together. Or that his tongue is licking against your lower lip, begging for you to open up a little more. So he can taste you properly for the first time in days.
Everyone was always commenting on how good of friends you were, how beautiful it is to see such a professional yet well rounded relationship between you and Harry. As his assistant, you would be the first to agree on how well you work together. But it was the tension that simmered underneath that they didn’t realise. That was something that was kept very quietly, and very unaddressed between the two of you for years…
The late nights you spent going over his schedule with him in hotel rooms, how he’d always hug you goodnight when you’d leave— hands lingering at the low of your back. How you’d always be the first to tell him he looked good in the morning when you’d bring him and yourself a coffee, just to see the smirk that would bloom on his face and how he’d roll his eyes. All the little looks that piled up over so long they turned into a mountain of tension. Something so taut that it finally snapped a few days ago in this very green room before he went on stage.
15 minutes before he preformed to thousands upon thousands of people. You fixing his tie.
You were probably a little flushed in the cheeks from having him standing right in front of you, looking down as your hands fiddled with the fabric around his neck.
“You look good.” You hummed, looking up to catch his eyes— perhaps a stupid thing to say. But it was true.
“Y’think?” His eyes looked half lidded as he gazed down at you, pupils a little blown out.
“You shouldn’t have to ask me that, not when you’ll go out there and everyone will scream so loud half the Netherlands will hear it.” You let out a quiet chuckle, finishing the knot and tugging the fabric till it was even.
There was a beat of silence that hung between you both, and then, “it’s not about them, though.”
“It’s not now?” You ask, voice very steady, testing the waters as you let your eyes wander over his expression. Carefully trying to unravel what the bob of his throat, or the twitch of his mouth means in this delicate context.
“No…” he slowly speaks out, accent like honey melting through you, “want to know what you think.”
“I told you what I think.” You mumbled, pursing your lips. Hyper aware at the time of how little space there was between you, and that there was no longer a reason for it now your hands fell away from the tie.
“And if I want to know more?”
His voice was so quiet, almost coming out as a rasp. Your own heart was beating like a jack rabbit as he stepped half a step closer.
It all went out the window then. When you let your hands very gently brace his hips, and he slowly leant down, breath fanning over your mouth.
It hung in the balance for a few seconds, the warmth of his breath over your lips, the squeeze of your fingers over his hip bones…
Then you were headfirst into one idiotic, unthought out decision later, and with T-minus 15 minutes before the man in front of you went on stage, you let his hand hook around the back of your neck and you took the liberty to slam your lips into his.
You were kissing so hard you thought you might blackout. Hands everywhere, in fabric, pulling, pushing.
It was a flurry of groans and quiet whines, muffled by eachothers lips, pressing to one another in frantic, heated kisses. The two of you unravelled fast, stumbling backwards to the wall, Harry’s back hitting it with a thud. Quick to flip you around into it, pulling your hips forward till they clashed into his.
Until a rap on the thankfully locked door reminded with a quick and polite call that there was 7 more minutes till he was out there.
He’d broke the kiss panting, sucking in a breath to call out some form of acknowledgement to whoever was at the door. Before licking a long, slow stripe up your neck.
Whispering something about how he could cancel the show right fucking now.
He didn’t. And he did go out onstage. And you had to watch him dance, sing and run around all night, looking so good you wanted to rip your hair out…
Peaks of his tan skin, tattoos you’d ran your hands over the top of through his clothes. You wanted more, and that’s exactly what you were about to hinder yourself from getting.
He had a few days break. Of which you’d planned to leave after the show and head home to see your family for a birthday event that was planned.
Already committed to it, transport and all booked, you had to leave. Three excruciatingly long days of not knowing what the fuck was going on, and atleast five undoubtedly flirty texts threads between you and again, your boss.
Hiding your smiling with pursed lips as you texted him, your phone on your thigh under the table like a fucking school girl.
Still can’t believe you ran off on me. Rude.
i believe you were the one that left first, to go preform that sold out show or something…?
You’re acting like you weren’t there watching.
okay well of course i was watching. you were amazing, it’s an incredible show and i wouldn’t miss that for the world.
I see, being all sweet about it now x
Really, you needed to go touch some grass, reconnect with nature. But you still sent the text you wrote anyway. Closing your phone because it was risky enough you wanted to go throw your electronic device into a large body of water.
im trying to keep the compliments up, i enjoyed how they panned out last time.
And when he replied, you wanted to go throw yourself into a body of water.
Remind me how many more hours till you’re back in Amsterdam with me?
But now here you were. You had survived those days, and barely survived having to act normal around everyone when you were back in time to see him play his next show in Amsterdam. And then finally, the look he gave you backstage said it all.
It beckoned you to follow him to his room backstage. All normal to the eyes of others, perhaps aside from the quickly paced walk down the halls of the stadium… all the usual, until the door shut behind him and his hands were on you barely a second later.
A groan sounded from his lips as pulled back to practically hiss out a plea, begging for you to part your lips for him, “baby, let me taste you—“
You hummed, a kiss-drunk whine, unable to think anything except the words “Harry” and “more”. So instead you settled with parting your mouth, and letting his tongue meet yours in a long, hot press.
He swore against your lips, and you let your hands run over the tattooed laurels that peaked from the low wasted black pants he wore. It was the hottest thing, seeing the dark ink, how it brackets his v-line, framing his belly button and the trail of hair that leads down to what you’ve unregrettably been dreaming about for so fucking long. Long enough you’re convinced you accidentally manifested this, or something.
“Harry, fuck—“ you gasped out as he pushes you both back, stepping your feet backwards until your lower back meets the table in here. One you haven’t even looked at since coming into the room, busy with the man in front of you. And his mouth.
But now his hips press you into it, making you arch your spine and toss you head back.
“All fuckin’ night—“ he says— voice deep from singing for two hours, husky as it enters your ears— his body is crowding your space until he’s pressing himself to every inch of you, “thinking about you, your mouth, your body…”
Your head spins as he lets his hands lift your ass to sit on the table, taking up the space between your spread thighs, “up on that stage trying to stop thinking about what i want to do to you,”
A whine splits from your lips as you card your fingers into his hair, feeling his stubble scrape down your neck as he kisses along it, sucking gently at the skin above your pulse.
Thankfully, the tie he wore tonight is already off, gone to a place you do not care about in the slightest, and your free hand runs up his chest to desperately pop the buttons of the butter yellow shirt he’s in.
“Harry… oh my god—“ you moan out, palming at his abs, pressing your legs to the backs of his thighs trying to bring him closer— to have more pressure, more friction.
“Mhm, I know, i know love,” he almost coos out against your skin, “felt like this all night… ‘nd the last three days.”
“I missed you, so much—“ you blurted out, lips finding his again, the two of you mouthing hard against one another. Tongues meeting hot in the middle, a slick exchange, bodies pushing together.
“God, i missed you— gonna make you feel good, yeah? Make the wait worth it for you…”
The words hit your stomach like a tonne of bricks, making it weigh low and hot as his hands met the button of your jeans. And then, you did the same, fingers fumbling with the belt on the stupidly low, awfully sexy pair of black trousers that fitted over his muscled legs.
“I wanna return the favour too…” You whispered against his ear.
You knew then, at the shudder that went through him, and how he kissed you in response, that this was something you’d be chasing the rest of your life. But the thing was, he’d gladly just let you have it, and have him.
—
a/n: wow hi it is soooo fucking late but i just kind of wrote this blurb and want yall to have it 😛😛 have missed writing so much and am so happy to be back. lots to come im thinking!!
it's the morning after andrew moves in with you - you wake up first.
he's fresh out of prison and with no place to stay, you offer your small house up. its a piece of heaven andrew has long thought he'd never have (or deserve.)
2k.
cw: domestic bliss, morning after intimacy, sfw w a hint of suggestive, mentions of past trauma, hint to his age regressing (not kink at all), happy ever after... for now ofc this is animal kingdom
based on the song 'outbound' by after - i was literally dead asleep until this song came on and i woke tf up because i thought of andy (pls give it a listen!! also i cant believe they released it in 2025, they capture the nostalgic 2000's sound perfectly.)
divider by @/ cursed-carmine can be read as a lil continuation of this! (link)
You wake up to the sound of birds chirping and solid breathing beside you, an arm around your waist.
Andrew.
It's been three long years since you've shared a bed with your lover, three long years since you woke up to him. Throughout the entirety of your relationship, you've never woken up first - until now. Andrew would always rise before you, watch you sleep and greet you with those big puppy dog eyes when you'd finally stir.
Other people would find it unsettling how he'd like to stare at you - how he'd watch the rise and fall of your chest. It wasn't lustful, it was proof you were alive - you were okay, you'd soon come back from your dreams... to him. You chose him again and again. Andrew wasn't sure he believed in guardian angels, but damn if you weren't changing his mind.
God, how could you love him? He'd spend the entire time watching, trying to reason out your feelings, to find some sort of motive, use - but landing on the simple fact that your love was unconditional. The notion had Andrew's head spinning. You had nothing to gain by being with him, you saw how people would stare. A nice girl, bright future - with not just a Cody boy, a felon, the unstable 'freak.' You'd hold him close to your chest, dismissing those claims and replacing them with your light.
This morning, it was your turn to stare. Can't let Andy do all of the yearning, can we?
You stare in awe. Andrew looks so peaceful, eyes closed and face completely relaxed - he's unguarded, malleable. Your heart aches as you imagine how he was sleeping back in Folsom. You'd never know this, he'd never tell you. Andrew wants to forget the nights he's spent in that hell. He'd lie on his back, bloodshot eyes from the lack of sleep - just staring at the ceiling of his cell. Sleep never came easy, or at all, for him in there. The sad excuse for a bed wasn't helping either. His head would lack the support of his pillow, opting to hold it in his arms. It was something to have, to hold, to take your place for now. When Andrew knew his cellmate was dead asleep, he would press the pillow to his lips. He'd steal the time back, his mind transporting him anywhere but here - to you, always you.
You jolted back to reality as Andrew shifted in his sleep - he'd let go of your waist, turning over. He immediately reached an arm out for you, his face scrunching up subconsciously. Always you. You curse the wind, the earth, and fate itself for putting your boy through whatever happened in Folsom.
In the moment, you shove a pillow into his chest. It smelled like you, was soft as a cloud like you - he relaxed and pulled it to his lips out of habit. You had the morning, the opportunity to wake up first. Like hell you'd let that go.
You pressed a kiss to Andrew's forehead before slinking out of bed, still nude from last night's lovemaking. You hiss at the frigid air, crossing your arms. The AC was turned up - he liked the room colder than you did - an excuse to hold you close. You shuffle around the pile of discarded clothes on the floor and pick up your lover's t-shirt and find a new pair of panties.
Your eyes find the full-body mirror. You hold the clothes in your hands, examining your naked state. Your eyes rake over the bruises Andrew left across your neck, shoulders, and breasts. There was something beautiful about the swells, the body's healing process - they were marks made from love, not pain or malice. The imprints of love bites and redness of hickeys. Fingers graze over a particularly dark bruise, you smile as you feel its tenderness - the sting was a welcome one. You chuckle to yourself, making some 'you should see the other guy,' joke.
You slip on your lover's t-shirt and drag the fresh undies up your legs. You had the freedom, what would you do with it?
"Sleep well, Andy." You whisper and take one last glance behind you before exiting the bedroom.
......ꫂ᭪݁......
Your kitchen wasn't the biggest in the world, but it was good enough for breakfast. It was separated from the living room by an island, one of those 'open concept' layouts. You had magnets, trinkets, and mementos from your life all over the fridge.
A polaroid from one of Smurf's drunken pool parties - it was you passed out, lying over an even drunker-looking Deran. Andrew was sitting beside you, stone sober and looking at you as if you hung the stars. Craig took the picture, surprisingly steady-handed for... well, you know him.
A magnet holding a crayon drawing, one of those with the corner sun. (Andrew has no idea why you chose to put it on the fridge, but he's happy nonetheless.)
An ink-stamped sticky note of your stray cats' paws. Andrew had loved feeding them these past weeks, says they're the main reason he wanted to move in for good. You'd playfully push his shoulder, 'what about meeee?'
You open the fridge and pull out everything you'd need to make breakfast. A carton of eggs, a pack of thick-cut bacon, a box of pancake mix, half & half for the milk substitute, and some vanilla extract.
You pull out two pans, each a different color. Nothing in this house was consistent, it was a chaos that could only be described as alive. You tick the stove on, letting some oil run over the pan before you set it down on the burner.
♪I'll take you to the movies
I'll take you to the park
I know when you're not feeling right
I'd know you in the dark
I'd know you in the dark♪
You sing to the empty kitchen, soft and sweet. You spin around, your bare feet making a 'pat pat' noise as you play ballerina to the music in your head. You crack an egg with one hand, a trick Andrew taught you when you were younger - you almost wanted to wake him just to brag. Cracking another egg, you decide to keep them sunny side up. A little seasoning here and there, some oil splashes avoided - albeit barely - you were in the zone.
♪I'll try to tell you
When you come down in the morning, baby
No time for running out on me like that
You drive me crazy ♪
The bacon was next, you and Andrew had a whole argument about which style of bacon was the best. It got so intense, one day you came home to him and like seven plates of bacon - he had you do a blind taste test. He'll be glad to see you kept the victor in mind these past three years. Those years apart were hard, one of the hardest times of your life, emotionally. You couldn't bear seeing his eyes lose more and more light each time you came for visitation. You're still pissed that the family stopped coming after the first year, like they'd become content with Andrew's absence. Fuck that, you'd come every damn day after work if it was allowed.
When you got wind of them selling your lover's old house, you knew something had changed. You shake off the rage building in your chest. Andrew was here now, he would stay with you. He'd be summoned by that demon he calls his mother - but not right now. You would be all smiles and feign trust with her later, right now you're about to love her son the way she refuses to.
♪Six feet underground
I reach for you and pull you out♪
Andrew blinks awake, torn from his sleep by the telltale smell of frying bacon and your hushed singing. He wonders at what point in the night he'd let go of you - a literal angel on this earth - for your pillow.
He whispers your name to the open air. It was thanks to you that he'd held on for so long. Andrew went through unspeakable shit while he was locked up, things that would haunt him for the rest of his life - but with you out there? With you cooking him breakfast and… and loving him like he wasn't the monster his mother shaped him to be? Maybe he could keep going. Maybe he could have a fucking normal life, as normal as he could with his last name.
Andrew smiled to himself, if - when you got married, he'd take your name. He tests it out, liking the way it tastes on his lips.
The homemade breakfast currently sizzling on your stove would be a close second, though. He shifts out of bed, finding his boxers from the night before. You had his clothes and other belongings dumped here after Smurf sold his place, but your lover couldn't be bothered waiting another moment to find you.
Andrew moves with his usual silence, stopping in the middle of the living room as he sees you. He tilts his head, taking in the scene unfolding across the island.
"Fuuhhhcking hell." You curse out. Your front half is covered by a throw blanket, you're holding a pair of tongs through the fabric - looking like you're at war with the pink frying pan. You're cooking the bacon on high, something your grandmother would always do - minus the hysterics, of course. That woman could flip tortillas on cracking oil with her bare hands and not react... you however?
The sunny side eggs are still steaming hot, plated next to two mugs of coffee. You're going through all of this trouble for him? Andrew feels his heart grow two sizes bigger, wanting nothing but to scoop you up where you stand. He continues to stare, watching you drop the last piece of cooked bacon onto a plate.
"Thank god." You laugh, turning to place the food on the island when —
You don't startle at Andrew's presence as everyone else would. You looked confused, still thinking he was sound asleep. "Sorry, babes. I didn't mean to wake you.." You hang the blanket on the pantry doorknob.
"Is this for me?" Your lover comes to your side, immediately pulling you close. Andrew leans into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He rests his forehead on your shoulder as your hands rest on his broad ones.
"Mmmhm, wasn't gonna bring it to you in bed.. know you don't like the crumbs." You giggle, remembering his reaction to the first time you almost spilled waffles all over your bed.
God, you could just dump the whole kitchen on the sheets - he'd just be happy to clean it up for you.
You held Andrew like this, moving your hands to his short hair. You massaged his scalp, humming the melody of the song you were singing earlier. This was domestic bliss, something from those rom-coms Craig had a guilty pleasure for. So that's what that feels like, he'd think to himself.
"You caught me before I could pour the pancakes." You start rocking side to side, Andy immediately pressed his weight onto you - how he missed this. "I still have the Texas-shaped pan.." You smoothed over a cowlick. "The one I almost killed you with when you broke into my parents' house years ago." Now that was a story - he just wanted to see you, was that so bad? Who knew, all this time later, you'd cradle that same idiot boy, now a man.
"Promise not to swing at me this time?" Andrew spoke, and you could feel his smile against your skin. "..and why Texas?"
You laughed, your giggles sending vibrations through his core. "Well, a California-shaped pancake sounds infuriating."
He couldn't help but agree. Could you spend all of your mornings like this together? Andrew was dying to ask, wanting to come out of his shell and fully speak his mind. He'd ask you how you lived, what you've gotten up to while he was locked up, who you met, how you broke the news to your family.. what they thought of him. If you ever saw anyone else (the answer was no,) if you ever wanted to end things with him (also no,) but all that came out was—
"I love you."
His voice shook. This was a very vulnerable moment — even more than the lovemaking, the stolen glances. It was tangible, you could shove him away, tell him no, tell him something that would shatter his soul.. but you didn't, you won't.
You sigh out, "I love you, too." And it was enough, it was set in stone. Those three words made the hell of his mind seem distant. The noise, the memories, the life he'd lived before you saved him… it wasn't here. It was far, far away from this house, the home you shared. Why didn't he move in sooner?
You gently push off of Andrew, gesturing to the eggs and mugs. "Go ahead and start eating, I won't be long with the pancakes. Bacon, too! It may be hot, but I almost died for that so.." You give him a toothy grin.
If that was almost dying, then Andrew needed a goddamn medal of honor.
"Wanna help." Your lover stepped up to the counter, grabbing the pancake batter. "It's better if I hold the weapons here." He looks at you as he grabs the pan, a smirk on his lips. Yeah, he's never letting you live that one down.
"Oookay, big guy." You lean against the fridge, eyeing your boyfriend up and down. You could get used to the view. Note to self: get a 'Kiss the Cook' apron for your boyfriend. ASAP.
Breakfast was enjoyed soon after, you clinked your mugs together to celebrate. "To us." You cooed out.
"To us.." Andrew echoed, almost blinded by the light in your eyes.
Maybe he could stand to sleep in a bit longer, if it meant all of his mornings could start like this.
smoking weed with rick sanchez is a spiritual experience im telling u
like you're all nervous, fingers fiddling with the frayed hem your denim skirt as you're watching him roll up in the dim light of the garage. it's fucking sinful the way his long tongue peeks out behind his lips, gliding over the yellow paper and dampening it until it's almost translucent, thumbs working with mindless skill and some stupid 'a boogie' song playing from his computer. (one he thought a kid almost a quarter of his age like you would be into.)
he eyes you as he taps the small cylinder against some random piece of scrap metal that's laying beside him, a small smirk on his lips as he takes in the way you're watching him. dumb little lips parted in awe as you eye the blunt between his fingers like you've never seen one before.
when you take your first hit, it's surprisingly pretty smooth. must be the weird alien shit rick smokes, you assume, but you still cough a little nonetheless, eyes watering as you pass him it back and fight the urge to spit on his garage floor.
he chuckles, one ankle resting against his knee and his arms spread wide across the work bench, curling around you almost. when he takes his, it's embarrassingly cool. a smooth exhale and he's even considerate enough to purse his lips, angling the smoke downward and away from your face.
"you never- never done this before?" he taps the ash over his propped leg and you nod between deep breaths. "you're- you're tellin' me none of those horny pricks at school want to- try to get you stoned and get in your pants?" there's a touch of humour in it, but the look he gives you means he's serious and you giggle as you shake your head, hands folded in your lap.
his eyes dart down to where your hands rest, a small smirk falling over him as he raises the blunt toward his lips. "good girl." your cheeks burn at the casualty of the way he says it and his smirk only grows at the reaction he's managed to pull from you as he takes another slow drag.
a couple more hits in and you're relaxed against his shoulder, smiling like an idiot at practically nothing as you gaze at the various boxes piled along his shelves. he's watching you, but you don't mind. the feel of his fingers as they play with the hem of your shirt is enough to keep you awake, so you allow him to study you in the silence as you take shallow breaths in the glow of your strange high.
his voice is lower than usual when it comes to you, a deep rasp beside your ear "you good?" and it makes you giggle at him. you cover your mouth, afraid of offending him, but he only smiles at you, the hand under the hem of your shirt pushing higher as he pulls you further into his body. "yeah, you're- you're fuckin' good."
you don't know if it's for you or for him, but something about it warms your belly nonetheless and you have to chew your lip to stop another stupid giggle escaping.
