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utterlyazriel · 3 months

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whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: eek not a request but an idea that wouldn't leave me alone! thus... we embark on a mulan-esque story that i hope u will enjoy <3 big thank you's to @strangerstilinski who listened and helped immensely as i whittled a hunky idea down to a plot

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: Someone in the Illryians Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lords. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter. fem!reader

— CHAPTER ONE :: STRANGERS

Frost was everywhere.

Despite all the eerie memories that tainted them, the Illyrian Mountains were hauntingly beautiful, even Azriel could admit that.

Pine trees stretched up tall, their timber trunks hidden beneath the snow-leaden branches. It was a sea of swirling frost. Snowflakes eddied down from the frozen sky, a soft blanket of white draped across the landscape.

He was sure that some, maybe the likes of Feyre and her artist's eye, could see that beauty easier than he could.

Beautiful, Azriel thought bitterly, but fucking freezing.

Normally, dealing with the likes of the war camps that riddled these mountains was left to Cassian. He had that raucous, fiery way about him that was far better suited to it. Enough pride to challenge the warriors and more than enough eager attitude to back his taunts if need be.

But Cassian was currently very much occupied— and highly unsuited to crack the whip against some rowdy Illyrians in his current state.

Azriel couldn't help the smile at the thought of when he'd last seen his brother.

Freshly mated Cassian looked as though he had tiny hearts circling around his head at all times. He resembled a puppy following his nose, always that wicked grin on his face as he trailed after Nesta. His adoration was impossible to miss.

Cassian had more than earned the time off. He deserved to celebrate properly, to have a couple weeks with no badgering worries, with no bickering Illyrian warriors to deal with (beyond his usual two).

So, as a mating gift to his brother —and partially to escape a house filled with intolerably mated couples— Azriel had taken over his duty temporarily. To oversee the war camps he detested so much.

Today, he was to investigate the rumoured stirrings amongst the camps and assess the level of threat it posed. More often than not, these sorts of stirrings were simply whispers of rebellion but nothing more.

There was an easy fix; a visit from one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, or even from Rhys himself. It always made the Illyrians a little nervous and those whispers of a coup would sweep away with the wind in a matter of time.

This time, however, the network of spies that operated under Azriel had not come back spinning such rumours.

Instead, there was talk of Lords with ruffled feathers. Lords with bruised egos due to a single bastard warrior, rising in the ranks and not playing by the rules.

The familiarity of the situation was almost too ironic, Azriel thought. He had half a mind to tell Rhys what he had learned and leave them to it. Cauldron knew these brutal camps needed a bastard to challenge their ways from time to time.

But still, there was always the potential for such a warrior to pose a threat in the future. Azriel could not leave a possible danger to brew. No stone left unturned.

The snow beneath his boots was beginning to melt.

He had been standing in the cold and peering up at the war camp ahead, barely seen through the heavy snow falling, for too long now. Snow was gathering on his wings, tendrils of ice shooting through their sensitive membrane. Find the bastard.

Shaking off the snow, he began to walk.

—

Gods forsaken males and their egos.

The bone in your forearm ached, having taken the brunt of your initial fall in the mud. It's covered in it too, the muck of the ground that always seemed to linger. Always a layer of dirt beneath your fingernails. Truly, one of the many incredible appeals of the Illyrian mountains was never actually being clean.

You'd probably hate it more— if it didn't do such a good job of masking unwanted scents.

But right now with a jagged cut that tears up your left arm, all the way to the elbow, you're cursing the mud. It's likely festering with uncountable grim diseases. You'll have to flush the wound to properly clean it before it begins to heal.

That means water. That means energy that you don't particularly feel like summoning to fetch it. You cast your glance to the window.

Outside, the Mother's Kiss howls loudly.

The southerly chilled wind current that Illyrians don such a precious name is quite fitting for their backward ways — to expect a kiss from your mother to have such a sting on the face.

Tonight, the current seems particularly fierce. The windows of your shelter rattle in warning. A storm had blown through camp rather unexpectedly and you'd caught the worst of it, tangled up in a snarling fest against Brudam.

Brudam, who is responsible for the current state of your arm. Your lip curls at the mere thought of the arrogant male. Your wings bunch up tightly and you huff quietly to nobody.

He'd caught wind of the broth you had made that had filled the stomach of three ravenous bastards in the camp. It had been just enough to keep them on their feet. Tonight, you know that one hot meal might very well be the difference that helps them survive the night.

But Illyrians are a tough breed— and they don't take kindly to people giving handouts, as Brudam had put it.

You preferred the term leveling the playing field.

As if Brudam and his Lord father had ever experienced to ache of starvation. Ever had to sleep in the snow with nothing but their own wings for warmth against a blizzard.

Another deep pain twinges in your arm and you hiss, drawn out of your thoughts. If you have to pick your wins, you can at least admit you're glad he had only found out about the broth— and had seemed none the wiser to the healing tonics you were slipping the freshly-clipped girls.

It ached to see them and their quivering wings. The way the muscles in their backs buckled when they tried to spread their wings, a cut too deep into the wrong nerve. It ached to see it, yes, but beneath that pain was an ocean of bitter and furious fire.

But your righteous anger would not help these girls.

You were not the most proficient healer and the tonics you were attempting... it was hard to say if they would make any difference in saving any females' wings.

You were gathering knowledge as best you could though, scraping together herbs that scarcely grew in the frozen climate. It was a poor imitation of something that might work.

Whether it would be enough... that was up to the Mother. But you had to try.

You assess the wound on your arm once more, wondering about the reserve of water you had in your small hut— whether you could both clean your wound and have enough to hydrate.

Another glance out at the wintry snowscape outside. You grimaced. If you didn't, you would have to bear the blistering chill of the Mother's Kiss to get more.

Weariness weighs on your bones. You hadn't been prepared for the fight, hence your almost embarrassing injury, and it drained you more than you expected.

You stand with a sigh and drag your feet toward the tiny cauldron filled with melted snow collected earlier in the day. It hangs over the fireplace, the embers within long since snuffed out. Your motion stirs them up.

For a moment, you stare into the fireplace. The water in the cauldron shimmers. The shelter creaks around you, bending in the wind.

It's covered in soot, marred by the flames that usually lick it from beneath it. The lip of it, however, is still clean enough to see your own reflection. You peer into it.

And in that reflection, you find a tall figure with massive wings looming above their shoulders standing behind you.

Your heart spasms in shock and you have to swallow your gasp of surprise. Your eyes dart up, frantically hunting for a weapon. You grab the closest object you can, your hand closing around a kitchen fork. And before they get the chance, you twist and lunge, arm raised.

The floorboards groan as your boots slam into them, darting forward to attack. But the male dodges you easily, your strike passing through empty air.

You don't stop, turning and striking for him once again. The male sways back again easily to avoid your swing and you scowl.

Quickly feigning one way, you watch as his hands, weaponless, move to defend his gut — and you change direction, fast. Neck exposed, you snarl as you sink the fork deep into his shoulder.

The male hisses in pain.

You falter for a moment at the noise but it's a mistake. His hands move so fast you barely see them, gripping your wrist that holds the fork and twisting it down to the ground, immobilising you from using it.

You snarl again and tug against him fruitlessly. A swell of panic begins to rise within you as you tug again, again, again. His hold doesn't falter.

"Stop," The male commands you quietly.

This time when you tug, he opens his fingers and you fly back onto your ass, wings flaring out a moment too late to catch yourself.

You expect him to trudge forward, to beat an attack down on you now that you're less defended, but he doesn't move from his spot.

In fact, you realise as you stare at him, cheat heaving, he hasn't attacked you at all.

His weapons, which there are many of them, stay strapped to his side, glittering against the snow's reflected light. You spot the siphon on his hand, a churning sapphire colour — and clock the matching one on his other hand.

This was not just any Illyrian warrior in your home.

Faintly, your panic subsides as you realise that if this male meant to hurt you —to kill you— he very well could have done so by now.

You let your eyes trail up, taking in the face so hidden in shadow, and recognize that the darkness swirling around him is not ordinary shadow.

The revelation has you sitting up a bit straighter, the bindings around your chest pulling tight. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

What do you say to one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history —one who served on Rhysand's inner circle, friend of the High Lord of the Night Court— when you've just stabbed him with a fork?

As if your thought had reminded him, the male —Azriel, you know his name to be— shifts and reaches for the utensil still sticking out of his shoulder. He yanks it out without a noise of complaint.

Then he says, "Considering your choice of weapon, it's no surprise Brudam cut up your arm."

You scowl at him but at a closer look, you can see that his expression isn't condescending. No, with his raised brows, he almost looks... impressed.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." You bite back defensively.

Azriel's eyes dance with amusement. He throws the fork onto your table with a clatter. "That's how you greet visitors?"

"Uninvited ones, yes."

His amusement fades, the planes of his face shadowed and yet still handsome. Like most Illyrians, there's this incomprehensible sense of elegance to him, an alluring pull tied to his very demeanor.

But looking at him now, even in the dimness of your shelter, you could see Azriel went beyond to type of beauty that usual Illyrians had. An unparalleled grace, an unmatched Adonis.

He is the most beautiful male you had ever seen—and you had just stabbed him with a fork.

"Sorry," You mutter eventually when he doesn't say anything.

You shift onto your knees to stand, your hand coming to cup beneath your elbow— the ache of the injury had begun to bleed back in now that you weren't focused on fighting off an intruder.

"You're forgiven." He says. You can see lightly, through the dimming light, the faint blood on his neck you've caused.

"You fight well," He comments, with the air of a compliment. Something like amusement is in his eyes when he says, "Even with your unusual choice of weapon."

You glare at him as you climb to your feet and all but collapse into a chair. You don't even have another to offer to him. Buried beneath your leathers, your chest aches in pain — a reminder that it's been bound for far too long. You ignore it and tilt your chin towards him.

"Why are you here?"

You're actually sure that even if you offered Azriel a chair he wouldn't take it, given how stiffly he stands before you. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze flitting around the small room you both stand in. Calculating, categorizing.

"There were rumours of a warrior turning up trouble here."

He fixes his hazel-eyed gaze on you. You steel yourself beneath it. "A couple days in your camp and it became clear who the outlier was."

A couple days? For some reason, you can't believe that he's been surveying this place without detection from anyone. Another glance at his shadows, the dark masses that hang around his shoulders, and you can believe it a little more.

Besides, it's hardly as though the Lords would deign to tell a bastard like you anything important.

You clench your jaw but don't say anything.

"Brudam mentioned you feeding some warriors." Azriel continues, his tone unreadable. Though something, you couldn't tell what, glittered in his eyes. "Not very in the spirit of Illyrians."

You scowl at him again. Even if he had once faced these conditions before, you wondered if his time away, spent Cauldron knows where, had softened his memory.

"It's not against any law."

"No, it isn't," Azriel says. His eyes narrow. "But making healing tonics without a Healer's jurisdiction and selling them to young females is."

Your heart stops for just a moment. How could he know that? The last batch you had dropped off had been over a month ago.

Without thinking you snarl back, "I'm not selling them, you prick."

Something blooms on Azriel's face, surprise and a hint of smugness.

Your mouth snaps shut as you realise what you've done. You curse yourself. Slumping back in your chair, your wings sag with you and you let them droop onto the floor, uncaring. He could very well be here to kill you, given the knowledge of what you had just admitted.

For a long moment, there's just silence.

You stare at the floor and wonder which version of the High Lord is true; the Court of Nightmares whose power ripples through these camps and keeps them in line. Or the rumours of a softer side, a dreamer.

You wonder, more importantly, which of those this male before you is friends with.

Something in the floor creaks when Azriel finally moves. He crosses the room swiftly to the fireplace and gathers two logs from the stack of firewood beside it, tossing them onto the pile of ash.

You watch, perturbed, as he hunches over the fireplace for a quiet minute— and when he pulls back, a small flame is burning on the wood. It dances on the log, entrancing and amber-coloured.

Heat begins to fill the room. You pick your wings up and stretch them towards it, grateful for how they begin to warm. You hadn't quite realised the extent of your chill until right now.

It's such a kindness that hasn't been shown to you in many years. Surprise and silent gratitude bloom in your chest.

Azriel turns back to face you. You school your surprise away.

"What's your name?" He asks, his voice gruff.

It's been a while since anyone asked that either. Bastard. Mongrel. Imposter. There are a thousand other words that have become your name whilst growing up here.

You can't tell him your name. In the same way you can't tell anyone here your real name without revealing too much about yourself.

So you shorten it and tell him that instead.

Azriel nods. Doesn't repeat it, doesn't blink at your hesitance. Instead, he just says, "Like I said, you fight well. You could be better though."

You frown at the backhanded compliment, something in you sneering at the jab at your fighting skills. Worse, you know he's right.

If you had weapons suited to your size, exercises that focused on your agility more than your brute strength... There's a good reason you have to work twice as hard as every other warrior in camp.

Azriel looks at your arm, no longer bleeding and beginning to stitch itself up. Shit, you really need to clean that first.

"Clean that and get a good night's rest." He orders, not meanly. Then he crosses the space of your shelter in a few paces of his long legs, heading for the door.

"You—" The question dares to come out of you. "You're not going to turn me in?"

Azriel pauses, one hand, one scarred hand you can now see with the fire going, on the door. So, the rumours of that were true.

"No," He says lowly. He sees you staring, and as if on command, the shadows swirling around his shoulders dart down to cover his hands. They and the doorknob in his hand disappear from sight completely.

You evade your eyes back up to his hauntingly beautiful face. His expression is stony, unreadable. He stares at you for a long moment, the dancing fire reflected in his hazel eyes.

"I'm going to train you."

[next part]

#ahhhh!!! i'm very excited for this one!!#pray i can do it justice !!#azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel fic

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harry-styles-obsessed · 10 months

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Don’t you call him baby

Request: hi! I’ve been obsessed with the song ‘cherry’ lately and was wondering whether you could write something about it? I’m so hyper fixed on it and AH I just need something smutty and angsty if possible? Thank you!!

A/n: I haven’t mentioned it but I went for a job interview… and… I got the job!!! Hooray!!

Minors please do not interact! 18+ only. Thank you.

Warnings: smut, exes, toxicity, mention of arguments, angst… jealous Harry. Protective Harry. Dominant Harry. Degrading/ praise. Cheating kinda? Rough… as well. Very sexual scenes. (Make up sex pretty much) if this isn’t your thing/ it makes you uncomfortable please scroll past. But if you read and are easily effected by some strong/ tense scenes please read at your own discretion. Much love, A. x

Harry styles x fem! Reader

Inspirations from cherry:

don’t you call him baby

did you know I still talk to them?

—

“How is she?” His voice cut through the silence, Harry had decided to meet up with one of your closest friends. It took a lot to convince her but she eventually gave in to his constant requests of knowing how you were doing. Noa sat opposite Harry her chin resting on her knuckles as she gazed at him “harry I know you care about her… but y/n wants to move on. It’s time to move on.” She spoke calmly and sensibly. She never got involved between drama or toxic relationships but you had been constantly stressing over the fact that Harry was so bluntly concerned about you. You hated it. In fact you despised him and wished he would go and find a new girl to date… but Harry didn’t want that. He didn’t want a new girl. He wanted you. “I know, Noa.” He muttered to her his hands rubbing against each other slightly before he sighed “is she okay though? In herself? I haven’t seen her in a while…”

Noa stared at the man, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe he only wanted the best for you. “She’s okay.” She nodded her head smiling, “she’s happier.” Those words tore him apart, selfishly so, you were happier without him? That alone was difficult to comprehend yet he forced a smile “that’s good.” Noa nodded her head “yeah… she misses you though. I’m sure you both miss each other. But she’s moved on… and you have to as well.” Harry should’ve listened- but those words but she’s moved on made his heart plummet. What did she mean by that? Did you have a new boyfriend? Someone who made you happier than ever? Was Harry truly not enough for you? He felt jealousy creeping up within him yet on his perfectly sculpted face was nothing but calmness. But under that was a storm brewing.. messy and huge. “She’s got a boyfriend?” He soon asked gawking at her and Noa gazed at him, clearly not wanting to discuss anymore and Harry quickly cut her off before she could’ve said anything else:

“You know what. Never mind… I’m sorry it’s none of my business.” he smiled falsely before shaking his head “it was nice meeting up with you again. We’ll have to do it some other time… yeah?” Or in better words- we’ll meet up to talk about y/n more. Harry didn’t like to admit it but he was a tad bit crazy. But in a way that he adored you and loved you… so much so no one else could love you the way he loved you… he was frankly obsessed with you. You were the one who made him happiest. The one to make his whole world light up around him… you dragged him out of the darkest pits of hell and saved him. You both had history with each other and that was clear. He missed you. It angered him that you had moved on so quickly but he had decided then and there that he wasn’t going to let you live that down… he would make you realise all over again just how much you missed him… all of him.

And so that’s exactly how it played out. Harry still had a key to your apartment from when you were together and so he allowed himself in before situating himself on your bed laying against the headboard as he simply awaited for you to stumble upon him. He wasn’t sure how you would react… maybe scream at him? Hit him? Punch him? But he found himself praying that you would kiss him and tell him you loved him still. But love wasn’t that easy now was it? He was a jealous man but he refused to see his jealousy. You didn’t even split from each other because of anything horrible like cheating or whatever- it was just a dumb argument. But seeing it now it was incredibly stupid and if Harry could’ve turned back time then he would’ve. All he wanted for you was for you to be happy.

About twenty minutes passed, you had just finished up a small date with your new boyfriend. You loved him. You truly did. But he wasn’t Harry. You missed Harry terribly, neither of you spoke to each other and every day you found yourself wanting him more and more. You missed the smell of his cologne, the way he would run his fingers through your hair… you just missed him. A soft sigh left your lips your key held in your hand as you slowly pushed the key into the keyhole before unlocking the door and opening it. You shrugged your jacket off, hanging it up and locking the front door before heading straight for your bedroom. You were tired and just wanted to sleep… but you missed Harry. Sleep usually helped ease your mind but no matter what it would always be difficult. You were craving his love, his attention, his touch… all of him. But that was so wrong, wasn’t it? You slowly walked into your room before freezing at the sight your eyes widening, lips slightly parting as you stared at the man on your bed. The man you still adored. You blinked, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “Hi,” he spoke with a smile but you just stared unable to react before eventually you shook your head “Harry you need to leave.” You murmured softly but the way his eyes travelled up and down your body subtly made your heart flip upside down your breath catching in your throat. “You want me to leave?” He asked raising his brows slightly “Harry please…” he slowly stood up from the bed as he walked towards you “you’re just saying that.” He murmured gently his eyes searching yours that had a look of need, urgency and fire in them “I know you. I love you. I want you.” Your lips remained parted and you stared at him in shock… he wanted you? What did he mean by that? “What do-“ “I mean I really… really want you.” The look in his green eyes told you it all, your wide doe like eyes widening even further before you shook your head lightly “I can’t Harry. I’ve got a boyfriend…” you spoke quietly and the man smiled slightly “I’m aware of that, sweetheart…” but before you could’ve even asked how he knew he was already talking again “he doesn’t give you what you need, does he? He doesn’t fuck you long and hard right? He doesn’t grab you by the throat and tell you who you belong to. Does he?” His eyes bored into yours your breathing now more frantic, your stomach fluttering dangerously before his slender ring adorned fingers reached up gently grabbing a hold of your chin before he leaned in looking more deep into your eyes “does he?” You blinked your eyes, breathing faster now before you shook your head an accomplished smirk forming on those pretty lips of his, “do you want that? Do you need that? Hm you pretty thing?” And you found yourself nodding frantically feeling butterflies travel elsewhere throughout your entire body, some fluttering down straight into your already throbbing heat, eyes wide as you clenched your thighs together attempting to be subtle about it whilst also attempting to add enough pressure to take the edge off of it.

“Good thing I’m here then” he spoke smiling before he pulled you in roughly his lips colliding with yours in a hot passionate kiss, the kisses were slightly sloppy, your hands resting against the sides of his neck as he soon wrapped his arms around your waist gripping onto you tightly, his fingers soon sliding underneath your T-shirt which he soon slid up your body before discarding it on the floor, which were then followed by your jeans his hands gliding up and down your body skilfully, creating all those little goosebumps which had your knees weak, his lips remained connected to yours before he trailed the sloppy kisses down to your neck leaving open mouthed kisses against your soft skin before he pulled away gazing into your eyes “get on the bed. Get comfortable.” Those words alone had another flurry of butterflies consume your stomach and you rather quickly got onto the bed, backing up until your back was against the headboard your hungry eyes remaining on his “good girl, I see you can follow orders hm?” See how long that lasts… your eyes remained on him trying to guess what he was going to do next but you watched as he remained standing still, hands lightly crossed over his chest his eyes scanning shamelessly all over you watching how your chest raised and fell so angelically whereas your thighs clenched together so incredibly tightly. He didn’t speak, allowing you to listen to your heavy breathing and indefinitely the sound of your heart racing in your ears. He found it adorable how your cheeks were already flushed…. He hadn’t even started and you were already a mess. “Oh my poor pathetic baby, hm?” A soft chuckle left his lips before he walked closer to the bed until his knees were touching against the end of it “reach down.” He demanded you feigning a slight confused look. “Don’t be stupid, darling. Use that pretty head of yours… you know what I’m asking of you.” You remained still. Eyes on him your breathing increasing all over again before he smirked “fine. Play with yourself.” Those words made your eyes widen, but your hand, like it was being controlled by a puppeteer slowly crept down, your hand moving your panties to the side your fingers immediately getting to work. You were already soaked… embarrassingly so. Your head lightly tilted backwards, lips parting as a low gasp left your lips your fingers gliding teasingly up and down, before one started circling around your clit a whimper leaving your lips.

Harry’s hungry eyes remained on you, watching as you played for him, watching with careful eyes. Listening to your reactions… “mhm just like that sweetheart. Just like that.” He spoke softly his lips parted as he just watched you play for him. “You sensitive baby?” His tone was accusing, your brows furrowed slightly as you were too lost in your own pleasure. Usually your fingers didn’t help you whatsoever but with Harry just watching it made the moment more intense. More insane. Incredibly hot. You didn’t respond, making the man tilt his head to the side “hm? Is that a no? Darling you know that I know you. You cant fool me…” he watched your brows furrow deeper and deeper and he smirked before slowly walking round to the edge of the bed where his large hand soon wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from toying with yourself before he used two of his fingers to drag up and down your slit, your hips jolting and he smirked cockily staring down at you, your eyes glossy from the ceasing of pleasure “you are sensitive” he analysed gently before chuckling gently “how many times?” His tone was dangerous and your lower lip trembled “I-I don’t know…” you whispered softly and he stared deeply into your eyes “so you played with yourself… yesterday? Did you?” Your cheeks became flushed again and he chuckled “darling don’t go shy on me. It’s okay if you did…” his tone was so comforting but you knew him as much as he knew you. “I did… but…” you paused and he raised a brow “but?” He trailed off and you studied his eyes “I played whilst thinking of you.”

Those words stunned the man yet they also turned him on that much more the bulge in his jeans larger, making his jeans more uncomfortable. “Jesus Christ baby…” he whispered before he abruptly and without warning grabbed a hold of your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your hips were dangling off of the edge before he helped pull your panties off his knees soon buckling as he knelt down, pulling your legs to rest over his shoulders arms locking around your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer “don’t you dare close your eyes. Look at me. Got it?” You nodded your head furiously, feeling his breath fan against your sopping cunt “verbal sweetheart c’mon” he cooed out and you whimpered “yes.. yes!” He smiled large hands gripping onto your thighs before he lowered his mouth down to your aching core “what a good girl hm?” He spoke, before his licked a stripe up your slit a low groan leaving his lips before his lips wrapped around your clit, tongue starting to flick mercilessly against it as he began sucking against it slightly your head tilting backwards in awed making the man you dream about slap your thigh slightly reminding you to keep your eyes on him- your eyes locking with his as he stared deeply into your soul. Whilst doing that, his fingers paid close attention to the hole that clenched around nothing before his slid one of his fingers in beginning to thrust in and out slowly and carefully, your eyes squeezing shut “y/n…” he growled out sending vibrations throughout you and you moaned out, yet your head flew forwards eyes locking with his again, a second finger being eased in, his fingers thrusting in and out steadily and slowly- curling ever so slightly hitting that spot within you making your back arch slightly from the fact that you had been so touch starved recently and you were now getting what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. His eyes pierced into your own and you panted, he felt the way you clenched around him and instantly quickened his pace soft whines leaving your lips “louder” he demanded, your whimpers turning into loud moans as your hips attempting to buck up into his mouth and fingers yet from the grip he hand on your thighs you stood no chance.

“h-harry I-I’m gonna-“ you felt the coil tighten to the point you knew it was inevitably going to break, but all that came to a agonisingly teasing halt as Harry stopped. Your desperate body writhing, attempting to get more of his touch. “Ah ah… you don’t get to cum. Not just yet.” His eyes bored into yours and he smirked your flushed face contorted with need, before a little chuckle left his lips “tell me why you want to? Why you deserve to, hm?” Your eyes glared into his hungrily that soft smirk on his perfectly sculpted face “i-I’ve been good… i- I just need you…” you whined out in that whiny voice that he loved so much, his head soon tilting wanting to hear more of it “and? Come on baby, sooner you get it over with sooner I can make you feel good…” he was so arrogantly calm about it all, yet under all of that facade he was wanting to fuck you hard. You breathed heavily, panting, eyes squeezing shut as moans of need left your lips before you panted out a very soft: “I love you…”

And that was all he needed to hear before he tapped your thigh three times with his index finger, asking for you to move, and so you did- laying on your back on the bed. You watched as he took his belt off, his clothes being discarded hurriedly but rather lazily all at the same time your mouth practically watering at the sight of him before he clambered on top of you, lips smashing against yours, your lips moulding with his- connecting like the last piece of a puzzle before he aligned his cock with you before he thrusted in, your eyes instantly rolling to the back of your head, your legs locking around his waist- nails digging into his back as you panted heavily “fuck fuck fuck” you whined out, soft grunts leaving his lips his face buried slightly into the crook of your neck his hair a mess making him look that much more hot “feel so good” you spoke breathing heavily as he found a perfect rhythm the only sounds being a mixture of both of your moans and skin slapping against skin. He left kisses against your neck, hickeys being littered all over your warm silky skin. “Don’t call him baby again… don’t… don’t…” he spoke through slight grunts “do you understand me? Don’t want you seeing him again.” His tone was dangerous, possessive and needful, you nodded your head weakly your walls clenching desperately around him your nails scratching into his back “good girl. Good girl.”

“Who makes you feel this good?” “You do Harry…” your voice was pathetically weak from the pleasure rocketing throughout you and soon enough that coil was tightening all over again, his thrusts had become more sloppy and his moans were growing louder. His lips connected with yours, his head slightly pulling back making a string of saliva pull from both of your lips before snapping as he kissed you again “cum…” he groaned out against your lips and just like that the euphoria wrapped around both you and him your moans being muffled by his lips, his loud moans soon too being muffled as he dug his teeth into your shoulder, his thrusts continuing- helping you through your high before he stopped, body slumped against yours, heart to heart- bodies hot and sweaty your lips slightly swollen from how hard and rough he had kissed them but you didn’t care… the pleasure didn’t stop. It was continuous. But you loved it…

His green eyes soon met yours and you smiled lazily up at him his hand soon cupping against your cheek “love you so much” he muttered softly and you smiled pressing a gentle kiss to his lips “love you too…” your eyes searched his before he kissed you again “missed you.” He murmured softly and to say those words were highly reciprocated was an understatement. You both missed each other terribly… and finally… you were back together again. Finally.

Literally my first time writing long smut so please excuse how terrible it is😭 hope you liked it! Anyways if you’d all like a part two or another smutty story then lmk! Or just send in a request! All the love always, Amber x

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