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therealhousewifeofharrystyles · 9 months

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Harry’s Home

Part II.

Read Part 1 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 8.7k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Lots of Flirting, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Mentions of Body-Type Biases, Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, ~Slow Burn~

My mom adores Harry (probably more than me, sometimes) and she’s confident that we’ll fall in love and get married within the next year or so. To Harry’s chagrin, his own mother seems to also be manifesting some sort of whirlwind romance to ignite within this cottage. Not to brag, but Anne Twist has already practically declared me as her daughter-in-law. She mirrors my mother’s doting of Harry, and I don’t mind it one bit. I’ve even heard Anne and Harry talking about me a few times during her brief visits to the states. Always pleasant things, thankfully.

One time, they were chatting in the kitchen while I’d just passed them to continue laundry in the room across the hall. I could hear every word—whilst I’m sure that Harry hoped to God I couldn’t hear any of it…but these walls are just so thin.

“‘Scuse me, guys…just gotta get these goin’.” I smiled, making my way down the hallway with Harry’s clothes hamper. Before I’d passed by, I made eye contact with Harry for a brief moment. My heart sank as if I was nervous all of a sudden. I didn’t know why, but things felt weird that day. Between Harry and I, I mean. Normally, I wouldn’t even bat an eye whilst giving the man a quick greeting in passing. I lived with him, he was the first and last person I’d see and speak to every day, so I was used to his presence being a constant in my life. But that afternoon, something just seemed off.

Maybe it had something to do with his mom visiting us—uh, I mean, him. Ugh, I’ve gotta quit making a habit out of grouping Harry and I together as a package deal. We’re not a couple. No matter how much his mom hugged and doted on me like I was her own daughter, the line was already drawn when we signed our lease.

That’s not to say that Anne has ever made me feel uncomfortable. Quite the contrary. It was strange how natural and familiar it felt to be around Harry’s mom. I suppose one thing that bothered me is that she’d tend to assume things about our relationship. And so the unavoidable reality of my roommate’s mother suspecting us to be more than just friends certainly made me a little uncomfortable. Actually, insecure would be a better word for it. I was insecure that I may have been too obvious in the way I care for Harry, and that I was stupid for even having thought he could feel anything similar towards me.

I teetered between optimism and self-pity constantly. Men could be so complicated. Nay. Harry could be so complicated. But that’s beside the point. The real issue was the growing tension in the air…the flickering flame left unattended, slowly eating away at both Harry and myself for far too long. And Anne, of all people, would be the first one to bring attention to it.

Once I’d made it to the laundry room, I popped open the washing machine and dumped out all of Harry’s dirty clothes. I was truly minding my own business, drifting off in my own little world; but then I was yanked out by Anne and Harry’s restless banter that echoed down the hall and disturbed my relaxed state of autopilot.

“Oh, you’re cheeky, Harry.” Anne hummed. Even though they couldn’t see me anymore, my ears still worked fine from where I was. I don’t think Harry’s mom really intended to be quiet anyway. “What?” Harry asked after sighing. “Oh, don’t act so shy, dear. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” As the last words exited her mouth, it was like a light switched on inside of her. She gasped and swatted at Harry’s shoulder—him instantly reacting with a, “What I do?!” Anne then scoffed, “Why didn’t you tell me the two of you finally got together?!” A kaleidoscope of butterflies danced around the soft curls that cascaded down my shoulders and traveled south to tickle my belly.

Harry looked at me…like that? In front of his own mother? So he wasn’t just a horny bastard…he was actually attract—

—“What on Earth are you talking about? Me ‘n her?!” Harry gestured towards the hallway. Anne pursed her lips and nodded. “Oi, tha’s ridiculous! Y/N and me?! Tha’s just…that’ll never happen…”

Oh, um…never mind.

“…‘Sides, mum, you’re mad if y’think I’d start somethin’ up' with my housemate. Just be makin’ things weird…She’s not even my type, anyway.”

I silently sighed out a breath and roughly dumped out the rest of Harry’s dirty clothes into the washer, a faint scowl adorning my face.

“Yeah, right. You can’t possibly expect me to believe any of that rubbish. I think you’re just afraid of getting hurt again.” I could tell by the sadness in her voice that she was frowning. “Oh, my poor baby boy. Don’t you think you should put yourself back out there, Lovie?”

“No, no. It’s not because I’m afraid, mum. I’m just…I’m too busy. Vol. 6 is working on an autumn collection, and I’m in charge of the ad design. I’ve got a lot on my plate, you know?”

To be fair, Harry was actually getting pretty busy at work. He’d told me about the new campaign he’d been working on and how it needed to be approved by corporate by October. That meant he had a couple weeks to complete it. I was excited for him, as he’d become the brand’s lead marketing strategist earlier this year, which had provided him with a lot of decision-making power in his department. Surprisingly, the promotion made him slightly more humble, but in-turn, he was also a bit crankier at home. I think it was because he was overworking himself, honestly.

Anne huffed and said, “Well, not everything in life has convenient timing, dear. Y/N could get scooped up tomorrow and you’d have completely blown it f’yourself!” The front door opened and it sounded to me that they’d slowly made it out onto the front porch. Harry kept the door open, as there was a slight chill in the air and I assumed he was also feeling a bit flushed at the time, so the breeze was welcomed. Since Harry didn’t shut the door, I was still able to listen to their conversation from the laundry room. Though, their voices became less intelligible due to the distance and the outdoor ambiance.

“Oi, mum! Please keep your voice down!” I found it funny how Harry was claiming he had nothing but platonic feelings for me—that he was too busy and we weren’t compatible in that way at all—yet, he sounded so desperate to ensure I wasn’t able to overhear their discussion. If he didn’t care about me romantically, why would he be so adamant about keeping Anne’s volume down? Why would he be so defensive about it? It’s not like he’d be lowballing if he were to go for me. I may not be perfect, but I don’t have to be a skinny little model with legs for days—my body has curves to die for, and no man has to worry that he’ll break me in half. My feelings are fragile, but I can take a good, hard fucking any day of the week. Hell, I’d take it every day of the week if it were up to me. And for his information—I have…it’s just been a while…

“She’s doin’ your laundry, for bloody sake!” That was true, I was doing his laundry. But that was only because Harry’s always insisted that I do it. Ever since this one time when we were sitting on the couch together, and I was falling asleep watching tv. Attempting to get more comfortable, I’d stretched my legs out towards him and laid back against a pillow and the couch arm. Luckily for me, Harry was nice enough that night to let me get away with using him as a leg rest without any complaints. I also remember him starting to doze off. Instead of pushing me out of the way and going up to bed, he squeezed himself to lay behind me and spooned me. He nuzzled his face into my hair and into my neck, and then rested his cheek against my shoulder. I then heard the rumble of his sleepy voice as he said, “Mmh…you smell…s’sweet…kinda like vanilla…I like tha’…wanna smell ya all the time…you should wash my clothes f’me so I can smell you on me wherever I go…”

At the time, as I laid there in a soft daze with Harry’s strong, inked arms wrapped around my middle, his stubble scratching my neck, and something firm rocking back and forth ever-so-gently against my ass…my heart soared at his words, and I couldn’t bear to deny him his request.

Later, standing alone with an alert mind sans sexy, tattooed, British rake pressed tightly against my plush body—I was no longer swooning. Harry was perfectly capable of using the same combination of detergent, softener, and scent beads that I use. If he desired my aroma so badly, the ingredients would’ve been all he needed. I guess he was in charge of cooking and the dishes, so there wasn’t really an imbalance of responsibilities. But, damn. What a doormat I'd been for going through with that. He may be insanely hot, but he’s still just as stinky as the rest of them. Sure, I’ve been more than happy to fold all his clean clothes for him, but only if they’re fresh out of the dryer and smell all light and powdery like Downy.

“No, no, we split the difference! She’s got the laundry, and I’ve got the, uh…kitchen. Cooking and all tha’.” Even though he was responding defensively, he was only digging himself a deeper hole in front of his mother. She saw right through all those excuses, explanations, etc. So did I. However, Anne was approaching her disbelief a lot differently than how I would’ve if it were me who he was blabbing all that nonsense to. Granted, I didn’t raise him from infancy, nor had I even known the man for very long. But the truth was that Harry’s never been great at confrontation—well, when he’s on the opposite end of it, at least. And so he tended to struggle with his words whenever someone caught him at a time when he wasn’t prepared.

“I know you’ve got feelings f’her, Gemma knows you do…hell, I bet Y/N even knows it! C’mon, Harry. You two are so cute!” Anne sounded absolutely delighted. I didn’t blame her, but I couldn’t share her same excitement.

Instead of stepping in and saving Harry from any further humiliation from his mother, I decided I’d just stay hidden and let him dig himself out on his own. He’s a grown man, he could fight his own battles. Besides, I was too busy doing his fucking laundry.

“I—Gemma’s a right nutcase, and you know tha’, mum!” Harry whispered.

“Oh, nonsense. Gem knows you even better than I do, Harry!”

I have to give credit to Anne for so shamelessly putting him on the spot like that. Typically, I was the one who tripped over the simplest of words and phrases. It’s just in my timid nature. But it was entertaining to hear someone else—someone who’s normally so haughty and snide—experiencing that kind of social mishap. Especially since that same person tended to use my weakness against me. Karma’s a bitch, huh, Harry?

“That pest—!” He seethed before Anne immediately cut him off.

“—Oi, hey! Be nice to your sister, Harry! You know, one day, when I’m all old and sickly…”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“...You’ll want me to live with her! Keep up that attitude, boy, and you’ll be the one changing my diapers!”

Aw, what a Hallmark moment.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry was white-knuckling the doorknob. I could picture it vividly—deep lines between his brows, nostrils flaring, his free hand held up to his bottom lip, whilst his sweet mother grinned ear to ear and pinched at his adorable, pink cheeks. “...Ooh, but Harry, lovie, it’s so exciting to think that once you and Y/N finally get together, I’ll have a second daughter! God, I just can’t wait for the wedding!” Anne squealed. Harry must’ve glared at his mother right then because I couldn’t hear him say anything. “Do you think you’ll have it here, or will we fly you back home? In that case, it’ll probably need to be a smaller ceremony, hm? ‘Could always have the ceremony in Holmes, and then close family can fly out for a reception here. I’ve heard of couples doing things of that sort…No matter—we’ll cross that road when we get to it.” She beamed with a quick laugh.

My cheeks hurt and I didn’t know why until I noticed I’d been fighting a smile. I felt childish. It was silly to consider all of that stuff even remotely possible—I mean, Harry and I being a couple. Thinking about us getting married…no, no…that could never happen. Just as he said.

“My grandchildren are going to be so beautiful!” Suddenly my fantastical mother-in-law sang from the front porch.

G-Grandchildren..? I’d almost dumped the entire jug of detergent into the washing machine at that one. Marriage was one thing. But giving birth to…m-m-multiple children?!

I didn’t have any intention to have a baby—let alone babies, plural. I might’ve not wanted children at all…well, maybe one…or I could just forget about the classic American Dream and get a cat instead. I had no clue. But now I was thinking about it.

More than just thinking about it, though. I was fantasizing.

My mind was locked on the specific scenario of Harry impregnating me. Marking me as his own. Sowing his seed deep inside my fertile cervix. Hot waves of liquid heat then soaked into the crotch of my panties. I guess my body was quite fond of that fantasy.

As the damp cotton between my generous thighs uncomfortably clung to my sensitive skin, I thought I’d might as well just add them to the wash. So I pushed them down my legs and stepped out of them before taking a moment to examine the evidence of my obnoxious downpour of arousal. I bit my lip at the sight of the large, sodden stain. How was that arrogant asshole able to do this kind of shit to me? He wasn’t even in the room!

I scoffed, shaking my head at the humiliating outcome of my sexual deprivation and desperation, and flung the soiled panties into the machine. Good thing I was wearing a dress where the skirt was long enough to cover my newly-bare ass and cunt. Well, provided I wouldn’t be standing at the even slightest off-angle. Lord, I was so grateful to have been out of sight as my body was bent over at the waist, reaching out for the fabric softener.

Whilst I kept on loading the washer, I was also daydreaming about my newest fantasy.

Maybe I wouldn’t mind bearing Harry’s children…one wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I wouldn’t be all that against weaning off my birth control and letting the inevitable happen. You know…once he’d pump all his hot cum inside me…He could give it to me every morning before work…after work…before bed…in the middle of the night…hell, if he called me on a lunch break asking if I could take another load, I know I wouldn’t be able to resist. Standing commando in the laundry room got me wondering what Harry would do if I just started walking around the house with tiny little shorts and dresses and rompers with nothing on underneath (except for a bra, probably. I’d need the support). I was grateful for my large, gap-less thighs at that moment as I could sense that more moisture was threatening to escape down my wobbly legs.

I was trying my best not to peek out from the laundry room to witness the scene unfolding for myself, but I stood still with my back pressed against the washing machine, Anne’s words repeating themselves over and over again in my head. Whether any of that dreamy nonsense was true…that Harry had romantic feelings for me…it just wasn’t realistic. I had to remind myself that it was just a bunch of harmless teasing. That Harry’s mom was exaggerating the truth for a laugh. Making up elaborate future plans to get his goat. Yeah, that’s all it was. I could understand why she’d push Harry into throwing one of his lil’ man-tantrums—he’s awfully adorable when he’s stuttering and all red in the face, having the hardest time letting it go.

Growing curious, and not being able to hear them as clearly anymore, I moved myself out from the laundry room and closer towards them at the entryway. I still kept myself somewhat hidden behind one of the large wooden columns situated between the hallway and the front door, near the kitchen’s island counter. I was right when I assumed they’d already made it outside onto the front porch. Anne was so close to actually leaving, but I guess Anne preferred to do a Minnesota goodbye that afternoon. She proceeded to gush about Harry’s non-existent future with me, adding more details for wedding planning. Meanwhile, Harry was trying to keep her mouth shut in the most patient and polite manner he’d deemed possible. He’d already stayed silent through the comments about providing his mother with grandchildren, but it seemed as though she wasn’t going to end the discussion any time soon. It was time to take more drastic measures. He knew better than to be disrespectful towards his mother, and he never intended to blatantly disrespect her in any way. Except, by this point, Harry was reaching the limit of his patience. If it meant he could keep his personal business from reaching curious ears, he’d be willing to suffer the consequences.

“ALRIGHT! I GET IT! SHHHHH!” Harry was desperate to get her out the door as soon as he could at that moment. He’d never act that way towards his mother, otherwise. Anne, however, was not in the mood to tolerate his behavior. It didn’t matter that Harry was a full-grown, 30-year-old man. A mother will always be a mother. She gasped at the way her son tried to silence her and lightly smacked his shoulder. I saw it coming from a mile away, and I wasn’t even technically there.

“Don’t you shush your mother, Harry Edward.” She tsk-tsked. “But—!” Before he could even defend himself, Anne cut him off. “—Enough! Zip it.” The snap of her fingers made my mind create a hilarious image of Harry standing there at 6-feet tall, but presenting as a tiny toddler on the verge of a tantrum. I had to muffle my giggle with my hand.

Then, I decided to sneak a quick glance from behind the column. From where I was, I could see Harry leant up against our opened front door, his arms crossed over his abdomen, one set of long, ringed digits pulling at his lips. “Oi, and quit picking your lips! She’ll never wanna kiss you if you’re all chapped ‘n bleedin’, lovie!”

“Oh, f’fuck’s sake!” He whisper-yelled. I heard him smack his palms down at his sides like some crabby 3 year-old having just been told to behave himself. Anne cracked up at her son’s childish display of whiny defiance. “Alright, well, I’ll head out now. Gotta give you two some alone time.” Harry’s mom hummed suggestively. I rolled my lips into my mouth and fought not to laugh out loud.

Then, I had a feeling that, to Harry, I must’ve seemed to be ‘minding my own business’ for a bit too long in the laundry room, and that I should’ve actually been finished with the chore by that time. Except I’d just been eavesdropping like a nosey-Nellie for their entire conversation. Mildly flustered, I bolted back to the laundry room, opened the dryer, and began to hastily pull all the warm towels and linens out from the front of the machine. I was pretty sure my breakaway was ‘smooth’ enough that they had no idea I was snooping. Well, I knew for sure that Harry didn’t…or at least that’s what I thought.

It was a good thing towels aren’t able to make much of a ruckus when they’re dropped into a plastic basket. I made sure to fuss around—emptying the lint trap, reorganizing the coat-rack, gathering stray hangers, and clicking the ‘start’ button on the washing machine. I was doing all of that just to make up an internal alibi of sorts for having been putzing for so long. Just in case.

In the midst of my rush to complete miscellaneous tasks, some of the dust from the lint trap puffed out into the air in front of my face as I was dumping it out, and I had to hold a knuckle to my nose in an effort to keep an incoming sneeze at bay. Eventually, the tickle died down and I could carry on dicking around and acting busy.

“That’s a wonderful plan, Mum. Be seein’ you.” Harry sighed.

“I LOVE YOU, BOTH!” Anne called out with a slight amplification, intending to also inform me of her departure. “Love you, too!” I responded, almost instantaneously, also at the exact same time as Harry. My voice ricocheted against the walls and I knew I’d been much too quick to speak. My hand immediately slapped over my mouth once the words left my lips. There was no way I could’ve convinced Harry anymore that I’d been genuinely oblivious of their back-and-forth, innocently occupied by a pile of towels for the past 5-10 minutes. If he didn’t already know that I was listening in on them, Harry definitely realized it then. But everything just proceeded as usual—Harry grumbling back at his mother, returning her affections with a huff.

“Um, also, could you let Gemma know that if she keeps running her mouth, she can bloody forget about her early-access to the autumn catalog? Cheers.”

The door closed after one final guffaw from Anne, and Harry hastily turned the lock before eventually releasing a frustrated breath into his hands. I decided it was a good time to get going with my chores.

A basket of warm washcloths, towels, and sheets was held between my plump hip and my soft hands. As I exited the laundry room, the heat radiating off the freshly-tossed cloth caused a flush of pink to wash over my skin. It was a nice contrast to the cool breeze that had entered through our front door. I made eye-contact with Harry who then let his hands drop from his face once he met my eyes looking through his fingers. Warmth radiated off of him like a space heater, his cheeks were flushed red, and it seemed as though he was burning up—unaffected by the bite of the autumn air.

Maybe he’d also been imagining the two of us making babies. Or maybe he was just mortified by the way his mother assumed our relationship to be more intimate than it truly was. It was possible that the idea of marrying me made him nauseous—and not just in an innocent, nervous way, either. Rather, he was disgusted by imagining such intimate things involving me.

Regardless, I found him adorable whenever he blushed like that. To me, his rare displays of bashfulness brought him back down to earth, and they reminded me of the fact that we were similarly human. Similarly sensitive. Similarly deep in our thoughts. I don’t know why he made a point out of telling Anne that I wasn’t “his type.” Obviously, he hadn’t had much lasting success with whoever fits into his “type,” so maybe he could use someone new for a change...

As I approached him, I gave him a kind smile and greeted him with a simple question.

“So, what’s for dinner?” I beamed at him sweetly.

Right as I was a meter or two away from him, I suddenly needed to sneeze again. That incessant tickle that tortures the nostrils and sinuses before raging out of the body—it came back to sabotage me in that moment. My previous attempt at holding it in was deemed absolutely useless, as this time it felt like the sneeze doubled in magnitude purely out of spite. My body was fighting against me. The universe was laughing, finding my indignity entertaining. I guess that’s what I get for eavesdropping, huh?

I sniffled a few times—my last efforts to prevent the inevitable. But I had failed. I sucked in a deep breath before “achoo”-ing into my elbow. It was a loud, high-pitched sneeze. If I hadn’t known it came from me, I would’ve assumed the television was turned on in the living room, playing a children’s cartoon. At least I didn’t shoot snot onto my pretty, ruffled sleeves. Or worse, failing to cover my nose and mouth and sneezing right onto Harry. Gotta look for the silver linings, you know?

Unfortunately, my sneeze miraculously sent the blushing boy, who felt so close to my level, back up to his normal self—reuniting him with his high-horse, his pedestal, his soapbox, his big head, and everything else that keeps him standing at a mile taller than me.

“Oh, my goodness…God bless you…” Harry bellowed, his hand pressed to his heart in mock-aghast. Though he was taunting me, I oddly didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. He paused and his lips formed the cruelest smirk before he continued, “…my sweet Bunny.” My thighs subconsciously squeezed together at him using his favorite pet-name he has for me. What I’d never let him know was how it was my favorite, too.

“Humph, thanks.” I sniffled, trying my best to pretend unfazed by the special nickname. His eyes finally drifted down my figure, and it seemed he was parched due to the way he was drinking me in through his pupils. Everything around me, especially Harry, seemed massive compared to my shrinking frame. Perspectives were changing drastically, and I was no longer safe from Harry’s sharp scrutiny. I was aware I’d been the one to place myself under his spotlight—that I had the ability to stay in my lane and keep my nose clean—but I was too weak. I craved his attention. I was starving for it—for every inch of me to be thoroughly inspected and explored by that smug son of a bitch whilst he just stood there and acted like he owned me.

I wanted him, and I wanted him bad.

My bottom-energy may seem readily accessible to Harry, but that’s only because he’s made it so easy for me to tempt him into his dominance. I just knew he was internally obsessing over how he’d further push me into submission. That’s one of the many reasons why being a sub is so liberating. I’m the motivation. I’m the star of the show. I’m the cum-dump. And God, I’d been wanting for so long to be all of those things and more for Harry. Only Harry.

As I continued walking in his direction, a washcloth accidentally fell onto the floor by his feet. “Ope, sorry…” I squeaked. I stepped up to him so that we were directly in front of one another. I dramatically dropped to a bend at my knees—spreading them widely apart in a bouncy crouch in order to retrieve the rogue towel, giving Harry a nice view of my cleavage as I stretched my arm downwards over my hiked-up skirt, intentionally pressing my breasts together with my straightened elbow. If only he was at a lower angle, then he could’ve seen a different set of drooling lips desperate for his cock…

Christ, alive—I am so glad I wasn’t ballsy enough to accidentally say that out loud.

His eyes followed my movements, but he stood in that same spot unwaveringly, not stepping away even a little bit. My confidence strengthened due to his intense fixation upon me. The basket I was holding at my waist was slightly tipping at the new angle whilst I was reaching for the washcloth. My gaze flickered down to the basket, then back up at Harry. Ambitiously provocative ideas and scenarios flooded my brain. I thought about what would happen if I were to dump the basket onto the floor on purpose just to provoke him. Perhaps he’d tease me for my clumsiness and help me. Or maybe he’d get pissy instead and leave me to my mess. My body reacted out of curiosity and desire before my brain had the chance to refute the idea. Well, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right?

The towels had poured out onto the floor at Harry’s feet in a massive heap. Letting out a soft gasp, feigning shock, I set the basket aside and knelt all the way down to sit on my knees. I blinked my doll-like lashes back up at Harry, whose stare never left me, and I couldn’t distinguish what he was thinking, let alone feeling. His expression was set in a firm deadpan. He could’ve been on the verge of an outburst, but he also could’ve been plainly unimpressed by my foolish antics. The man was annoyingly skilled at masking when he wanted to be.

I swallowed thickly at the silence. On the inside, I was kicking and screaming with regret. Why did I think he was going to play with me?! Why, after hearing him explicitly tell his mother that he wasn’t interested in me, did I believe it would be a good idea to get on my knees in front of the man?! He obviously didn’t desire me! I was humiliated. Rather than scrambling back onto my feet like a fool, I thought it would be best if I were to just stay in character. Hoe hard or hoe home.

“Oh, no…I’m sorry, Harry.” I managed to peep out without my composure cracking. My voice was small and cute, but it still held enough power to it that I saw Harry’s jaw clench. It worked. I finally saw him narrow his eyes down at me with a tight jaw and flared nostrils. Sure, Sarah warned me that he had a hot temper, but she never told me how sexy he gets when his buttons are pressed. I’d witnessed it myself a few times before this, but my body perceived it differently as I was down on my knees.

My breathing became harsh, my cleavage rising and falling more noticeably as I anxiously awaited more of a reaction from the man before me. I realistically expected a snarky quip and an eyeroll. Inversely, his face gave the impression that he was frustrated and struggling to keep it together. I was confused as to why he hadn’t raised his voice at me yet. I expected him to be in more of a sensitive mood after his mother embarrassed him just a few minutes prior. I guess all that talk of marriage and babies didn’t have much of a negative effect on him after all. Harry stayed stoic, and his silent glare was locked onto me for a good minute. 60 seconds is dreadfully long when there’s nothing but steamy sexual-tension filling the room. My filthy mind had me imagine he was fighting his urge to throw me down prone onto the cold hardwood, lift my dress up over my ass, and spank me until I was begging him to fuck me. That was certainly my ideal outcome.

Logically speaking though, I could tell from the speckles of amber in his sage eyes that his emotions were in the red zone—he was angry. It wasn’t because of the mess. No.

Harry may be a himbo, but he’s not stupid. He knew what I was thinking, he knew why I was acting the way I was, and he definitely wasn’t going to let me get away with any of it.

He was hatching his own plan, and I was convinced a part of it was stretching this out for as long as he could physically restrain his primal instincts. It excited him to play this little game with me. How did I know? Because the bulge in his pants was almost at my exact eye-level, and I had no shame in looking right at it.

Why wouldn’t I? That was my doing. I deserved to observe my hard work from my delicate little point-of-view.

Feeling a bit more daring after successfully bothering Harry with my suggestive positioning on the floor beneath him, I pouted my bottom lip and grabbed onto the bottom hem of my skirt, dragging it up and down my juicy thighs tauntingly yet sheepishly. The goal was to tease him and guilt him at the same time as if to tip-toe around being blatantly naughty. The breathy moan I’d added on top of it all definitely did him in because I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped at the sound.

My gaze fell back down to the tightness in the front of his pants for just a second or so, and I couldn’t help the giggles that escaped me. Once the reality of the situation finally set in, I was unable to hide my true intentions.

There I was—on my knees, looking up at him, my tits pushed out, eyes rounded and glossed over, my angelic face adorned with a devil-woman’s lip-biting grin, and the rate at which I was collecting each piece of laundry was just too agonizingly slow to be a legitimate attempt at the task.

You know what…he could’ve pulled his cock out and fucked my throat right then and there. He could’ve pushed me down onto my back and flipped my skirt up before shoving himself deep inside my needy little cunt. He could’ve demanded me to sit pretty while he jerked off onto my sweet little face. He could have held me down and made me scream so loud that Anne would’ve heard me from her car, which was probably already 10 blocks away and counting at that point.

He had the ability to do whatever he wanted to me; I was physically and mentally incapable of resisting him. And yet, there I sat, my natural essence dripping down the backs of my thighs as Harry had me wrapped around his finger—and he didn’t do a single fucking thing to me.

And so I huffed, and I repeated what I’d asked him previously before I sneezed, and before he said the one word that tipped me into my subspace.

“Humph…What are we having for dinner?” I asked softly, my voice sultry, yet impatient, and I had my arms crossed over my chest to emphasize my defiance towards him.

Harry took a deep breath and reached out to me. He caressed the side of my face and jaw with his gentle hand. I leaned into his touch as I awaited his answer. I was literally in the palm of his hand—I mean, if he was holding bread crumbs, I’d be licking it all up without a second thought. I would take anything and everything from him. What had this asshole done to me?

I felt his thumb slide up from my chin to fondle my bottom lip. It grazed from side to side for a while before he pulled downwards, tugging my lip down and releasing it. The gesture caused me to keep my lips separated for him. Harry took advantage of the small opening by pushing the same digit through to make contact with my slick tongue, and I instinctually gaped my mouth wider to grant him more access to my drooling entrance. He tapped the pad of his thumb onto my tongue a few times and I moaned at the taste of him—at simply the salt of his skin. My lips wrapped around his thumb and I gently suckled. I can’t even imagine how much of a desperate slut I made myself look like as I slowly nursed on his thumb and hummed against its warm tip with my eyes lazily rolling back.

He just observed me in my catatonic bimbo state. He stood there and allowed me to put on that pathetic display on the floor at his feet for a few moments longer. I was sure he’d got just as much pleasure out of it as I did, as the sensual act taking place before him had forced a moan out of his throat.

He slowly pulled out of my drooling mouth and rubbed the wetness across my pink lips.

“D-Did you hear me?” I whispered breathlessly against Harry’s slippery thumb, my lashes fluttering up at him. “Yes, love. Of course I heard you...” He sighed. Then, he bent down to a crouch, lowering himself down to my height so he could speak directly to me. “...But…I don’t think it really matters what we have, hm…?” My brows furrowed in confusion which made him smile. Then he continued, “...You’ll take whatever I choose to give you, won’t you, Bun’...?”

His fingers raked through my hair lovingly as he said it. His voice was so soft yet the words so deafening at the same time. They pounded against my eardrums and almost knocked me on my ass when they left his lips.

I just nodded in reply, my eyes and my mouth glistening as rays of the afternoon glow beamed in from the front window and illuminated my irises. Harry’s mouth twitched as if he was fighting a smile. He never once took his eyes off of me. I had all of his attention, and it was addicting.

“...Mmh, sweet girl…never you doubt these ears of mine, either…I can assure you, I hear everything…”

I couldn’t stop the helpless whimper that came out of me. It was like he was speaking to me through code—telling me much more than what his words were able to reveal.

The sun was setting beyond the glass at our home’s entrance. The air around us was almost bitterly chilly. I typically preferred the cold, but it seemed to be much more noticeable at the time. Goosebumps covered my arms, my neck, and my bare knees. I was feeling exposed and naked regardless of my dainty dress providing modesty.

But I could still feel Harry’s hot breath warming the cooled tip of my nose. His closeness cloaked my bare shoulders with security. Even though the wooden floor was bruising me, I felt entirely protected by Harry’s touch. By his presence. By his expressive adoration of me. My heart pulsed so hard against my chest, yet Harry seemed so relaxed. So calm. So strong. I needed him. I could not continue this ridiculous charade of ignoring my natural instincts just so that I can protect my feelings from potential social betrayal. His eyes bore into mine so deeply, so intensely. It was like they held me there, silently commanding me to keep being good for him. I’ve always been such a good girl for him. His best girl.

Whatever he wanted, I knew at that very second that I’d obey each demand with a goddamn smile on my face. It didn’t matter what he desired to give me. Whatever it was, I would take it, no questions asked. I lived off of his affections, addicted to the attention he provided. Was he as intoxicated by this as I was? Was he holding back? Did he need me, too?

Before I could even stutter out a response, Harry rose back up to his feet—releasing me from his trance and his touch by curling a lock of my hair through his fingers and setting it bouncing free.

“...I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you, a’right?” He assured me kindly.

I confirmed my understanding with a subtle nod. My lips rubbed together and I swallowed the abundance of moisture that had threatened to drip down the sides of my mouth.

“Th-thank you.” I just about squeaked out.

With that, he smiled sweetly and backed away into the kitchen.

The next thing I knew, I was still sitting alone near the entryway, my fingers fiddling with the tag of one of the bedsheets from the pile. I was worried I’d made a puddle below me with my arousal, but my legs had been clenched too tightly for any of it to escape past my thighs. My knees were suddenly aching from the stiff support of the hardwood, and the clean linens—of which had been forgotten about since before I’d even taken them out of the dryer—were all cool and wrinkled. I shoved them all back into the basket as quickly as I could and hid in the laundry room until he called out to me that the food was ready.

Harry was right. I took whatever it was he made for us that night without a second thought. If he hadn’t already served me a plate, I probably would’ve eaten out of his bare hands. My brain had completely shut down for the rest of the evening. I remember I had to take care of the ache between my legs right after our meal, it was so unbearable.

That reminds me—didn’t he mention something about his ears?

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I typically get home from work before Harry does, and so my current state of rest and relaxation—coincidentally adjacent to the book I’m holding: My Year of Rest and Relaxation—is an occurrence Harry’s used to coming home to by now. I mean, not that he’s coming home to me. He’s just…coming home, and I also happen to be living here. Speaking of which, I’m situated in my bedroom. I've already slipped into my night clothes—thin, loose pajama pants and an oversized crop tee—laying my back against the cushioned headboard of my bed.

Suddenly, my ears perk up. The hum and vibration of the garage door opening and closing pulls my attention away from the novel I’d been engrossed in for the past hour towards my empty door frame. Less than a minute later, a door slams, physically startling me, and my posture straightens as if I’m expecting a scolding from an authority figure. I have no reason to react this way, really. It’s not like this is anything out of the ordinary.

Harry’s home.

That’s all. But judging by the door slams, I should prepare myself for the likelihood that Harry’s had a bad day (again). He’s been so overworked lately, but he doesn’t like to talk out his stressors in much detail or duration because it just riles him up more. More accurately, in his own words:

“I appreciate that you care, Bun’. I do…but it’s just too complicated…’s too much to get into right now. Think I’m just gon’ meditate, or whateva’.”

His therapist definitely had more to advise him beyond meditation, but I think that Harry just cherry-picked whatever was closest to what he’s accustomed to…and so he thinks that his isolation method is perfectly justified (as long as he calls it meditation). He’d never admit to that, though; and I’d never call him out on it either. I know better than to poke an angry bear.

Harry believes he can continue living and avoiding the inevitable, but I have a good feeling that he’ll take me up on my offer sometime soon. I just want to help him relax. Help him release some of that built-up tension. However, he prefers to hide himself away whilst simmering in a fuming silence until his primal instincts are numbed away.

I wished that I could be some sort of Black Widow to his Hulk—although the incredible sulk would be more like it…but he can’t stand being around anyone when he’s angry, not even me—nay—especially not me.

I can’t help but to feel somewhat unworthy. As if Harry isn’t comfortable enough with me to unpack all of his emotional baggage. Or maybe it’s not that I feel unworthy, per say, but rather that I’m sick and tired of waiting for him to make a fucking move on me already. I’ve been patient for so long. The least he can do is use me as his stress relief…in whatever way he needs to. Honestly, I’m not picky anymore. I’m dying for anything he can give me at this point.

We've had our arguments as I’ve mentioned. He'll seclude himself in his bedroom for an hour and eventually knock on my door once he’s cooled down to apologize. The vulnerability and innocence he shows me is quite sweet. I appreciate that side of him. And I understand that the man needs his space. It makes sense to me because whenever I’m upset, I’d prefer to be alone as well. So each time Harry taps his rings all melodically against my door after one of his little fits, I always acknowledge him warmly by opening the door and pulling him in for a hug. Emotional compatibility is one of our greatest strengths as…friends. I think he appreciates me in that way, too.

It’s become a thing with us now—ever since the day that I cried. I’ve never shared a closeness like this with another person until I moved in with Harry. We have this mutual understanding that home is a feeling, not a place. And honestly, I’ve internally accepted the fact that it wouldn’t have mattered where we would’ve lived—as long as I was with Harry, I’d be at home.

To me, Harry’s home.

One time, we brought this topic up…Harry likes to refer to it as the ‘kindness law’ or something like that. Harry began with, “Well, I jus’ wanna treat you the way I wanna be treated—w’kindness.” He sighed, plopping onto his back on his bed and resting his hands behind his head, looking at me. I stood at the foot of his bed with my hands on my hips. He not-so-subtly raked his eyes over my figure and smirked to himself.

“So, you’re gonna be nice to me now that I’m doing your laundry, Styles?”

He chuckled and scooted up the bed until he could rest his back against his headboard. “Mmm, tha’s right. I do have you doin’ my wash. Y’so good to me, Bunny...” I rolled my eyes and turned to walk out, but Harry quickly grabbed my hand in protest. “…Oy, where y’goin’?” I looked back at him over my shoulder and giggled. “What, Harry.” I asked with a bored voice, but a cheeky smile on my face to counteract it. “Wasn’t finisshhhhed-uh!”

I was typically the whiner, so I was immediately cringing at the sound of Harry’s attempt at my art. He playfully tugged on my arm until I clumsily toppled over face-down onto his bed, and he chose my giggle fit as the perfect time to continue his speech about…whatever it was he was talking about.

“Alright, now that the class is all here…let me continue…” He boasted confidently. I slowly calmed down and propped myself up onto my elbows next to his lap, my loose curls messed and my oversized, off-shoulder sweater disheveled enough that he now had an excellent view of what was beneath my sweater: my ample breasts and the plunging push-up bra holding them up.

I smiled and nodded my head, signaling for him to carry on. He cleared his throat and ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

“So…” He hesitated, noticeably struggling to remember what he was saying previously. “Kindness?” I reminded him. “Yes, yes…kindness. Uh…well, uh…Home is where, um, where love’s made, or whateva’, yeah?”

I practically squealed and I added, “Ooh, yeah! Home is where we make all the love, huh, Harry?” Harry just blushed and shook his head. He was trying desperately not to stare at my chest as my lower half sunk down onto the floor and I held my hands and breasts against the edge of his bed whilst I wheezed with laughter. He spent the following 10 minutes with a pillow over his lap and he eventually asked me to leave because he was tired…

The only reason this had been remotely funny beyond our shared childish humor was because neither of us had anything going on in that department for ages. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever discussed each other’s sex lives. But what I know for certain is that both of us have been extremely horny. It’s been dreadful. According to Mitch, Harry hasn’t had sex in at least a solid year and he can’t even remember who he last slept with.

Apparently, there’s just this vivid memory Harry has of not being able to stay hard, the other person complaining, and then everything suddenly stopped. Harry quickly grabbed all his clothes and just rushed straight out the door to drive back home to me. The only reason I can attest to this rumor of Mitch’s is that I remember when he came home that night. He reeked of cheap, floral body spray, his eyes were puffy as if he’d been sobbing the whole car ride home, and he burst through the door calling out for me. He apologized if he had woken me up, as it was a bit past midnight. However, I was still up watching reruns of The Nanny and nursing on a pint of ice cream when he came home, so I just laughed at him. He told me to pause the show and hurried to his bedroom to change his clothes. I silently thanked God he did because the second-hand perfume stench was stale and it made me a little nauseous. His natural scent is much more pleasant than whatever that girl was wearing. Not to mention a part of me died inside at the thought of Harry being close enough to another girl for that long to come home smelling so strongly of her.

Once he’d switched into new clothes—a fitted t-shirt and flannel pajama pants—he’d climbed up onto my bed and eventually squirmed his way into laying his head atop my thighs. My hand brushed through his soft curls that had loosened into waves by that time. I think he fell asleep in my lap after one episode. It felt so natural in the moment that I, myself, started to doze off. And so I turned the tv off and pulled the man’s lean body down onto the pillows so I could be the big spoon and I held him. We fell asleep like that.

The next morning, I woke up and he’d already left my bed. It hurt me to see he was gone. But I had no reason to take it personally. He’d just had a rough night and he needed some love. I was happy to have been the one to give it to him—even if it was just some innocent, virtually-platonic cuddling, and nothing more. A part of me still ached a little bit whenever I thought back to how Harry chose to release himself from my arms and abandon the cozy nest we’d unintentionally made together. Maybe that was just the lonely part of me feeling that way. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a while since I’d been sexually intimate with someone as well. I’ve never brought anyone back to the house (neither has he), but Harry always notices when I get dressed up to go out and then come home late…and he knows I was with someone else because—similar to the way his scent had been overcome by a putrid cloak of trashy body spritz—my signature scent would also be significantly altered. It causes a stir in Harry. He knows how childish it is to huff and puff to himself in his bedroom as he waits for my arrival. He knows he shouldn’t be upset when the two of us aren’t romantically involved. And he knows I‘ll always come trudging my way back home…back to my own bedroom where I end up finishing the job for myself. Regardless of his understanding of the situation, Harry refuses to act upon it. Refuses to take initiative. And I have no fucking idea why.

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Part 3

Writer's Notes: Hi, everyone! Ok so there will be at least 2 more parts to this baby. Again, I'm sorry I suck at updating regularly. I have a job and stuff lol. Also I'm a compulsive perfectionist when it comes to my writing, and I'll re-read my work and edit it until it's a million pages long...but I hope y'all like what I post and that you wanna read more! Please like, reblog, follow, send me messages/requests/submissions/anons, and let me know if you wanna be on my taglist! And I appreciate any and all feedback you can give me. Truly. Thank you for reading. :) xoxo - Regan <3

@victoria-styles @daphnesutton @pishhhh20989

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