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imaginesandbandfiction · 1 year

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Story of Our Life

A Harry Styles Imagine

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is something a little different that was inspired by a dream I had where I was singing Story of My Life with 1D in a car... Also, I made some cover art on procreate plz don't judge my mediocre art skills lmao. Hope you like it!!!!!

Masterlist

Excerpts from

STORY OF OUR LIFE

Y/N Styles

To Louis, the best chauffeur I’ve ever had.

To Liam, who keeps us all sane. Steady on, mate.

To Zayn, who always offers a shoulder to cry on (and a cigarette).

To Niall, the king of late-night chats (and snacks).

To Harry, for everything, forever.

Introduction by Harry Styles

Before she was my wife, Y/N Styles was Y/N Y/L/N. We met in 2011, six months before we would be setting out on the Up All Night tour. Even though I had been on TV, in recording studios, and performed live on the X Factor Live Tour 2011, I was still just a shy kid from Holmes Chapel who couldn’t quite believe his luck. I think I spent that whole year in a state of disbelief, afraid that at any moment, someone would tell me that it was all a joke and I wasn’t very good at singing, actually. Every time I took a shower, I half-expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out at me from behind the shower curtain. Y/N, on the other hand, walked into the conference room at Columbia Records, sat down at the head of the table, folded her arms across her chest, and asked us each, individually, if we had read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and, if so, how did we feel about it? Immediately, I knew that this girl was going to be someone special.

Her dad, Greg Y/L/N, was going to be our tour manager. When it was time for the label to put a team together, he was at the top of the list: a goofy dad with a daughter around our age who had toured with some of the biggest musicians of the 90s. He was the perfect choice for a bunch of kids who didn’t really know what they were doing: industry experience to make sure the day-to-day operations went smoothly, and the paternal instinct to protect us as best he could (we called him Papa Bear, which he pretended to hate, but we all knew he secretly loved it).

We grew up together, spent months on end traveling the world, learning algebra on private planes and sneaking out of hotel rooms to wander foreign cities in the middle of the night. Fast forward to today. While Y/N was pregnant with Willa, our second child, she spent the whole third trimester on bed rest. Eventually, she got so bored that she scrolled all the way back on iCloud. Our older daughter, Hazel, was fascinated by the pictures of me and the band, and Y/N spent hours recounting our days on tour. I told her that she should write a book, but she refused at first. We have enough money, she said. People will think I’m making a cash grab. I told her that was bollocks, but if she really felt that way, she could donate all the profits to charity. It’s perfect, really, I said. The 20-year anniversary of One Direction is coming up, and it would be cool to give the fans a peek behind the scenes. Really, there’s no one better than you, darling, because you know the real us. She agreed, but only if all five of us were okay with it, and if all of the proceeds could go to The Trevor Project. So really, it’s actually me you should be thanking for convincing her to do this in the first place.

Anyways, here it is. The Story of Our Life: Growing Up With the World’s Biggest Boy Band, written by my amazing wife, Y/N Styles.

Chapter 5

Out of all the One Direction boys, Louis was the first one to get his driver's license in America. He spent the few months leading up to the Where We Are tour with his girlfriend in California, and wanted to buy a fancy car to drive her around in. Hence, the license. So, when the tour made its way to North America, he somehow managed to convince my dad and the security team to let him drive us from the hotel to the venue a few times. Of course, the windows were tinted (and we were not allowed to open them), we were surrounded by a security detail, and there was always a bodyguard in the backseat, but it didn’t matter.

On the night of the second show in Detroit, we all piled into a tricked-out Toyota Sienna, the best minivan on the market in 2011. Louis and Liam sat up front, I was squished between Harry and Niall in the middle, and Zayn and the bodyguard sat in the way back. We had the radio blasting and were singing along to some absolute bangers, like Party Rock Anthem and Super Bass, when the first few notes of Story of My Life started playing. Louis groaned and reached over to change the station, but I leaned forwards and slapped his hand out of the way before he could, turning the volume up a few notches.

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain,” I sang along with Harry’s voice, turning to look at him with a mischievous smirk. He was mouthing along but bit his lip as soon as I caught him. Liam piped up with his part and I shook my head, laughing.

“Do you guys seriously only ever sing your parts?” I asked. Next to me, I felt Niall shrug.

“Feels wrong to sing someone else’s, even off stage,” he said, before chiming in on the background vocals as Zayn jumped in on his part.

“Well, you should do it anyway, just for fun.” Liam turns around and lifts his eyebrows in a silent challenge. Harry and Niall jumped in, and soon we were all belting out the words to every part.

When the final chorus came up, I turned to rest my head on Harry’s shoulder, singing his part back to him. He was usually the shameless one, but his cheeks were tinted pink and he stopped singing for a few seconds. His green eyes were wide, but they never once left my own. I felt his chest rise and fall in a deep, steadying breath before he began singing again.

From that moment on, Story of My Life was our song. Every time they performed it, he turned towards the side of the stage during the last chorus, where I sang along. On the rare occasions that I sat in the audience, his eyes always managed to find mine. We sang lines to each other all the time. Our favorite thing to do, much to everyone else’s dismay, was yell Zayn’s pre-chorus to each other from across a room.

“And I’ll be gone, gone, tonight,” one of us would start.

“The ground beneath my feet is open wide,” the other would respond.

“The way that I’ve been holding on too tight,” the first person would say, before we both shouted, “With nothing in betweeeeeeeen!” That line was always the loudest, and we always dragged out the last syllable until we couldn’t breathe anymore.

Chapter 9

When Harry’s solo album dropped, I was in class, taking my Algebra 101 final. My test-taking nerves were multiplied tenfold by the fact that I knew people were listening to it right now, and I wasn’t. We had kept in touch after One Direction broke up, mostly over text but occasionally, when he was in LA, he came to my house to have dinner with me and my Grandma (and Dad, if he was home).

I listened to it all the way through on the drive back home to Pasadena after I finished my exam, and as soon as I pulled into the driveway, I texted him.

I signed up for a presale code, and refreshed my laptop continuously for five straight minutes in order to get tickets for his LA show. Harry was furious with me. When I texted him that I was officially coming to the show, he called me in the middle of a meeting with his tour team to yell at me. Something along the lines of, “I put you on the VIP list, you dumbass! And invites to the afterparty were just sent out yesterday!”

To be fair, I just wanted to support my friend, and to this day I still feel uncomfortable asking for free tickets from anyone when I have the means to pay for them. I think it’s all the guilt from five years of attending One Direction concerts for free. But anyways, that next fall, I found myself backstage at the Greek Theater with a VIP badge around my neck, feeling intense deja vu as security led me to Harry’s dressing room.

“Y/N!” He yelled as soon as the door opened. I had no time to react; I was nearly knocked over by the force of his hug. His mom and sister were there, too, and I was passed around for more hugs before settling next to Harry on the couch.

“So, how’s it going? How’s school?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. That’s one of the things I love most about Harry; no matter how long it’s been since he’s seen someone, he always picks back up like no time has passed. He is scary good at keeping up with what everyone else is doing, even when his own life

“Kicking my ass already and it’s only been three weeks,” I said with a chuckle. “But better than last year, that’s for sure!” Harry’s brows furrowed and he waited expectantly. “Did I not tell you that my original roommate was psycho?”

“No, I don’t think that’s come up before.” I pulled up a photo on my phone and handed it over to him without a word, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes wider than they were in that moment.

“Holy shit,” she said.

“I wanna see!” Gemma whined, leaning across the coffee table to snatch the phone from him. “Oh my god, Mum, look!” She handed the phone to Anne, who frowned down at it.

“This was your dorm?”

“For all of three days, yes,” you answered. “I’m not sure what creeped me out more, the life-sized cardboard cutout of Harry watching my every move, or the fact that she threatened to blackmail me if I didn’t introduce her to you.” Harry was doubled over with laughter with tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

“What are the chances of you, of all people, rooming with a crazy One Direction fan in college?” he asked, struggling to breathe enough to support his vocal chords.

“The school investigated and they found an invoice for a private investigator on her computer in a folder with a bunch of my personal information and photos of me that looked like they were taken from behind bushes and trash cans. Apparently, she gave him that paparazzi photo from the week we were in London during On the Road Again and he was able to track me down.”

“He was able to figure out your identity from that photo?” I nodded, and Harry looked impressed, yet mildly disturbed. “She must’ve paid a fortune.” The photo in question features all five members of One Direction on their way into the O2 arena, and in the background, you can see the blurry back of my head as I slipped into the back door ahead of them.

When it was time for Harry to get ready, a security guard led Anne, Gemma, and I to the VIP section and we settled in for the show. He killed it on stage, and it was great to see him back in his element, joking with the fans between songs and waving to everyone he made eye contact with. He performed What Makes You Beautiful and the cheers were so loud, even in the small-theater setting, that I knew I would probably have trouble hearing tomorrow.

“Alright, now normally I’d go straight into Kiwi, but there’s someone special in the audience today and this next song means a lot to the both of us, and she was the one who told me to sing all of the parts even though it feels weird, I hope you’ll forgive me for making you wait a few more minutes,” he said with a smirk, knowing that no one was going to complain about an extra song. My smile widened and Anne wrapped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder, to acknowledge how special this moment was about to be. Just like old times, Harry looked straight at me as the intro music started to play.

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain,” he began, and immediately tears started welling up behind my eyes. I joined in, leaning my head on Anne’s shoulder for support. When he got to the second pre-chorus, he yelled out “And I’ll be gone, gone, tonight!” and held out his mic for the audience to sing the next line, but I caught an almost-imperceptible wink as he smiled up at me and I knew that he could care less if anyone else chimed in.

“The fire beneath my feet is burning bright,” Anne, Gemma, and I screamed, hoping that we were loud enough for him to pick our voices out of the crowd.

He sang the next line, and so did the audience, but I kept my mouth shut and joined in on the last line. He dragged out “between” so long that he had to jump back in on “I take her home.” I was the only one still singing along with him at that point, and the audience let out confused laughter, looking back and forth trying to figure out why he wasn’t moving on yet.

Chapter 11

We’ve never talked about how we got together, and once the gossip magazines found out that I was the daughter of One Direction’s former tour manager, they just filled in the blanks themselves. I try not to read those things, but I do remember seeing a few headlines like “CHILDHOOD SWEETHEARTS RECONNECTED!” over that grainy paparazzi photo of us in Holmes Chapel before the Manchester Love on Tour stops. Others spun the fact that I was doing PR on the tour into a fake “HARRY STYLES KISSES EMPLOYEE” scandal, and it just spiraled out of control from there. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When the pandemic hit, I was at home in Pasadena with my dad and grandma. We had no other “bubble” because my grandma was immunocompromised. Needless to say, I got very bored very quickly. It got to the point that I would cycle through the contacts on my phone, Facetiming everyone in alphabetical order by last name until someone picked up. Harry was one of the only people who answered every single time. We ended up calling each other almost every day, sometimes to chat, or just to have someone there, in the background, while we went about our days. He was with his band, working on what would eventually become Harry’s House, and I spent many days listening to them work through different lyric and melody combinations while curled up in my childhood bedroom with my work laptop. He even interrupted a Zoom meeting I was in, once, excited to play part of “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” for me.

I was working remotely for a PR firm, after graduating college in 2020, my options were limited and, in the end, the place only gave me an offer because they worked with Columbia Records and knew my dad. I mostly wrote copy about movies to be put on Wikipedia or IMDB, which was super boring, so Harry seriously saved my life by letting me listen in on his studio sessions, or to the audio of whatever show he was watching and his commentary.

By the time he was able to start prepping for Love on Tour, I was working at the firm’s office building on Sunset, just about ready to quit my job and sell foot pics online.

“Come on tour with me,” he said, (seemingly) impulsively, during one of our Facetime sessions in which he patiently listened to me complain about how Mark from accounting wouldn’t stop coming over to my desk to “chat” every hour on the hour.

“What?” I answered, laughing a little.

“Seriously, Y/N, it’ll be just like old times! We can race on the dolleys they use to bring the speakers in, and I’ll even let you win this time.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s not really winning, then, is it?”

“Okay, fine, I won’t let you win. But I am serious, Y/N. You should join me on tour.”

“What am I supposed to do, just follow you around the world like some sad, desperate groupie?”

“I mean, you are a bit sad and desperate.” I flipped him off, to which he responded by cackling with laughter.

“I’m sad because my job sucks, and desperate to get away from Mark, not to get into your pants.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be my mistress, you’d be doing PR for the tour, obviously.” Harry’s cheeks flushed with the slightest hint of pink,

“Well, maybe you should have led with that!” I started laughing, too, and it took a while for either of us to be able to speak again.

“Okay, sorry, I’ll start over.” He took a deep breath to calm his giggles, but still couldn’t manage to keep a straight face. “Y/N Y/L/N, I would like to formally request that you join me as my PR Manager for Love on Tour. My publicist is about to give birth, like, any day now so she obviously can’t go gallivanting around the world. Really, you’d be doing me a favor, and who better than someone who already has my dressing room requests memorized since half of them are actually yours.”

“You still have the same dressing room requests?” I gave him a skeptical look.

“Old habits die hard.” He shrugged. “And even though I don’t drink Diet Coke, having it in the fridge makes it feel like you’re there with me.” The pink was now red and I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling too wide.

“Alright, Mr. Styles, you have a deal.”

Like he said, old habits die hard, so even though we were now adults and my dad wasn’t on tour with us, we still fell into our old routines. Back in the day, I was never allowed to be alone in a room with one of the boys, but we had our ways around it. Usually by walking through the hallways of the floor of the hotel everyone was staying on, checking in with the guards stationed at either side on every loop. So while we could have hung out in our rooms, more often than not, we walked through the hotel hallways in circles just like we used to.

The night before the Pittsburgh show, Harry showed up at my door at 10pm with a bag of sour gummy worms.

“It’s not Haribo, but it’s close enough,” he said with a shrug, flashing me his trademark “Harry Styles” grin. And just like that, we were off to wear a hole in the carpet, or so I thought. We hadn’t even made it through one full loop before he pulled me through a random door marked “Employees Only” and dragged me up three flights of stairs.

“Are you taking me somewhere private so you can murder me?” I asked as we trudged through the dirty stairwell.

“Something like that,” he answered. But when we reached the top, he opened another door and we were on the roof.

The view was gorgeous, the moon was bright and cast a cool glow on the Pittsburgh skyline. I turned to Harry with wide eyes.

“Scoped it out earlier,” he said with a sheepish smile on his lips. “Just thought we could use a change of scenery.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand in thanks. “As much as I love hotel hallways, this is better.”

We sat on the edge of the roof, dangling our legs over the top of the building next door, and passed the bag of gummy worms back and forth as we talked. We were out there for so long that my eyelids started to get heavy and our conversation slowed down. I leaned my head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around me, huddling closer for warmth (or so I thought).

“Wanna listen to some music?” He asked. I nodded and he pulled his Airpods out, sticking one in my ear and the other in his own.

Story of My Life started playing and my heart rate sped up, pulsing adrenaline through my body. Suddenly, I was wide awake and hyper aware of every place our bodies were touching (thighs, hips, my shoulder to his chest, his shoulder to my head, his arm on my bicep).

I lifted my head up and turned to look at him.

“Do you ever get sick of this song?” I asked. My voice was quiet because I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to know the answer.

“No,” he replied. His voice was low and raspy and it made my stomach flutter. I felt myself leaning in, unconsciously, as he continued. “It reminds me of you, and I could never get sick of you.”

He brought his free hand up to my face and rubbed his thumb in soft circles on my cheekbone, and his eyes flickered down to my lips. The distance between us closed as if we were replaying something that had already happened in slow motion. Eventually, I could just barely feel the soft brush of his lips against mine. My mouth fell open just a bit in anticipation of what was to come, but Harry paused.

“It’s you, Y/N,” he whispered.”It’s always been you.”

Feel free to cross my name out and write in your own, I won’t be mad. I get it; what really happened was better than any self-insert fanfiction.

Chapter 17

I’m going to keep most of the details of our wedding private, but I will tell you about our first dance, because it ties into a lot of the other stories that I’ve written about. If you haven’t noticed by now, Story of My Life is sort of the underlying theme of this book, and that’s because it’s been the underlying theme of my life, the soundtrack to my relationship with Harry.

After dinner, and some absolutely mental toasts, Harry and I were eager to get the party started. Even though he’s not the best dancer, I have never met anyone who dances with as much joy as Harry does, and I love getting pulled into his wild, spontaneous routines. But our first dance was different. The fairy lights surrounding the garden were twinkling in the moonlight, and Niall, Liam, Louis, and Zayn stood on the sidelines to sing, you guessed it, Story of My Life. We swayed in circles, gently, without trying to put on a show or impress anyone else. It was a beautiful, full circle moment, and the boys even dragged out “between” just a little bit to tease us.

Life is funny. One minute, you’re sixteen and screaming “The fire beneath my feet is burning bright,” at your best friend and you think that this is it, you will be touring the world with your friends forever, and the next you’re twenty-seven and in a wedding dress, leaving mascara stains on the shoulder of his suit. But I wouldn’t change a thing, because I think it was written in the walls all along.

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somebucky · 1 year

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A Niall Horan Imagine for @iamalexisrose

Your POV

For fun you and Niall decided to do the tiktok trend of exchanging gifts with your partner where 1. Is your partners favorite beverage, 2. Is your partners favorite candy/snack, 3. Is something in your partners favorite color, 4. Is a gift card to somewhere your partner likes to go, and 5. Is something you and your partner can do together.

You grinned staring at Niall from across the table. You and Niall decided to do the gift exchange tiktok trend with other friends and family over. Some were also going to do the trend. You loved it. This was so fun.

"Okay favorite beverage." Your friend Shai said after Louis started recording as Shai took notes to tally points. You both pulled out a bottle of Coca-Cola and laughed. "Same drink. Thats bonus points!" Niall grinned. Everyone laughed

"Candy or snack." A family member said to get the game moving. You pulled out a several bars of galaxy chocolates for Niall from your bag. Niall took out several twix candy bars for you from his bag. You both laughed that you had bought so many candy bars for each other. "Bonus points for bulk buying."

"Now its something in your partners favorite color." Liam said. At the same time you and Niall both took out hoodies. Your hoodie for Niall was green. And his hoodie for you was your favorite color. "Bonus points for both of us picking hoodies."

"Gift cards." Your Grandma said. You slid out one for Nandos for Niall and he slid out one for Aldis. You smiled. "Im getting myself flowers." You laughed. He chuckled at that.

"Something you can do together." Niall's Dad said. "You go first, princess." Niall encouraged. You took out a season pass to an indoor waterpark and theme park. "See all the fun. We can ride rollercoasters and swim!" You smile proudly. "That will be great fun, princess."

He smirks and takes out a small black velvet box from his bag. He steps closer to you and opens the box, revealing a ring. "Mine lasts a bit longer than a season pass." He smiled. "Oh my god. Are you serious?" Your jaw dropped as you looked between the ring and Niall. "Im serious. Will ya?" Niall asked. "Yes! Oh my god yes!" You hugged Niall.

**Thanks for requesting!!! Hope you liked it!!!**

#niall horan #niall horan imagine #niall horan oneshot #one direction #one direction oneshot

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cupid-styles · 1 month

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daisy 2 (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

she's alive and I hope you like it 🩷 I think there will be a short epilogue wrapping everything up after this :)

part one

word count: 7.9k

content warnings: a bit of angst (nothing too crazy), smut (f receiving oral, penetration, size kink/belly bulge, dirty talk, a tiny bit of cum play), and — as stated in the first part — massive, big fat warning for an inappropriate power imbalance.

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N had tried to talk herself out of it. Several times, actually. For hours.

But at a certain point, she realized all she was doing was driving herself insane with a nonstop, hamster wheel of thinking. She couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Professor Styles — or Harry, rather, as he’d said earlier — over and over, nitpicking at every tiny detail. She wished she had someone to go to — an unbiased, neutral third party who wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, but she doubted that even if she did have that, they’d think her analysis of their discussion would be appropriate.

Because she had a huge, obvious, stupid crush on her professor.

Well, he wasn’t technically her professor. She was just the professor she was… assisting, and that technicality is the only thing that gave her enough courage to bundle up beneath layers of thermal wear and her forest green puffer jacket, hiking through the chilly winter evening to see if, by some miracle, Harry was still in his office.

On the way there, she spoke to herself sternly. She needed to have a goal in mind — an intention, really, of what exactly she was going there for. It wasn’t a normal thing to go see a professor in his office on a Monday at 6:40 pm.

It wasn’t normal to think about his grumpy face and even crankier demeanor; the way his lips pursed thoughtfully around wordy responses about a student’s answer to an essay question, or his long, calloused fingers that wrapped around the same gel ink pens he always used for grading.

It wasn’t normal for her to fall asleep imagining herself pressing her own plush lips to the same ones that nearly begged for an apology just a few hours ago.

And it certainly wasn’t normal for her professor to admit that he’d spent the weekend thinking of her, either.

The English building stays unlocked until around 9 pm on weekdays, just in case professors end up hauling their grading into late nights or students have group projects. She hurries through the wooden doors as soon as she arrives, hurriedly yanking her mittens off and stuffing them in her coat pockets as she walks the familiar journey down to Harry’s office. She’s unsurprised that most of the offices and classrooms have already gone dim, but the closer she gets to Harry’s, the sooner she realizes that his is the exception. With the bleak, yellowed light from the lamp she’d picked out a few weeks back, she sees a faint luminance from his office’s frosted window. Swallowing, she decides against her better judgment before waltzing in like she owns the place, and instead opts for a hesitant knock, punctuating it with a call of his name.

“Profess— Harry? Are you in there?” she nibbles on her lip before tacking on a, "It's Y/N."

She hopes he recognizes her voice as she wrings her fingers together in front of her. She thinks she hears muffled movement on the other side of the door, but she’s not entirely sure. It never occurred to her that perhaps he wouldn’t want to see her — maybe he’d peek through the crack of the door, see her face, and widen his own eyes in shock and embarrassment, maintaining silence until she eventually gave up and walked away. Her throat bobs nervously at the imagery.

She’s ready to give up when the door swings open, revealing a rather flushed looking version of the typically neat, well-kept professor she’s used to seeing. His cheeks don a splotchy pink hue that speckles down to his neck, where his usual button down is currently undone. Underneath, he wears a plain white tee-shirt. She blinks at the small display of intimacy before snapping her eyes back up to his face. He’s running his finger through his messy curls, tugging lightly at the base of the locks.

“Is everything alright?” he asks through a slightly nervous voice. With furrowed eyebrows, she nods her head slowly.

“Yes— well, no, I guess. I feel bad about earlier.”

She chokes the words out in hopes that she can keep her humiliation at bay. She’s unsure if her eyes deceive her, but it seems as though his face relaxes some before he quickly nods, stepping aside to let her in.

“Um, you have nothing to feel bad about,” he says, shutting the door quietly behind her. She shrugs her shoulders as she stands in the middle of his small office, avoiding his gaze. “I was out of line, Y/N.”

“What did you mean by it?” she rushes out, facing him with a leery expression. “That you spent the weekend thinking of me. And feeling awful about how you’ve treated me.”

His mouth opens and closes, and she can’t help the way she glances down at his raspberry-hued lips. She swallows tightly, biting on her own bottom lip.

“This isn’t something we can do,” he mumbles out breathily with a shake of his head. “You know that, right?”

They’re dancing around the obvious. Her stomach lurches at the low, groveled volume of his voice, and her fingers twitch at her sides as she resists the urge to step closer to him. She’s never been forward with a romantic interest before — she’s never had a reason to be, to uphold a certain level of confidence.

But she can’t help herself.

“Tell me, then. Tell me what you thought of this weekend.”

Harry’s nostrils flare.

“If it’s not something we can do,” Y/N says softly, licking over her lips, “Then whatever you thought about should be nothing, right?”

He’s torn. He’s so utterly torn that it feels like his brain is being split in half. He knows what he should do — he should tell her she’s wrong and that she should leave. He should leave this entire situation behind him, chalk it up to him being a touch-deprived idiot, and move on with his life. Join a few dating apps and find someone decent to settle down with.

But why would he do what he’s supposed to do?

“I thought about how fucking shitty I felt for ignoring you for weeks after you told me you just wanted my praise,” Harry blurts, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly starts to close the gap between their bodies. “I thought about how much I like having you around — how smart and talented you are, how beautiful and creative your brain is.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m not finished,” he replies curtly, making Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. “I thought about how pretty you are. I thought about how I’m thankful to have you as my assistant, because no one has ever been able to meet me on the same level. I thought about… how I’d be taking advantage of you if I told you any of those things, so I promised that I’d keep them to myself.”

He’s standing directly before her now. He’s so close that she can smell the warm musk of his cologne and see the freckles dotted over his nose. It makes her stomach churn in the best way.

“Why didn’t you?” she finally breathes out.

A smirk forms at the edges of his lips. He looks down at her as if he wants to swallow her whole, and she’s not sure that she doesn’t want him to.

“You asked me to tell you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and her skin zips with electricity. “‘S not much of my fault now, is it?”

Quickly, she shakes her head. She swallows nervously and hopes he doesn’t notice her picking at her nails as she waits for him to surge forward and press a messy kiss to her lips.

But instead, he stops.

A look of clarity ghosts over his face and his throat bobs. It doesn’t stop him from thumbing over her chin with sorrowed eyes.

“We’ll wait until the end of the semester,” he murmurs out. The look of disappointment on Y/N’s face must be obvious because his eyebrows furrow in dejection. “It’s the safest way, okay? After that… after that, I’m yours.”

I’m yours. It echoes through her brain, making her heart thump rapidly in her chest. She feels it everywhere, but the hesitancy remains.

“Promise me,” she whispers, pressing a wary hand to the expanse of his chest. “Promise me I’m not wasting my time. Promise me that you mean this.”

He can’t help it — before he can even contemplate the consequences, he ducks down to connect their lips. It takes her by surprise but she immediately kisses him back, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Despite the reluctant context, the physical bond is anything but. Harry kisses her unhurriedly, like he has years to worship every bit of her lips. He dips his tongue into her mouth the second she grants him the opportunity, and her chest feels like it’s ready to explode when he squeezes her hip. His large palm easily finds its way to her ass and she whimpers breathily into the seal of his mouth. It’s the only thing that brings him back down to earth — a reminder that he’s no longer daydreaming but experiencing the real thing. He forces himself to break the kiss but leans his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes shuttered closed.

“I promise you,” he exhales, and he feels her nod. “I’m yours.”

. . .

Attempting to act normal around Harry is harder than Y/N had anticipated.

In hindsight, the evening consisted of a half-assed confession and a rather… intimate kiss that nearly knocked her off her feet. If it had been with anyone else — someone her age, a fellow student or peer, maybe — she, of course, would be anxious over it. But the fact that she had to see him a day later in class was… well, somehow embarrassing.

She contemplates her outfit for hours, wanting to seem cute and put-together without overly desperate. She was scared it would be written all over her face the second she walked in and sat at her seat beside his podium — "I made out with Professor Styles in his office a day and a half ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for more than two seconds since it happened" may as well have been written across her forehead.

When she finally does show up to class, Harry looks… well, he looks like his usual self. He’s wearing those wide-legged trousers that she thinks he must have in at least a dozen colors, matched with a button down and a sweater vest overtop. He’s standing at the podium with his back to the entrance as he waits for students to filter in, squeezing his bottom lip between his fingers. He’s reading something, Y/N’s unsure what it is, but when he hears the less than graceful clatter of her setting her things down at the table, he glances over to her and flashes her a smile.

A smile.

“Hey,” he greets. His voice is low and gruff and if she hadn’t been looking for it, she surely would’ve missed it. But she doesn’t, and it instead sends a zap of lovesick energy thrumming through her body.

“Hi.” she mumbles back, waving as she leans over to pull her laptop from her bag.

That’s the extent of the interaction, but it’s far more than she’s ever received from him. Normally, when she arrives at class, he fully ignores her. She only began to take issue with it when she figured out she was growing feelings for him, but somehow the quiet utterance of hey feels like a public acknowledgement of what occurred just a day prior. In some crazy way, it seems like it’s just as open as grabbing her and smacking a hard kiss to her lips. She finds herself wishing he would as he begins today’s lecture on male writers in feminist discourse.

As written on the schedule, Harry’s taking the time to discuss authors like George Herbert, John Berryman, and Leo Tolstoy. Y/N doesn’t feel particularly drawn to any of those figures, though a few weeks back when she and Harry were discussing this unit, they did find a mutual appreciation for Jacques Lacan. He wasn’t originally in the lesson plan — Y/N remembers it vividly, because she can recall saying that he would be a great fit. Her heart had expanded in her chest with praise when Harry agreed.

And yet… Harry’s standing up there in front of the lecture hall, waxing poetic in the dreamiest way possible, about Jacques Lacan.

“Lacan was incredibly controversial, so I don’t expect all of us to feel comfortable with translating his viewpoints to modern day psychology,” Harry explains as he hovers over the old, wooden podium, “But what I do want to dig into is his basic idea of the symbolic register. Does anyone know what that is?”

Yes, Y/N wants to say. It’s the concept that our existence as humans includes language, culture, and rituals.

“Lacan came up with this idea that he thought was waiting for us the second we were born. He felt that the symbolic register encompassed maybe more artsy, culture-based facets, and that was one of the most important parts of the human existence. We won’t get too far into it because this isn’t a psychology course, and frankly, I could give a shit if you truly understand this or not.” The class, including Y/N, laughs quietly. Harry rolls his lips into a thin line to avoid a smirk from appearing.

When the huffed merriment tapers off, he continues. “What I want you to take away as writers is this: Lacan’s symbolic register essentially implies that our lives, from the very start, are swamped with uncertainty. There’s no path for us. As you write your characters, consider that. Lacan thought that life experiences, specifically lack and desire, were what impacted the course we go on.”

As expected, the class is silent. Y/N’s found that students are typically too nervous or intimidated to contribute to conversations during Harry’s lectures, and she’s been on the receiving end of many, many emails asking things that could have been resolved in class.

“Think about what your characters lack. What are they missing? What are they unable to receive access to? Is it a resistance to pleasure, to giving in?”

Y/N swallows harshly at that. She pretends like she doesn’t hear it, instead focusing in on typing a response to an email in her inbox.

“And then, consider their desires. Their deepest, darkest wants. No one has to know them — in real life, no one truly knows our truest desires, anyway,” she swears her eyes squeeze closed at that, but she quickly snaps them open, “But use it as an exercise for this weekend. Don’t forget, second drafts are due on Monday. Class is dismissed.”

Y/N swear she feels a second heartbeat in her core as the lecture hall begins to trickle out with students.

. . .

“I thought we were waiting until the semester is over.” Y/N blurts it out when she can’t focus on grading Ren Wei's draft.

Slowly, Harry glances up from the stack of papers he’s currently grading. With confused eyebrows, he sets his pen down.

“We are,” he says softly.

“Then what were you talking about in class today?” She hisses lowly. She keeps her voice quiet even though the door to Harry’s office is shut closed.

“What do you mean?”

Y/N sighs frustratedly and sits back in her seat. She avoids Harry’s confused gaze as she crosses her arms over her chest. He ignores the way it pushes her breasts up through the soft fabric of her sweater.

“The whole lack and desire thing. You know you weren’t planning on talking about Lacan until I brought him up a few weeks ago.”

Harry’s throat bobs and she licks over her lips, quickly glancing back up to his face. She’s right — they both know she’s right, but Harry’s reluctant to admit it. He’s stubborn — he’s always been this way in relationships, and it tends to be one of his greater downfalls as a partner. Deep in the pit of his heart, he knows Y/N deserves better. She wouldn’t be worth putting his job or her status as a student in danger if she wasn’t.

“You’re right,” he finally admits as he nibbles on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. It was out of line and I won’t do that anymore.”

She pauses for a beat. And then, “I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

His shoulders deflate and she suddenly feels embarrassed. It was a stupid thing to reveal, she decides, and she picks at the skin surrounding her fingernails as she mentally beats herself up for it.

And for a moment, Harry contemplates it. He knows it hasn’t been that long since he told her they have to wait, but he’d be a ridiculous liar if he didn’t admit that she’s all he’s been thinking about ever since they kissed in his office. Nervously, he reaches across the length of his wooden desk and takes her hand into his. He intertwines their fingers together and gives her hand a small, reassuring squeeze, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes. It makes his heart warm.

“You know this is incredibly difficult for me, right?” he asks. Y/N shakes her head and he scoffs in response. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N.”

She blushes. “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. She nods. “When we kissed, it… it was so good, y’know? It just… it felt good.”

“I know,” she breathes. She squeezes his fingers lightly before retracting her own hand and placing it in her lap. She may look naive, but she's already decided that she won't let him have the upper hand – not when it comes to something she can actually have control over, like teasing.

The movement surprises him but he chooses not to acknowledge it. “But this is what we decided on, right? It’s better this way. It’s kind of like edging, hm?”

His eyes nearly bulge out of his skull as she glances down at her phone to look at the time.

“Anyway, I have to head out to class. Text me if you need anything, Professor Styles.”

She waltzes out of his office with a snarky, knowing grin on her lips, and Harry has to do a series of deep breathing to stop his cock from exploding in his trousers.

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N is a complete and utter minx.

Harry has no choice but to come to this conclusion because in the weeks that follow their agreement, he swears she does everything she can to try and make him break. The worst part is, he doesn’t even know if she’s doing it intentionally. But every time they’re in the same room, all he can think about is hauling her over his shoulder, locking her in his office, and stretching her body over the length of his desk so he can fuck her until she can’t even think straight.

And there’s still three months left of the semester.

Admittedly, nothing ever really happens between them. Despite the apparent and blatant flirting that occurs on both sides, they keep things surprisingly professional, even behind closed doors. For the first time in his teaching career, Harry is actually ahead of grading. For some reason, he feels as though it’s a testament to how well he and Y/N actually work together.

But then there’s the matter of her teasing, which drives him up a fucking wall — the cute little mini skirts she almost always wears, the batting of her eyelashes at students in his class, followed by the wide-eyed smile she flashes Harry as soon as she knows he’s seen it. She even out-smarted him on Ursula LeGuin the other day and, as dorky as it seems, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life.

It’s a series of back-and-forth. When Y/N has to leave his office for class, he’ll thumb at her chin or her cheeks so she gets all flustered before she heads out. Later that night, she’ll text him an innocent question with some sort of “typo”:

can’t stop thinking about your lips

oops! list* not lips! your list of grades — it’s due next friday, right??

It’s a stupid, risky game that neither of them can stop playing.

Even when they’re sitting in Harry’s office that Wednesday afternoon, buried beneath piles of final drafts for the midterm paper, he can’t help but gnaw on his bottom lip as she sits across from him. She’s focused — the cute furrow between her brows is the primary tell — but every now and then she’ll bring her pen up to her mouth to bite on it or poke her tongue out to lick over her lips.

Despite the chill of the day, she’s wearing a wool mini skirt atop sheer black tights, and he hasn’t been able to stop glancing down at the soft skin of her thighs since she showed up to campus hours ago. He wants nothing more than to rip a hole in the fabric, pull her into his lap, and kiss her until she’s a whimpering, breathless mess.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice the clock is steadily ticking towards 5 pm and, technically, Y/N should’ve left an hour ago. With wide eyes, he drops his pen on the pile of papers in front of him.

“Shit,” he curses, “You should go. Your hours ended at 4.”

She taps her phone screen beside her, “Oh. I didn’t realize it was so late. I guess I got in the groove with grading.”

“It happens.” He says understandingly as he leans back against his chair, stretching his achy back out some. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

She peers up at him through her lashes. “It’s 5 pm on a Friday, Harry. You should leave, too.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. She’s right, especially since he’s been attempting to distract himself from his crush on Y/N by doing late grading sessions in his office.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbles as he grabs his large tote bag. “I’ll walk you out, if that’s okay.”

They both know that it’s perhaps a cross of the boundary they’ve been trying to firmly maintain, but how harmful could a walk be?

Y/N flashes him a small smile. Silently, they each pack their things up, and she follows him out of this office as he locks his door. They walk side-by-side, Y/N nibbling on her bottom lip as Harry tries to resist the urge to grab the hand that he keeps accidentally brushing with his own knuckles.

“Do you have any weekend plans?” She suddenly asks softly, glancing up at the taller male.

He hums, “Nothing too exciting. Probably just gonna catch up on TV and reading. You?”

“The secret life of an English professor, hm?” Y/N teases and he chuckles. “I have to start prepping for midterms. Laundry, too. I guess nothing more fun than your plans.”

He laughs and her stomach erupts into flutters as he holds the front door for her. She smiles in gratitude, but her steps come to a stop when she witnesses the state of the weather.

It’s nearly a white out. A snowstorm must have barreled through while they were busy grading, because now it’s dark, flurries of snow instantly landing on Y/N’s eyelashes and jacket.

“Y/N,” Harry appears at her side, “You’re not planning on walking through this, are you?”

“I-I don’t have a car.” She mumbles, stuffing her already freezing cold hands into her pockets. “I’ll be fine, it’s not far.”

“No, but I wouldn’t feel okay with sending you home in this,” he replies. She blinks when she feels his hand reach out to her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “Would you let me drive you home, please? Just so I know you get home safely.”

Her stomach turns. This would officially cross the student/teacher boundary, but he’s right — it’s frigid out, and she always hates walking home in the dark anyway. Swallowing tightly, she nods.

“Yeah, please. I’ll take a ride.”

“Good,” he exhales with a nod, “My car’s just over in the faculty lot.”

With the both of them slowly shuffling through the snowy ground, they eventually make it to Harry’s car. As expected, it’s covered in snow, but he turns it on and blasts the heat so she can sit inside while he uses a brush to clear it off. She picks at her fingernails as she watches him through the foggy front window, her chest continuing to grow with nerves. She knows that this is all she’s wanted for weeks — to be alone with Harry, outside of the confines of his office — so why is she so scared?

Luckily, he gets in the car before she has more time to contemplate it. Blowing warm air into his cupped hands, he shivers dramatically.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he whines, making her giggle. “Something funny about that, passenger princess?”

“No!” She exclaims with a laugh, “I’m sorry I didn’t help clear your car off. I’m sure that was awful.”

His eyes crinkle teasingly as he chuckles along with her. As he backs up out of the parking spot with ease, he presses the palm of his hand to the back of Y/N’s headrest, checking to make sure he’s clear. She wonders if he’s used to driving in the snow, but lets the question die in her throat instead of pushing the conversation.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask where you live,” he says when he turns onto the main road. “I think you mentioned once that you’re not too far from campus?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m on Maple. It’s a single-person house, I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“You live alone?”

She doesn’t think the question is meant to be inherently suggestive, but there’s something about his immediate response that has her teetering on feeling that way. Swallowing, she nods again.

“Mhm. Most of my friends graduated or moved away when we finished undergrad, so it’s just me.”

“No pets or anything? You seem like the type to own one of those bald cats.”

Y/N balks at his reply, a peel of laughter bubbling from her chest. “What?”

Harry’s cheeks warm as he slowly drives down the snow-covered street. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he thinks about what kind of person she is when she’s not around — he knows it probably sounds creepy, but it’s how he’s been entertaining himself in the meantime.

“I just… feel like you’d like those things,” he treads lightly, shrugging his shoulders, “Is my assumption wrong?”

“Very much so. I’ve only had dogs,” she giggles, “Are there any other assumptions I should know about?”

His throat bobs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she quirks a brow. “Turn at the light.”

He flicks his right signal on, “I may have tried to figure you out a bit in my… spare time.”

He cringes, but the sound of her laughter quickly pulls him from his embarrassment.

“Well now I have to know.”

“Fine,” he decides, finding himself drawn to her little game, “I think you prefer matcha or hot chocolate over coffee.”

“True, but that’s only because you watch me cringe every time you drink your stupid black coffee.”

Harry snorts, “Okay, fair. I think you’re a homebody.”

“Mhmm,” Y/N nods. “True. Go on.”

“You prefer chocolate to vanilla.”

“Strawberry, actually.”

He hums. “You read period piece smut for fun.”

Y/N lets out a loud cackle. “What about my personality makes you think that?”

“You just seem like the type to go to the romance section at the bookstore, but only buy dirty books that are set in the 1800s,” he replies easily, a smirk edging at his lips, “Am I wrong?”

She ignores the way her cheeks flair with warmth. “I’m not opposed to it, but it’s not the only thing I read.”

“Sure,” he laughs. She rolls her eyes before pointing to a house down at the end of the road.

“I’m right over there.”

Harry nods and pulls up in front of it. The snow is only worse on the residential streets, likely because there haven’t been many cars going through to clear the roads. She nibbles on her lip as she unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to look at him.

“Thank you for the ride.” she says softly.

“Of course.”

They stare at each other for a beat before Y/N tears her gaze away from him. She glances out through the front window, watching momentarily as snowflakes continue to beat down on the exterior of his car.

“It’s not safe,” she mumbles breathily, facing him again. “You shouldn’t drive in this.”

He swallows. He knows what he should say: No, it’s okay. I should go home. We said we’d wait, remember?

But he doesn’t want to. Not when she’s dangling alone time, off campus, right in front of his face. He can’t resist her — he doesn’t want to resist her.

“Can I come inside, then?”

. . .

Y/N’s house is everything Harry would have expected it to be.

She has two huge bookshelves that are overflowing with worn novels, Post-It’s and folded-down pages sticking out of nearly every page. She has plants and candles, cuddly blankets thrown askew over her couch, and a sink filled with half-consumed cups of tea. There are framed pictures and Polaroids tacked up on her fridge of people Harry assumes are her friends and family. He smiles gently as he passes by an image of her wedged between two older people who have some of her same features. It’s all very her, which means it’s all entirely too comforting.

“Do you want something to drink?” Y/N asks, nibbling on her bottom lip as she glances up at the man before her. It’s an unusual sight; one that makes her feel like she has to blink a few times to ensure she isn’t dreaming.

“Not unless you’re willing me to make my ‘stupid black coffee’, as you affectionately referred to it in the car.”

Y/N blushes, “I don’t have any coffee here, but I can make you tea. Or hot chocolate.”

“Tea is good, sweetheart.”

The flush only deepens at the pet name. He’s not sure where it comes from — maybe easing into a relationship-type dynamic is easier than he thought, especially considering he’s been pushing it down since their kiss. He watches as she turns to face the kitchen counter, occupying herself with turning the kettle on and retrieving two tea bags and mugs. He wants nothing more than to hug her from behind, pressing his fingertips into her hips to squeeze them teasingly. To dip his head to the crook of her neck and press kisses along her delicate skin. He swallows and adjusts his trousers, willing the thickening erection tucked underneath to go away.

“How do you want it?” she asks, glancing behind her to look at him.

He coughs. “Sorry? How do I want what?”

“Your tea,” Y/N replies slowly, a small smile on her lips, “How do you want your tea, Harry?”

“Oh— um, however you take it is fine.”

She nods and busies herself with filling the mugs up with the boiling water. Once she’s finished, she slowly hands him the steaming cup. He smiles in gratitude, allowing their fingers to brush against one another in the pass-off.

“By the way,” she says lowly, blinking at him, “You’re doing a shit job of hiding your boner.”

Her eyes crinkle in a smirk as she lifts the mug to take a sip of the warm liquid. Harry’s cheeks instantly warm and he stutters over his words, attempting to force out an apology. She lets him scramble for a moment before reaching out to curl her fingers over his wrist with a smile.

“I’m just teasing you. I hope you know I don’t care.”

He huffs, setting his cup down on the dining room table, “Yeah, but I’m the one who told you we have to wait. And now I’m standing in your kitchen, getting hard over you making me tea.”

She giggles. “I consider that a compliment, to be honest.”

“I’m sure you do,” he grumbles, “You make me feel like a doped up, lovesick teenager.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he scoffs, “Everything you do does something to me. Even if you don’t mean it. It’s ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?”

He sends her a knowing look and she grins.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“You know I’m not good at reading between the lines, Harry.”

He sighs. “You turn me on. Even by doing the stupidest shit— knowing more about me in certain subjects, wearing those cute little skirts… it all drives me insane. I’ve been trying to keep it together, but I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” she replies almost instantly, placing her mug on the table next to his, “I don’t want to wait, Harry. I feel… I feel so stupidly desperate for you. And I want this— I want you.”

“I know, but—”

“But in any other context, if we didn’t meet this way, there wouldn’t be an issue,” she points out stubbornly, “If we had come back to mine after a date, we’d already be upstairs with our clothes off.”

He can’t help the way his cock jumps at her words and he mentally groans. He wants to yell into one of those cute throw pillows on her couch, or maybe lay face down on the fluffy carpet in her hallway.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I’m crossing boundaries, we can just watch TV or something—”

“Stop,” he cuts her off with a shake of his head. “Can we just… Can I just kiss you again? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Y/N blinks owlishly. Surprise is clear on her face, but it doesn’t stop her from nodding her head. As corny as it sounds — and Y/N knows it’s corny — it feels like magnets being pulled together. It’s not a moment longer before Harry’s palm is pressed gently against her cheek, his lips brushing up against hers. She’s nearly salivating at the thought of closing the gap between them and yet, at the same time, her brain is melting with lust.

This kiss, unlike their first, is riddled with want. It’s hurried and sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues dipping into each other’s mouth. Harry’s hand slips from her cheek and down to the back of her neck, giving it a small, testing squeeze. She presses her chest impossibly closer to his, eyelashes flittering at the warmth radiating from the button-down he wears. She’s desperate to feel him, to eliminate any boundaries or distances between them — for the first time, she’s sick of playing games.

“Upstairs,” she pants out through swollen lips. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth and pulls playfully, allowing it to snap back in place, “Take me upstairs, please.”

He swallows and her eyes find his Adam’s apple, nervousness settling in her chest. He gives her neck another squeeze.

“Are you sure?” he breathes. She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

“If you’ll have me, I’m yours, Harry.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he mutters with his forehead against hers, “Show me the way, sweetheart.”

She grabs his hand in hers and lightly tugs him out of the kitchen. If she’s being honest, she’s fantasized of this moment for months now. She was never sure of how it would happen (the logistics never mattered in her daydreams), but having him here, standing in her bedroom, feels like some kind of joke her mind conjured up.

But when he lays her back against the mattress, elbows digging into the soft tufts of her bedding, it feels a little like a hazy fantasy.

When he parts her thighs and kneels down between them, pressing a smattering of kisses along her neck as his hands push the fabric of her thick sweater up, her labored breathing is the only anchor she has in reality.

And when he finds himself between her thighs, tugging her black tights down to reveal a sodden pair of underwear, a hiss sounding out from her mouth when he bares her center to the cool air of her bedroom, things begin to feel very, very serious.

“Is this okay?” he asks huskily. He’s since moved down to kneeling on the carpet of her room, his large palms parting the insides of her thighs. Every single move he makes drives her insane.

“Yes,” she breathes, fingers gripping the blanket beneath her.

He’s less calculated now that he’s received her consent. She instantly mewls the second he puts his mouth over her, licking through the wet fabric of her underwear. Her eyes roll back just from the muffled sensation, especially when he allows a low moan to vibrate from his chest.

“Need more,” he mutters against the soft skin of his thigh as he pulls the material to the side. He inhales sharply at the sight of how wet she is, his fingertip gently tracing over the tip of her swollen clit. “You were hiding all this from me for months.”

He states it as if it’s a fact — like she’d been doing it intentionally, when all she’s been doing is dreaming of the day he’d finally be the one to break. Through a shaky swallow, she parts her lips.

“Didn’t mean it,” she murmurs, sitting up slightly to look down at him. It’s a heavenly vision — the image of the professor she’s been crushing on, on his knees for her in her bedroom. He sends a smirk her way as if he can read her thoughts (and maybe he can, she’s truly not sure anymore), and surges forward to dip his tongue through her folds, licking up the heady arousal dripping from her hole. It makes her gasp and reach down to grab his hair, a tight fistful of locks in her hand.

“Doubt it,” he says into her core. His fingertip continues tracing tight circles into her clit as he begins to flex his tongue inside of her, and Y/N’s back is arching against the expanse of her mattress from the wet, intoxicating sensations of it all. It’s nearly too overwhelming for her, especially given the sensitivity of her clit — but Harry can feel her tensing beneath his grasp, a delicious telltale sign that her peak is quickly rising.

“Harry— oh my god—”

“I know,” he coos, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers. He presses against her g-spot and she gasps, grinding her hips down against his hands, “There you go, angel girl, cum on my fingers. That’s it, good girl.”

If his hands weren’t currently occupied, one would undoubtedly be wrapped around his length right now, twisting and pumping until he emptied himself to the sight of Y/N’s coming, pulsating pussy. It's better than any daydream he ever could have thought of — her moans are beautiful and whimpery, her body warm and pliant beneath his touch as she comes down. Sensitivity immediately takes over and she gently bats his hands away, panting out loudly from above.

“Alright?” He asks softly, placing a light kiss to her thigh. He hears her swallow loudly.

“Jelly,” she mumbles, “Limbs are jelly.”

That makes him chuckle as he sits back up on his knees. He hovers over the length of her body and smiles at her fucked out expression.

“You’re pretty when you come.” He says before leaning down to peck her lips.

“Yeah?” She asks teasingly, “Show me what you look like?”

Harry stills but she nips at his bottom lip playfully, “You didn’t cum in your pants just from eating me out, did you?”

“Got pretty close to it.” He confesses, eyes falling shut as she continues pressing kisses to his jawline and down to his neck.

She hums at the admittance as her hands rake down his chest, “Do you wanna fuck me?”

“Whatever you want,” he swallows, the answer sounding far more submissive out loud than he’d intentioned, “Fine with… I’m fine with whatever.”

“I want you to fuck me.” She says, looking up at him. “Is that okay?”

“That’s perfectly okay.”

Y/N grins and begins to make quick work of shedding his layers of clothes. His button-down is the first to go, followed by his trousers and belt. Once he’s down to his briefs, she gently hints at wanting to climb on top. He has no reservations with that so he helps her straddle his thighs, watching as her eyes peer down at his covered length.

“You look big.” She admits.

He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a compliment or a nervous comment, so he silently issues a small squeeze to her hip.

“Seriously,” she continues with a frown. “Other girls have taken you no problem?”

This makes him laugh. “Generally, yeah.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

Harry smirks. “This isn’t your way of telling me you’re a virgin, right?”

“No!” She exclaims theatrically, and that only amplifies his laughter. “I’m just… I’m nervous! You look really big Harry, seriously.”

“Take me out then,” he instructs lowly and the tone of his voice zips straight to Y/N’s center, “I promise, you’re freaking yourself out over nothing.”

She grumbles as he pulls his underwear down his legs. Harry kicks them off his ankles and she sighs as she takes him into her hand. He has to make an effort not to hiss at the feeling of it.

“Still huge,” she mutters, “My hand barely fits around you, Harry.”

“You’re making my ego insane, angel.”

She peers up at him, where his arm is tucked behind his head like he’s lounging the day away. She gives the head of his cock a small squeeze.

“Do you really think it’ll fit?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, “If not, I’ll just go down on you for an hour and by then you’ll be open and wet enough.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, the thought of him spending an hour of his time between her thighs almost being too much to fathom. “‘M gonna try to put you in.”

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just breathe and take your time. We can do a different position—“

“No,” she quickly shakes her head. “Wanna ride you. This is how I envisioned it.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirks at that but his curiosity is quickly replaced by pleasure when she hovers her hips over his length. The warmth from her previous orgasm is radiating off of her and he breathes out sharply when she pushes the tip in, her fingertips covering the sight. Harry reaches out to move them. “Need to see,” he grunts.

Her jaw drops open as she slowly lowers onto him. Neither of them speak — it’s all entirely too consuming; her getting filled to the brim and him being surrounded by the tightest heat he’s ever felt. When she finally sinks down to his pelvic bone, her eyelashes flutter.

“Can you move?” He asks through a slightly clenched jaw, “Or— do you need me to—“

“I can do it.” She replies as she steadily attempts to move her hips up. “Oh, that’s a lot.”

“Too much?”

She shakes her head, “It’s good. Is it good?”

“It’s amazing.” He breaths out, gritting his teeth as she moves up and down.

With his reassurance under her belt, it’s easier for her to find a bit of rhythm, even if she has to place her hands down on his chest for stability. He happily places his own palms on top of them, curling his fingers around her wrists to help her.

“There you go,” he encourages, leaning his head back against the pillow as he watches her. “You look so beautiful, holy shit.”

She moans when she finally figures out a pace that hits that soft spot inside of her, eyelashes fluttering from the constant pressure. Harry moves his hands down to her hips to assist in the maneuvers, but mainly because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get sick of seeing his touch on her skin. She swallows harshly when she lifts a hand to coax at her swollen clit, a wet gasp sounding from her lips. Harry’s gaze lifts from where they’re connected to see widened eyes.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” He asks in immediate panic.

She nods quickly and reaches out to grab his hand and place it over his stomach.

He thinks he may pass out.

Beneath the soft, dimpled skin of her stomach, he can feel his length bulging in her tummy. If he looks close enough, he can see the faint outline. It takes everything in him not to snap.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters as she resumes her pace of bouncing on his cock.

“Told you you were— oh— big,” she says stubbornly, and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with the current state of her body, he probably would have had a comeback. But right now, all he can focus on is not blowing his load inside her.

“Need you to come,” he grunts. She nods eagerly like a puppy and he smirks when her fingers return to her clit, rubbing tight circles. “Need you to come so I can paint that pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes,” she mewls desperately. Her movements get jerkier and sloppier, but Harry has no problem meeting her hips. He thrusts up inside of her to hopefully reach the same spot, though his worry is quickly wiped away when he feels her muscles contract, her face twisting beautifully.

He can barely help her through her orgasm before he’s pushing her into her side. He’s no longer inside and his hand has switched to keeping her thigh up as he pumps himself, groaning at the sticky mess between them.

“Wanna feel it,” she whimpers almost pathetically, “Please Professor Styles, cum all over my pussy.”

That’s all he needs before he’s bursting at the seams, ropes of thick, white cum covering her. He’s a groaning mess and he doesn’t even notice that she’s running her hand through his hair, playing with it gently, until he has nothing left to give. With a final whimper, he lays back against her bed, completely spent.

When they’ve both caught their breath, Harry turns back onto his side to face her.

“You alright?” he asks softly. He’s nervous to reach out and thumb at her cheek or press a kiss to her hand. For some reason, he feels like the situation is too delicate right now and he’s at risk of fucking it all up.

Y/N hums, “Mhm. Are you?”

“I am.” he answers with a thick swallow. “Is it okay if I hold you?”

“Please.”

His heart jumps and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his chest. He leans down and kisses her hair.

They sit in the silence for a bit, Y/N finding comfort in Harry’s constant breathing, the sound of his heartbeat.

And then: “So you envisioned this?”

She bites at the smile on her lips before she bats at his pecs, “Shut up. I know you did too.”

Harry has no problem admitting that she’s right.

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cupidsdolll · 1 month

Text

pairings: boyfriend!harry x fem!reader [1.8k]

content warnings: cockwarming, small bit of fluff

“Don’t. Move.”

Harry’s voice is low enough to not be picked up by his computer microphone but loud enough for the girl before him to hear. She looks up at him from her spot on the floor, her knees aching from sitting in the same place for long periods of time. She’s unsure of just how long she’s been sitting on her knees, eyes watery and mouth full of his cock, but she thinks a good chunk of his meeting has gone by she’s been sitting down. He had told her before the meeting started that it was an important one and that she should be good and keep herself busy until he’s through. That was his only request, she needed to leave him alone.

She nodded then, sure of herself and her ability to stay away from him. She was wrong. It only took twenty minutes into the meeting that the heat started to bloom within her. It started off as a small little feeling in her chest and she frowned. She started to read to try to distract herself from it but then the book started to get a little steamy which only made the heat worse. The longer Harry stayed in that room on his call, the more antsy she became, the more the heat grew.

He’s been in there for at least an hour by now, talking and laughing on the other side of the door and Y/N can’t wait any longer. She walks quietly into his office and he shoots her a warning look, reminding her of what he said earlier. Be good. She shakes her head and sits on an empty chair near him. She’s hoping that the close proximity will calm the heat licking at the inside of the girl’s body. She just watches him, her eyes roaming over every part of him, his slender fingers free from his rings minus one. It’s a simple little ring that Y/N had bought for him when they were just friends, a plain gold ring with a couple of small gems in a circle that just somehow reminded her of him.

Time passed and the girl was bored and horny and just itching to tease him just a little. She scooted herself closer to Harry, just out of sight of his camera. If Harry saw, then he acted as if he didnt, completely ignoring her, nodding along to whatever the man on camera was saying. She lays one hand on his knee, a touch so innocent seeming and just lets it rest. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, her main gaze focused on the screen, watches as he flares his nostrils and exhales deeply. He cuts her a brief glance with a hard look, another warning. He’s normally a very patient man, hard to visibly upset. She knows that he enjoys her being the slightest disobedient on a regular day, but he doesn’t tolerate it as much when he’s in business mode. He doesn’t like being distracted and she’s his biggest and main one.

Slowly she begins to start trailing her hand upwards on his lap, the feel of the rough cotton against her palm rewarding her but doing very little to calm the fire burning inside her. One hand swats at hers, a lingering tingle on the back of her hand remains. She can hear his mouse click a couple times before he turns his head to look at her.

“What did I say, hm?” He asks and she just shrugs.

“You’ve been on this call forever. I miss you.” She says and he just chuckles, a dry sounding laugh that just says he doesn’t buy it.

“So you think you can just ignore what I told you? You can do whatever you want, hm?” He says and she watches a glint pass through his eyes, one that only happens whenever she’s being a brat and she clenches her legs as the fire burns stronger inside of her. She’s warm, a little warmer than she’d like to be in all honesty. She shrugs, all faux confidence and brattiness. She’s trying not to seem eager at all this attention she’s getting from him and trying to ignore the wetness pooling in her underwear.

It’s no use though and she knows this, he’s able to read her like the back of his hand. He knows she’s turned on and trying to seem big and confident, knows that she’s squeezing her legs as tight as she can. He simply smiles, a genuine one as he turns back to his computer. He’s able to pick right back where he left off, adding onto the conversation as if he wasn’t talking to her just a second ago. She watches in disbelief as he goes back to ignoring her, acting as if she was outside of the door instead of right next to him. She huffs in annoyance before her hand is resting back on his leg, sliding upwards faster before she reaches his covered dick that’s beginning to harden underneath her touch. He breathes through his nose as she smiles and starts rubbing him over his clothes. He clicks his mouse and turns to look at her, the look in his eyes is one that she loves to see.

“On your knees, in front of me. Hurry up.” He says and she just tilts her head at him, feigning innocence.

“Why? Aren’t you supposed to be focusing on your meeting? I’d hate to distract you.” She says and squeezes his dick once over his jeans. He closes his eyes and sighs, she’s really pushing his patience and the both of them know it.

“On. Your. Knees. Now. Don’t make me tell you again, pet.” He says as he turns back to his computer and unmutes himself, she stares at him a little longer and then decides to listen to him. She stands up and sinks to her knees, crawling so she’s in between his legs, looking up at him with a smirk. She thinks she’s in control, she’s gotten what she wants so there’s no way she’s losing anything right now.

She has him wrapped around her finger normally as does he, they’re both equally whipped for each other and there’s no denying it. She thinks she has him in the palm of her hand, has him right where she wants him, but it’s quite the opposite actually. Harry knew she could only stay away from him for so long. Knew that she could only take so much before she gets all antsy and needy for him, just like she is now. He offers a soft smile, full of love and warm, opposite of the fire burning in his emerald eyes. He’s full of lust and the thought of punishing her while he’s actively on a call makes the fire burn brighter, hotter.

She stares at him, one hand tracing random shapes into his pants as she waits for instruction. He hums, an agreeing noise.

“Go ahead and take me out then, baby.” He says after muting himself, not wanting to alert his other coworkers, it’s none of their business and he does have a professionalism to maintain after all. She smiles up at him with excitement in her eyes as she begins to trail her hands up his legs, over his knees and begins to pull his pants down slowly. He lifts himself off of his chair as subtly as he can, disguising it as getting himself more comfortable. After all, he has been sitting in that chair without a break for over an hour. She stares at his hard cock, standing straight up and a small bead of pre cum begins to dribble out. Her mouth waters instantly at the thought of sucking him off, it’s one of her favorite things. He smiles at her again, this time it’s more of a smirk if anything. He knows she’s eager for it, she always will be. He coos at her gently before nodding once, letting her know it’s okay to go ahead. She wastes no time, eagerly leaning forward and taking him into her mouth. He closes his eyes briefly before he opens them again and tries to pay attention to whatever’s being said from the other side of the screen. He does his best to ignore the feeling of her mouth on him as she bobs her head and sucks on him greedily, her tongue gently circling around him whenever she reaches closer to the tip. Before she’s able to get too into it, Harry has to remember that this is supposed to be a punishment. She’s not supposed to be enjoying herself so he calmly takes one of his hands and tangles his fingers into the back of her head gently tugging on her roots.

“Don’t move now, just keep me warm.” He says softly, doesn’t want to keep having to mute himself in order to protect their ears and just chooses to talk quietly in hopes that his mic won’t pick up his words. She whines and shakes her head slightly, showing her displeasure but he doesn’t care. She brought this on herself. He sits hot and heavy on her tongue, the taste of his pre-comeum is salty and intoxicating. She’s always loved the way he tastes, and can never get enough of it.

She hates when he has her do this, hates just being still even though her mouth waters heavily, desire swirls in her stomach and courses through her body. She huffs at him to show her annoyance, trying to show her attitude even with her mouth closed. He simply chuckles at the girl and her efforts, amused at her antics. He pays attention to the screen, his boss droning on about numbers and marketing techniques that could help business. He finds that she listens to him, aside from a couple of tongue swirls around his sensitive tip and a few swallows whenever too much spit pools in her mouth. He smiles to himself as the meeting continues.

He’s not sure how much time passes, these meetings always end up being several hours long simply because no one can agree on one thing. He checks the time on his computer to see that thirty minutes passed, and he feels content. She’s been good, being as still as she can with just a few teasing licks and sucks. He smiles as he mentally decides to reward her, ettling deeper into his chair and subtly thrusting himself into her mouth and she immediately moans, her eyes fluttering close and the vibrations flow through him and makes him curl his toes. He clears his throat in an attempt to hold back the throat making his way up his throat.

He’s being mean, he knows he is. He can’t help it though, as he thrusts softly into her mouth again and she eagerly hollows her cheeks as she sucks him in deeper. He quickly mutters something to his team, some pathetic excuse of needing to get something as he mutes himself and turns off the camera. He begins thrusting slowly into her mouth and a rumble comes from deep in his chest as he watches her.

“There you go, baby. You did so good, I think you deserve a reward.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles one direction #harrystyles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shots #harry smut #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #my writing

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niallsgoldhoop · 2 months

Text

CHANNING

a harry styles one shot seven thousand words cw - sexual content, alcohol, harsh language, spitting, spanking, choking,

“I can’t believe you almost missed this.” Looking over at me, the dark eyes of my closest friend shine under the overhead lights. “I mean, come on— It’s Harryween.”

Using my pinky to perfect the edge of the color as I look in the mirror, I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Okay well I couldn’t let this costume go to waste.”

“Honestly.” Adjusting the straps of her angel wings, she laughs. “It’s perfect.”

Tucking a lock of wavy copper hair behind my ear, the green foliage sewed to the leather top last minute contrasts against my porcelain skin in the best way.

As soon as the decision was made— the costume just happens to fall into place.

It took me less than a day to buy the ivy from a local craft store along with the needle and thread. Deep in the back of my closet there was a black leather corset, the kind that fastened in a line of delicate hooks up the front, one that pushed my breasts up even higher than normal. Pairing that with the black leather skirt that hit the middle of my thighs seemed like the only option that made sense.

Less than two hours sitting on my couch and watching Succession later and all of the ivy had been sewn into place. After a little maneuvering I even managed to turn the broad, verdant colored leaves to a makeshift garter for each of my thighs.

Standing here in this bathroom and looking at my reflection, the extra ivy twisting from the top of the high topped canvas sneakers on my feet, I can’t help but smile at how good it looks snaking over my toned calves and thick thighs.

Poison Ivy.

“We better get down to the pit before it gets too crazy.” With a wide smile on her face, I laugh along with her as her fingers tangle with mine, pulling me along. “If we’re lucky we can get close to the barricade.”

Staying close behind her, the two of us manage to squeeze through the sea of people, finding a spot in the pit good enough that we would be able to get a decent view.

I’d been to plenty of shows before but it felt like nothing compared to the pit at a Harry Styles show.

Even as the show eventually starts, it’s clear that everyone got the memo to dress up and seeing the man of the hour— I’m so glad this is where I ended up.

The way he looks tonight should be illegal.

The way he’s looking at me?

Criminal.

Up on the stage, I make eye contact with him again as he passes by, my body heating under his gaze for what feels like the millionth time.

“God, he keeps looking at you!” The girl with two boas and a pink cowboy hat next to me says, her eyes wide. “What the fuck?!”

I feel my lips as they turn into a smirk, raising my eyes back to the stage to see him in front of me again.

Being so close to the barricade was an accident. Somehow, someway we managed to make out way closer and closer as the night went on. Dancing with everyone around us all night has been the best part of the show.

Well… That and seeing Harry dressed in the most delicate and detailed costume.

A clown with the prettiest cream fabrics and lace along with the most perfect moon and stars offsetting the lighter colors with their darkness. Even his cheeks have the rosiest hue— complete with little pearl drops along his cheeks and above his brows.

Nothing too scary, but something just sexy enough.

As he plays the song everyone longs to hear, this time when lyrics roll off of his heart shaped lips in front of me, there’s no mistaking it.

‘And when I sleep, I'm gonna dream of how you —‘

Eyes set on mine, he brings the tip of each finger to his flattened tongue, a tease of how he would certainly be able to please between the sheets.

Rolling my eyes as my best friend grabs my arm, her fingers pressing into the bare skin of my bicep, I find his gaze lingering before he moves on — deciding to entertain the other side of his stage before making his exit.

It feels like the scene of a documentary as the end of the show finally unfolds and people make their way from the stadium, a mass of people all looking for something to get them as high as the feeling Harry Styles gives them.

Laughing on the way out, I give the longest hugs that I can manage before slipping out into the night to find the small bar that has always welcomed me on a night like tonight.

A night when I’m not ready to dream quite yet.

Between the way the city never sleeps and the people out for their own version of tricks and treats, it feels like hours before I find what I’m looking for even if it’s not terribly far away from where I started.

Still dressed in the costume I threw together at the last minute, I don’t even find myself caring much about that. People from all across the city are dressed in various Halloween get ups— making it that much easier to blend in.

Even if the majority of my skin feels like it’s on display.

Smiling as I grip the door handle, it’s the large hand that covers mine that makes my heart race.

The anchor tattoo.

The mermaid.

The cross.

Turning on my heel, the same eyes that looked into mine in front of thirty thousand people trace over my face — over my freckles, over my cheekbones… Over my lips.

“It’s you.” Low and raspy, the accent drips off his lips as they turn into a sinister grin.

Rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek, I watch his eyes follow the movement as I press through the door and let him follow.

“It’s me.”

The bar is small and dimly lit, the best place to come if you don’t want to be found.

I’ve come here for years, a product of begging to be lost.

Turning my back on him, I make my way to the bar and sit on one of the stools, smiling as the bartender makes his way down to me. I can feel Harry’s presence as he slides onto the stool next to me, his thigh brushing against the skin of my thigh that my skirt doesn’t cover.

“Hey, babe.” Leaning over the bar and kissing my cheek, the familiar face behind the bar places a shot glass on the counter before filling it with tequila and placing a lime along the rim, sliding it to me. “How was your night?”

My face turns towards the man next to me, his features sharper in the low light as he studies me carefully before I look away from him with a shrug. “It was okay.”

A laugh falls from his lips as he leans into me, his lips brushing against my ear. “Okay? Is that all you have to say about me?”

“Maybe it is.” My shoulders lift in a shrug as I turn to face him, reaching for the shot and taking it, watching Harry as his eyes focus on my lips where I taste the lime. “Why? Are your feelings hurt?”

Catching the attention of the person behind the bar, those mossy eyes hold mine as he orders. “Can I please have four shots of tequila?”

“You alright with this guy, Chan?” Looking between the two of us, his eyes narrow in Harry’s direction.

I laugh. “We’re good. You can pull your best friend shit somewhere else.”

Rolling his eyes, he pours the shots out for the two of us. Leaving a small bowl of salt and limes before making his back to the other end of the bar.

“Chan?” Harry’s voice is rich and smooth, just like you always hear about. “Is that short for Chandler?”

I shake my head as I bring my hand up and flatten my tongue before running it across the back of my hand, eyes locked on his. “No, it’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me?” Watching my every move, his green eyes watch as I pinch salt between my fingers and let it fall to my skin.

“Should I?” Once again, I flatten my tongue across the same spot and taste the salt before picking up the small glass of liquor, tipping it back and letting it burn down my throat. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

Tension unlike I’ve ever known settled between us.

Somewhere my brain tells me to be careful, but the reckless part of me says that sometimes things are just meant to happen.

The odds of running into a man like him are practically zero. Yet here I am with flushed skin from the warmth of his proximity.

I reach for the lime but Harry beats me to it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and pressing the acidic fruit to my bottom lip, eyes begging for me to open for him.

“Suck.”

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I flick my tongue across the broad side of the lime before wrapping my lips around it and following the simple instructions.

“So you do know how to listen.” Harry pulls his hand away from me before dropping the fruit back into the empty shot glass.

Tilting my head back, I laugh.

Pressing my hand on his thigh and leaning forward, this time my lips brush against his ear. “I only listen when I feel like it.”

“Hmm.” He hums as he leans back, eyes looking over my body. “Do you feel like listening tonight?”

I shake my head as he reaches for my hand and pulls me in close, his eyes burning through me as his tongue darts out and presses to my skin along my forearm. Holding me in place and using his other hand, he easily sprinkles the salt along my heated skin before flattening his tongue and tasting it.

My breath hitches in my throat as his fingers tip the glass back, taking the lime and holding it out for me. Taking the hint, I bite onto it and lean towards him letting him take it from me with a smug grin on his face. His lips brush against mine for only a moment before he leans away from me, sucking the juice out of the fruit to chase the bitter taste of the liquor. “Come on, tell me your name.”

“I’ll tell you on one condition.” Squeezing his thigh, I brush my lips against the base of his throat, smiling when I feel him swallow thickly.

“And what’s that?” Gripping my chin, Harry tilts my head backwards and grins at me, his notorious bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

I roll my tongue along my bottom lip, watching as his eyes drop to my mouth. “You keep staring at my lips like you want them to do something.”

“Yeah?” His grip on my chin tightens. “What if I want to put them to work?”

I lick my bottom lip as my breathing shallows, giving Harry the opportunity to press his thumb into the small bowl of salt and brush it along my bottom lip. “I’d say you talk a lot for someone who hasn’t made a move yet.”

Harry’s eyes darken as he leans in, flicking his tongue along my bottom lip and tasting the salt. Reaching for one of the last two shots that he ordered, I watch as he pours the liquid into his mouth before using his thumb to pull on my bottom lip in a silent request.

Running my tongue along my lower lip and opening my mouth for him, I can’t even be bothered to be surrounded by other people or the sound that comes from the back of my mouth when he spits the liquor onto my waiting tongue.

Grabbing the lime and holding it against the skin of my throat, I’m almost embarrassed by the whimper that falls from my lips when he squeezes the wedge and his warm tongue catches the juice as it rolls down the column of my throat as I swallow.

“That’s right… Swallow for me, pretty girl.”

I can barely register his words before his lips are on mine and I can taste the flavor on his tongue as it finds mine, one of his hands sliding back into the waves at the nape of my neck and the other slipping just under the hem of my skirt and past the dark leaves of my costume.

He kisses me hard and with no abandon, as if he wants nothing more than to devour me. Leaning closer to him and hooking my finger into the waistband of his pants, I moan lightly when his teeth drag across my bottom lip.

“I need to get you alone.” He mumbles, his hand sliding along the inside of my thigh as his fingertips dance across my skin. “Need you on your knees while I watch those lips wrap around me.

I gasp when he drops his lips to my neck, nipping and sucking my skin. “There’s a private bathroom in the office— fuck, down the hall.”

Leaving the last shot, Harry takes my hand and pulls me towards the hallway that leads us in the right direction. With his arms wrapping around my body from behind, once we stop just long enough for me to punch in the code for the keypad I can feel him hard and ready behind me.

“If you don’t hurry, I’m going to take you right fucking here.” Nipping my earlobe, Harry plays with the hem of my skirt as his hand grips my throat and turns my head to the side, giving him more access. “How many ways are you going to let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“Fuck.” Punching the last number into the keypad, when it beeps twice and I turn the handle, it opens easily.

We barely make it into the room and slam the door before Harry turns on me, pressing my body into the door and pressing his thigh between my legs, pinning me in place.

His mouth is on mine in a messy and hungry kiss all while his hands take their time exploring my body. From my breasts to my ass, not one place goes unnoticed by his skilled hands.

“This fucking costume.” Bringing the skin at the base of my throat between his teeth only to soothe it with his tongue, I shiver when he drags his finger along the top of the ivy, digging behind it enough to trace my skin. “People think that it’s so bright on stage and that I can’t see, but I do — I fucking see everything.”

Kissing under my jaw, his hands work the hooks that line the front of the top, one by one. “Tell me what you saw, Harry.

“You want to know?” Dragging his tongue across the swell of my breasts, I reach up and run my nails across his scalp, making him moan. “I saw you, dressed in this—“ Releasing the last button and letting the top of the corset fall to the floor, Harry cups both of my breasts and squeezes them, pinching each nipple at the same time. “I watched you dance, seeing your perfect ass sway from side to side like you didn’t give a single fuck that I was on that stage.”

Dropping down, Harry runs his tongue across the sensitive peak a moment before taking it between his teeth, pulling back enough to make me gasp. “I didn’t— I was more of a Niall girl—”

“Beautiful and bratty, huh?” His fingers find my throat as I smile, pressing into my skin just enough that my lips part on an exhale from the rush. “The only name that's going to come off your lips tonight is mine.”

“You seem so—.” My thoughts all but disappear when I feel Harry reach down and slip his hand under the tight material of my skirt after tracing the edge of the garter along my thighs.

Taking my nipple back into his mouth and teasing, he pulls back to look at me as his knuckle presses into my clit over the fabric of my underwear. “I seem so what, Chan? You won’t even tell me your name yet here you are — dripping down the inside of your thighs for me.”

“So full of yourself.” I finally get out. “Maybe you really are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Pushing the fabric aside, Harry doesn’t even pace himself, sliding two fingers deep inside of me and making me cry out as his thumb circles my clit with so much pressure it borders pain. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Harry—“ I moan.

Curling his fingers, I feel like my body is on overdrive as he works an orgasm out of my body quicker than even I’ve been able to do it. . “Come on my fingers for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Reaching out and gripping his shoulders, I can see the dark evergreen of his eyes just on the rim of his blown out pupils under the lights as his breath comes out shallow, the muscles under his skin flexing as he works me even harder through my orgasm.

Once my body loses all of the tension I tip forward into Harry’s arms with a laugh. “Jesus.”

“Yeah? That good?” He smirks as he wraps my hair around his fist. Once, twice. “Chan, I need to ask you something.”

I nod, my eyes the only things he’s focused on. “Now you want to ask questions?”

“I’m serious.” His nose brushes mine before he places a soft kiss to my lips, a complete contrast to the way he just coaxed a release from my body. “I need to know that if you don’t like something or you want me to stop that you’ll tell me, okay?”

I nod, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, taking my time to enjoy the way his tongue feels moving with mine. “I promise.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes burn into my features looking for any sign of hesitance.

“I’m sure.” Getting impatient, I nip his bottom lip. “Now, are you going to fuck me or stand here and be a gentleman all night? Which one is it?”

“Such a fucking mouth on you.” Flexing his hand in my hair and pulling tighter, there’s no option but for me to sink to my knees as Harry guides me. “I hope you know how to use it for more than just your attitude.”

Sitting back on my heels, I lick my lips. “Only one way to find out.”

“Go on then.” Nodding towards his straining cock beneath the fabric of his pants, he waits for me to undo the button. “Let me watch you choke on my cock so that you can’t talk back to me.”

When my hands finally free him, I whimper at the same time Harry’s groan fills the small office. Leaking with precome, I flick the tip of my tongue to collect the pearly drops.

“Pinch my thigh if it gets to be too much, yeah?” Using his hand that doesn’t still have my hair wrapped around his fist, he cups my jaw and runs his thumb across my cheek as I nod. “Be a good girl and open your mouth for me.”

Taking Harry into my mouth, I wish I could take a picture of how he looks from this angle. His head tilts back as a moan curves around his lips, I swear to god I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life. Pushing his hips forward slowly, I hollow my cheeks as I use my tongue to feel every single ridge and vein he has to offer me. My hands rest on his thighs as he drops his head down and meets my gaze.

“I’m going to go harder, is that okay?” With his cock still in my mouth, I nod. “Good fucking girl, good girl.”

Harry pushes his thighs even deeper, groaning at the feeling of his cock sliding down the back of my throat and making the muscles constrict around him from the intrusion. It feels like so much pressure and not enough at the same time as he repeats the action. Tears form in my waterline as I choke over and over, the tears spilling out onto my cheeks.

“See how good you're taking my cock down your pretty little throat?” Sliding his hand from my cheek, I moan around him as his hand rests across my throat. “Fuck, are you going to swallow for me?”

I choke once more, nodding.

“Good.”

It’s one word that precedes his release, one that I make good on my promise and swallow every drop of.

Once Harry pulls back, I take a deep breath and look up to him for only a moment before he pulls me to my feet and spins us around. Lifting me up and sitting me onto the desk, stepping between my legs and tracing his fingers over the edges of the ivy still wrapped around me.

Instantly his lips are on mine, groaning at his own tastes as he reaches between my legs and pushes the material of the leather skirt up, his fingers finding the sensitive nerve at the apex of my thighs as my hips roll forward to meet the friction.

“Are you this wet for me?” Lips ghosting over mine, his fingers find my nipple, pinching. “Do you want a taste?”

“Yes, please.” I say, looking into his eyes as he brings his fingers up, smearing the arousal across my bottom lip before kissing me again.

It’s impossible not to feel crazed as his hands fall to my thighs and push up my skirt, watching as it bunches up around my hips. “Lay back for me.”

Placing his hand in the center of my chest, I fall back onto the desk and whimper when I feel his warm lips leaving lingering kisses along the inside of my thighs.

“Look at you, so willing to let me do whatever I want with you tonight. I don’t even want to unwrap this pretty package you’ve put on for me.” His breath ghost across my center, the anticipation making me feel like I could explode at any minute. “I guess I got lucky— finding you on a night where you want to listen. A night where you want to be told what to do. Am I right?”

Harry doesn’t give the time to formulate an answer, his tongue immediately pressing into my clit before sucking it into his mouth. The action takes me by surprise as my back arches off the desk and my hands search for anything to hold onto.

Dragging patterns across the nerve, I cry out his name as he devours me like he’s never done before. As he releases my clit, his tongue finds my entrance and makes a languid path through my arousal before reaching the place I want him the most.

Up and down.

Side to side.

The stimulation makes my thighs shake as he tugs my hips toward him until my ass hangs off the desk and he pulls my dripping cunt even further into his face.

“Harry, fuck.” My hands flip, nails digging into the wood of the desk no doubt leaving marks. “Right there, fuck. I’ve never— never been so close so fast—“

Pushing myself up to my elbows, I let my head roll back as Harry rolls my clit between his teeth before pulling back, delivering a harsh slap to my outer thigh.

“Do you want to come for me?” Pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, he raises a brow in my direction and smirks when I nod. “If you want to come for me— if you’re going to scream my name— you’re going to watch me as you do it. You’re going to watch me devour you like my last meal, do you understand?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod, resisting the urge to roll my head back when he immediately finds my clit and brings two fingers to my entrance, pushing them in and finding my g-spot.

“Harry.” His name falls off my lips like a prayer as he keeps his eyes on mine. “Please, please let me come. I need it, I—

I feel it as my body gives into the pleasure Harry so willingly gives.

My back arches, my breast pushing up into the air and not even a sound is able to pour from my mouth. Reaching out to grasp something and knocking a cup of pens onto the floor behind me, I cry out.

“Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” Standing up, Harry looks down at me as he fists his cock in his hand. “I need to be inside of you right fucking now.”

“Condom?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

Harry reaches behind him and grabs his wallet, pulling one out and ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on his length. “Tell me what you want? Hard? Soft?”

“Give me what nobody else can, don’t fucking hold back.” I grit out, feeling him run his cock along my clit. “Prove to me that you can fuck as good as everyone thinks you can.”

Harry smiles down at me only a moment before thrusting his hips forward, burying himself as deep as possible, making me scream out for him. “How’s that for a start? You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Harry!” I cry. “I need it just like that, so deep.”

Pulling his hips back, Harry leans over to kiss me as he thrusts again, the power behind it pushing the desk forward an inch. “Yeah? You like feeling like this? Feeling so fucking full that you can’t stand it. Fuck, you take my cock so fucking well, so fucking well.”

“You’re so big, shit.” I moan, my head lolling to the side as his hands spread across my waist and grip me before slamming into me. “God. It feels so— so fucking good.”

“You can take it.” Harry moans above me, his eyes going back and forth between my face to where he disappears inside of me, watching as I take every inch of him. “It feels like this was made for me. So tight, so warm.”

“Please, I need more—“

At my words alone, Harry pulls out and pulls me off the desk and turns me around. Pressing his hand between my shoulder blades, he bends me over the desk before pushing my skirt back up around my waist and grips the waistband to hold me in place.

“Is this what you wanted?” Peering at him over my shoulder, I open my mouth on a breathless moan when his hand cracks across the left side of my ass — quickly followed by the right. “Did you need me to fuck you from behind so I could spank you like this? Huh?”

I feel Harry as he slowly pushes his hips forward, filling me. Listening to his moans as they bounce off the walls, my own whimpers mix with the sound. Gripping my hips, he takes his time as he works so slow — each inch more agonizing than the last before his hips press against my ass.

“Are you going soft on me back there?” Looking at him over my shoulder, I smirk when fire flashes behind his eyes. “Is the guy from the bar all of a sudden gone?”

Harry rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, shaking his head before raising his hand and delivering a harsh slap, one that’s sure to leave his handprint behind.

“I know you fucking like that, don’t you? You’re squeezing my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.” Fingers digging into my hips, I moan when he pulls me back onto his cock and buries himself even deeper. “Tell me — tell me I'm the best you’ve ever had.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, I try to ground myself as Harry brushes against my g-spot with every single thrust, the pull in the base of my spine getting so strong that I don’t know how much longer I'll be able to hold out.

“I’ve neve been fucked like this.” I cry. “Nobody has ever, ever made me feel so fucking good.”

My eyes roll back as Harry presses his fingers against my clit and works them in time with his trusts, making me push up onto the tips of my toes in search of the release that isn’t far off.

“Like that, oh my god.” Panting, I meet him thrust for thrust as he fucks me harder and harder. “I'm so close.”

“Come on pretty poison girl, soak my cock for me.” Gripping the back of my neck, Harry presses me into the desk and gives me everything he has until my body gives up, releasing around him. “Fuck. you feel so good when you come around me like that. So damn good.”

Slowing his rhythm, Harry sweeps my hair off of my back and leans over me, pressing kisses up the curve of my spine. “Harry.”

“Yes?” His voice is soft as he presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You are incredible.”

“One more.” The words fall from my lips even though I know that I'm so fucked, that I know I won’t last much longer. “I want one more.”

Stopping his movements, I feel Harry chuckle. “You think you can handle me again?”

“I want to see you.” I say, my eyes darting toward the door of the bathroom. “Let me watch you come undone over me.”

Harry grins as he pulls out, the loss of him more than I expected. “I never would have guessed the woman in the crowd would be able to fuck me so well.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate people, Harry.” I walk in front of him, listening to the way he moans when he sees my own release dripping down the inside of my thighs. “Do you like what you see?”

“Fuck.” Running his hand through his curls. He looks freshly fucked and I can’t wait to finish him. “Let me see you.”

Stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light, the sleek and modern design is perfect. Turning, Harry steps close and finds my lips with his, taking his time to kiss me as his hands once again wander my body.

When he takes my nipple into his mouth, I let my head tilt back. “Come on. Give me what I want.”

“So fucking needy.” Harry responds, turning me around and pinning me against the counter. “Bend over, you pretty slut.” Pressing my ass out and shaking it from side to side, I cry out when Harry strikes his palm across each cheek. “How many?”

The tone in his voice makes me moan. “Fuck.”

“I said—“ Cracking down his palm again, he steps up behind me, pushing just his tip inside of my throbbing center. “How many.”

“Until you think I’ve had enough.”

I arch my back when he thrusts forward, his hand connecting with my ass even harder. “What if I never get enough. huh?”

“Harry—“

“What if I'm starting to think one night isn’t enough for me?” He thrusts so deep and I’m so sensitive that it feels so good, I clench around him. “Fuck, when you grip my cock like that I never want to leave — I could fuck you all damn night.”

I moan as I meet his gaze in the mirror, looking at the tattoos on his arms as he slides his hands up my back, gripping my shoulders and pulling me back onto his cock. “Don’t say that.”

“What? Don’t say that I want you?” Bringing his palm against my skin, his gaze locks on mine. “This— fuck, this isn’t normal.”

“What?” I ask, biting my bottom lip and letting my head fall forward. “What isn’t—”

“Feeling like this after one night.” Thrusting into me so hard that I scream, I feel tears in my eyes over the way my body feels ready to give into him again. “I’ve never had sex like this, never fucked anyone this good.”

I let my head fall to the side as my cheek presses against the cool counter, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing through the small room. “That’s because you've never been with someone like me before.”

“Fuck—“ Harry is relentless as he searches for his release. “I need you to come for me again, please.”

Begging me, his eyes are hazy as he looks at me, gaze looking with mine until with one thrust, my body shatters around his. “Harry!”

“Oh, shit—“

I watch as his head rolls back and his body stills for just a moment before his hips slowly guide in and out of me, riding us through the orgasms we’ve given each other.

“There you go, pretty girl.” Running his hands up and down my back. I take a deep breath. “You’re so fucking good. So good, Chan.”

I take a deep breath as I try to center myself. “Harry, that was—“

Resting his forehead between my shoulder blades, his warm breath skates across my skin. “I didn’t know it would be like that when I saw you tonight, the woman dressed with ivy across her body— that the vines would wrap around me and pull me in.”

“I don’t know why you’re the surprised one.” I say, wetting my lips. “You’re the one that showed up here. How?”

Harry pulls out, a whimper falling from my lips at the loss of him. “I don’t know… I wanted to get a drink somewhere where I wouldn’t feel like Harry Styles — I wanted to go somewhere small and local.”

“And you ended up here?” I ask, looking up at him from under my lashes.

Grabbing a hand towel, Harry presses a kiss to my temple before running it under warm water and hoisting me onto the counter, laughing as I wince.

“I ended up here.” He smiles as he reaches his hand between my legs, kissing me when I gasp as he runs the warm cloth over my sensitive clit.

We both look at each other and it’s almost like Harry can’t help it when he leans down to kiss me, taking his time as his hands come up to cup my cheeks.

“Let’s get you dressed, okay?” He speaks the words against my lips but makes no move to let me off the counter to grab my top. “Maybe in a few minutes.”

I laugh. “Come on, we have to get out of here before someone comes in.”

“I hope they do.” kissing down the side of my neck, Harry rests his forehead against my collarbone. “I need everyone to know I was with you — that you’ve been fucked you harder than you ever have in your life.”

Resting my hand in the middle of his chest, I push him backwards and hop off the counter on shaky legs, Harry laughing as he rests his hands on my hips to guide me back into the office.

“Here, let me help you.” It’s a sweet gesture to see a man like him help me back into my top, watching as he uses all of his concentration to make sure every hook gets fastened properly while he doesn’t disturb the leaves.

“Thank you… For tonight.” I say, looking over his features. “I really had a good time.”

Harry smiles and brushes a lock of hair from off my face. “I did too.”

I give him one last smile, reaching for the door handle.

Before I turn it, Harry reaches for my hand, turning me and pressing me into the door one last time, finding my lips with his own.

Unlike most of the kisses tonight, this one is so slow, so gentle.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but I need to be able to see you again — I don't know what my brain is doing to me, but I just know that I need it.” The look in his eyes is so full of hope, so soft. “I’ll understand if you say no.”

“Here.” I hold my hand out, hoping he gets the hint.

When he does, he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. I easily put my name and number in before giving it back to him, watching his lips curl up with a grin.

“Channing?” Looking from his phone to me, I smile as my hand grips the doorknob and finally push it open.

I wink at him as I step out into the hall. “It’s me.”

He steps forward and grips my hip one last time. bringing his lips down to mine.

“It’s you.”

💖

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narrycherries · 3 months

Text

✹ Perfect ✹ one-shot / Fluff

Harry addresses an issue you’ve been hiding from him..

masterlist

word count: 3k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, soft!harry, sweet, fluff, mention of weight gain/loss, mention of sex

A heavy sigh slipped past your lips as you walked into the living room. Harry was sitting in his desk chair in the middle of the living room, his eyes fixated on the television as he played a video game. He had a headset on, talking to his friends while they played. You had just finished blow drying your hair after your shower - your plan was to go to bed.

You approached him from behind, and trying not to scare him, you tapped his shoulder and appeared at his side.

“Hold up.” He said into the headset before he pulled it off and laid it on the ground. He twisted the chair to face you, his big hands grabbed your waist and he pulled you closer. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah..” You mumbled, giving him a soft smile. “Just gonna tell you that.. I’m going to bed.”

He furrowed his brows, he had just checked the time a few minutes ago so he was slightly confused. “This early?”

“Yeah.. m’tired.”

“Feel okay? Not feeling sick, are you?”

You shook your head. “No, just sleepy.”

He pursed his lips for a moment as he looked at you, trying to catch any signs of sadness or maybe pain, but you were just being honest. You seemed tired. He snaked his arms around your body and pulled you close.

“I was gonna bake some cookies for you when I got done.” He was slightly frowning, but you tried to ignore it.

Your arm went around his neck, your fingers curling into his hair. “That’s so sweet, bubby.. but m’so tired.”

“I’ll make them tomorrow then.” He gave you a grin.

“Sounds perfect.” You ran your fingers through his scalp, pushing his hair back.

“Do you want me to come to bed early? I can get off this.” He slightly nodded his head toward the television.

“No, no.” You pulled at his roots. “You’re okay. I’ll be fine. I’m so sleepy.”

He sighed, but gave you a gentle nod. “Okay.. if you need anything at all.. call me, alright?”

“I know.. I will.”

“You always come first, babe.” He reminded you like he always did whenever he was with his friends or playing the video game or in any situation where he thought maybe you’d need extra attention.

“I love you.” You leaned down to kiss his lips, which he returned.

“I love you more, sugarplum.”

Harry was always so sweet and caring towards you, and that pet name was one of your favorites. It was reserved for when he was concerned or worried about you, and right now you knew he was unsure about everything. He could tell you weren’t feeling well, not in a physical sick way but in some sort of way. He just didn’t know why and he didn’t want to push you to tell him. If you wanted him to know, you’d tell him.

“Keep the bed warm for me, hm?” He said as you took a few steps back, trying to walk away without being rude.

“I will. Warm and cozy.” You promised while his hands fell from your sides and you created a wider distance. “See you in the morning, bubby.”

“Sunday mornings mean the best breakfast spread.” He gave you a wink.

“Y’know I love your pancakes.”

“Sleep tight, lovey. I’ll handle breakfast.”

“Alright, ‘night.” You softly said as you reached the doorway.

“Goodnight.”

It didn’t take you long to get in the bed and try to get situated. You laid there for a while, trying your best to fall asleep naturally but it was hard. Your mind was racing with thoughts and you were unable to stop them. Even your heart seemed to beat a little faster than normal.

Eventually, you pulled up a video on your phone and let it rest on the pillow beside you as you listened to it with your eyes clothes. You were hoping it would just slowly allow you to drift to sleep. Of course that wasn’t working for you tonight. Usually, Harry was in the bed next to you. If he wasn’t going straight to sleep, because most of the time you fell asleep first, he was either reading on his phone or cuddling you. Right now, you missed his warmth. You felt lonely, yet you were somewhat glad he wasn’t here. There were things in our mind that were bothering you, and you feared his presence would only worsen them. It had nothing to do with him, it was all your own issue.

You weren’t sure how long you had laid there when the door creaked open. Harry saw your phone on the pillow, and the light from the screen lit up your face. He sighed softly to himself and walked over to your side of the bed, which actually was his usual side. He didn’t mind, but he knew something was up. Your eyes were barely opened, but you were awake. He leaned down, his hand touching your shoulder.

“Baby, I thought you were sleepy, hm?” He whispered, watching your face closely.

Your eyes opened a little more. “I am.”

“You.. went to bed two hours ago.. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“M’fine.” You quickly said, closing your eyes.

“I’m done in the living room.. I’ll cuddle you in just a minute, okay?”

You swallowed a small lump that was forming in your throat, but you didn’t decide to say anything back. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking off his clothes and walking to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Part of you was upset that he was about to be in the bed with you. You didn’t want him to be near you right now, you had no desire to touch him or feel him against you. Then, the other part just craved him so bad. You needed him next to you to sleep, and if you finally fell asleep then the thoughts lingering in your mind would fizzle out. It wouldn’t be that easy, no matter how hard you tried..

When Harry laid down behind you, a heavy feeling began to form in your stomach. You felt extremely nervous, but you hoped that you could push it all down and just ignore it. As Harry’s arm slid under your neck and his warm hand touched your hip, your throat began to go dry. You shifted slightly, moving your butt away from his crotch. He noticed, but didn’t say or do anything.

“Mm, got it all warm under here, honey.” He said with a chuckle as you readjusted the blanket over your shoulder. Him moving around had messed it up a little.

When you didn’t reply, he furrowed his brows and moved his hand closer to your butt. You started to chew on your cheek, a wave of nervousness was flooding through your veins. Harry definitely could tell something was going on.

“Baby, do you want to.. get extra tired?” He began to knead your ass, slow and hard like he knew you liked.

“No.. not.. not tonight.” You said through a heavy exhale as you gently shifted your hips, trying to silently tell him to move his hand.

“Sure? I can make it quick.. tire you out.” He had a smile laced in his words, and any other time you would be up for it - but not tonight.

“Harry, no.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You quickly huffed back.

He moved his hand to the side of your thigh, still trying to be affectionate without making you uncomfortable. “You.. you haven’t wanted to do anything.. the past three weeks.”

The reminder of that made your heart drop and your eyes begin to water. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, not over this, but it seemed like that’s where you were headed. Harry was rubbing your thigh slowly, creating a nice heat against your skin. That usually calmed you down easily, but you were not breaking out of this mindset anytime soon.

“Have I done something to make you upset?” He asked in a gentle voice.

“No.” You shook your head. This had nothing to do with him.

“Okay.. I wish you’d tell me.”

You stayed silent, not wanting to admit to him what was on your mind. You had been thinking about the same thing all week, and before then it was on and off the previous two weeks.

He put his hand back on your hip, and you let out a huff. “Harry.”

“What?” He sounded confused again, and he honestly was. It wasn’t like he was doing anything crazy.

“Just.. stop.”

“You don't want me to touch you here?” He said while sliding his hand down to your stomach. You immediately felt your chest tighten. “I won’t mess with that spot.”

“No, stop!” You suddenly yelled.

Harry hissed as your nails sunk into his skin and you ripped his hand away from your stomach. You shoved his arm back and scooted away from him. He was baffled by your sudden actions, and it was very alarming to him. He was so unsure of everything. Did he do something wrong?

“Baby, what’s wrong? I.. I didn’t.. mean to..” His voice trailed off solely because he didn’t even know what to say.

“I don’t want you to touch me right now!” You were crying now, tears slipping down your face as you tried your best to pull yourself together. It wasn’t working.

“Darling, what’s going on?” Harry asked as he pushed himself up on his elbow, trying to get a better look at you. You were covering your face with your hands. “I don’t understand what I did.”

You groaned into your palms and moved them so you could speak. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Then what the hell is going on?” His voice was louder now, but you could tell he wasn’t angry - he was simply confused and worried.

“My stomach, Harry! I.. I’ve gained weight.”

As the words sunk into his brain, he let out a deep exhale and closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had to address the topic of your weight with you, and it’s not going to be easy. He licked his lips and swallowed harshly. As he stayed quiet for a few moments, you feared that he was disgusted, that he was holding back his anger and disappointment in you.

You started to whisper softly, your words barely audible to him. “I don’t want you to see it.. It’s gross and nasty and.. and I hate it. I hate the.. the way i look..”

“Baby, don’t say that.” He closed the space you shared and put his arm around your body.

“M’gross, Harry. It’s gross!”

You tried to push him away, not wanting him to take notice of where this weight gain was. But he wouldn’t budge, he wasn’t going to let you lay there and think you were gross. He leaned over you a bit, just so that he could kiss your temple and cheek while he whispered to you.

“Baby girl, you are not gross.” His warm breath made your skin melt, but it wasn’t helpful enough to calm you down.

“Yes, I am.”

“Is this why you haven’t.. been wanting to have sex?”

You tried to shrug him off of you, but once again, you failed. You recalled all the times he’s tried to get you in the mood these last few weeks, all the attempts at teasing you and kissing you and touching you.. none of it worked. You were always tired, but you were just faking that.

“I.. I don’t w-want to disappoint you.” You finally spoke back, your words were like daggers to his heart.

He maneuvered your body so that you were now on your back and he was leaning up to see you. His hand slid underneath your head and the other went to your cheek. You couldn’t resist wrapping your hand around his wrist, pressing his hand even harder against your skin.

“Don’t you ever, ever think you could do that, honey. Never, ever.” He shook his head, and you felt your own heart break at the frown that was covering his pretty lips.

You looked at how nice his collarbones and shoulders were, not fit his chest was, how tight his abdomen was.. how strong and fit and handsome and perfect he was. You felt worthless.

“You.. you’re so.. strong and.. and you have the perfect body.. I don’t.. want people to look at me and.. think that-“

“Hey, no, don’t even say that.” He interrupted you quickly.

“Harry, I can’t.. stay.. healthy or.. or beautiful, I’m sorry.”

“Where is all this coming from, darling? You are the most beautiful, perfect woman on this planet. I adore every little inch of you. Why are you.. you acting like I would hate you all of a sudden?” His brows were stuck in a furrow, and you just knew he was upset.

“I dunno.. I.. I just don’t.. like.. how I look now.”

He moved his hand down to your jaw, this thumb began to rub against the corner of your mouth. “Where do you think you’ve gained weight? You look no different to me.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed them as tight as you could. Harry watched as a few tears were pushed out from the corners of your eyes. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hoping and praying that would help. He wasn’t sure if anything could actually help right now.

“My.. my belly.. I.. was layin’.. on the bed the other night and.. and noticed.. how much further it.. comes over my panties.”

Harry immediately knew what you were referring to. That part of your body has always been one of those iffy spots for you. Sometimes you didn’t care, other times you hated it.

“Your tummy is perfect, darling.”

“No it isn’t.”

Harry sighed, and that caused your eyes to open. You were so worried that he would get angry with you, whether over your attitude or over the fact you had gained weight. He shook his head gently and leaned down to rub his nose against yours. You pouted your lips out, your heart was aching.

“Can I.. see?”

“No, Harry.”

“Let me see.. or let me feel it.” He said in a calm voice while slowly pulling his hand away from your face.

You kept hold of his wrist and allowed him to move his hand under the covers. You hesitated at first, but soon laid his hand over the area. Harry pressed down, then started to rub circles into your stomach.

“I love every piece of you. Every inch, every spot.” He said while continuing the gentle rubs.

You shrugged, looking away from him. “I feel nasty.”

“You aren’t, though. You look perfectly fine to me, baby. So beautiful and perfect.”

Even though you knew he was being honest and serious with you, because he never, ever lies to you about anything, you just couldn’t believe it. How could he be okay with this? You wondered, how could he want to have sex with you? How could he tolerate the changes? It wasn’t as serious as you thought.. but of course telling you that would be impossible.

“You know that I love you, right?” He said with a serious lift of his brows. You grunted, but gave him a nod anyway. He licked his lips. “Let me hear you say it.”

“I.. I know you love me, bubby.”

“Then why are you so upset over this?” He pressed down on your belly again. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“I dunno, Harry.”

He pressed his lips to yours and you whimpered as he pecked your lips a few times, not trying to overdo it, just simply loving on you. He pecked your cheek, too, before he started to move. You grunted as he pulled away, but watched as he moved down to your belly. He pushed the blankets away and slid his hand to your waist. You felt big tears forming in your eyes, these were different from the sad tears, as he started to kiss a trail over your tummy. His hand had made your skin warm and somewhat calmed you down.

“I don’t ever want you to think you’re gross. That.. that hurts me, baby. Makes me think m’not doing something right.” His lips were brushing your skin as he spoke, making you tingle.

“You do everything right.” You told him as you sat your hand on his head, your fingers slipping into his hair. “I.. I love you so much.”

“I love you so, so much.”

He stayed down there for a few minutes, just kissing and rubbing your skin. You felt a lot better with his attention being showered on you. It was a relief. You had spent so many nights just wishing you could cut away the weight that had appeared.

“Hey, I know one thing..” Harry said as he leaned up. He returned to where he had been before, his hand was still on your waist though. “This is why you haven’t been eating a lot lately, hm?”

You frowned, not thinking he noticed that. You tried to be subtle with it, clearly that failed. He gave you a gentle smile and you could see the love in his eyes as he stared at you.

“I don’t want you to starve yourself.. A couple pounds is perfectly normal for anyone and not eating is worse for you than gaining weight.”

“I know.. I’m sorry.”

He sighed softly. “You don’t have to apologize for this.. but please, don’t be mean to yourself, okay?”

You nodded, whining lightly as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I won’t anymore, I promise.”

“If.. and only if.. you want to lose weight.. we can cut back on some things.” Harry said with a smile, he could tell you were feeling better. “But.. I don’t want you to think I want you to or that you need to, okay?”

“I know.” You smiled back. “I.. I just felt so bad.”

“And there’s no need for that, is there?” His smile grew. “You know I love you. And you’re perfect, even if you won’t admit it.”

You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down, your arms going around his strong back. You felt so safe under him. “Thank you for being the sweetest man, bubby.”

He chuckled in your ear. “Anything for you, baby girl.”

#harry styles #harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles stuff #one direction #harry smut #harry styles smut #oneshot #fluff #harry styles fluff #sweet #soft Harry

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dreamtofus · 7 days

Text

I just want to thank anyone and everyone who writes fanfic

like wdym this masterpiece is FREE

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asapjens · 1 month

Text

FANGIRLING

PJO: perseus jackson x fangirl!reader

CATEGORY: flufff & kinda cringey

SYNOPSIS: percy and his girlfriend being fangirls

WARNINGS: mentions of taylor swift, twilight, one direction , fangirling, fandoms, annabeth and grover. soooo i pretty much wrote a percy jackson x me one shot.

WORD COUNT: 297

You, yes YOU, are dating the heartthrob Percy Jackson. And guess what? You're a total fangirl for all type of things girly. Like, you're the ultimate Swiftie, 1D superfan, rom-com enthusiast, and Twilight saga devotee. And you're not shy about it – you talk about it all. the. time.

At first, Percy was like, "Whoa, my girlfriend is like, really into this stuff." But you know what? He thinks it's the cutest thing ever.

Seeing you light up and gush about your fandoms? It's like watching a kid in a candy store. Percy can’t help but be charmed by your excitement, and honestly, who wouldn’t be?

So, here's the thing.

Percy starts getting into all the things you love. At first, it's just to bond with you, but soon enough, he's singing along to Taylor Swift songs, discussing Team Edward vs. Team Jacob (he's totally Team Edward, by the way), and obsessing over One Direction's reunion rumors. And get this – he starts gossiping about it with his demigod pals.

One day, Percy’s chatting with Annabeth, and Grover, and he's all like, "Guys, did you hear about Taylor's latest album announcement? I totally can’t wait!"

And they're like, "Dude, you sound just like y/n." And Percy’s all, "Heck yeah, I do. Isn’t she the coolest?" His friends are low-key shook, but you know what? Percy couldn’t care less. He's head over heels for you and your hyper fixations.

And the best part? You and Percy are now the ultimate power couple. You chat, laugh, and fangirl/fanboy together, and honestly, it’s the kind of relationship goals that make even Aphrodite jealous. You and Percy – the hero and the fangirl – taking on the world.

So yeah, that's how Percy became the ultimate fangirl boyfriend. Who knew demigods could be so into mainstream stuff, right? But hey, love knows no bounds, not even when it comes to fangirling.

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chaoticloving · 1 year

Note

Hello! hope youre doing good!! I was wondering if you could write something about how Harry and Y/n just had to leave each other for work and Harry has an interview the next day and he's a little grumpy?? love SOH so much!!

Management

harry styles x reader (soh masterlist)

summary: harry wants to get back at one of his managers for what he said about his relationship with y/n, which makes for an interesting interview.

warnings: heavy allusions to sex, slut-shaming, and just lhh being the best protective bf ever

a/n: may have taken a bit further than grumpy…love lhh <3

The hotel was perfect: isolated, glamorous, and private. That’s why it was every celebrity’s dream. But to Y/n and Harry, it was their relationship’s paradise.

Y/n had a series of interviews lined up in Montreal and Harry just so happened to be able to fake sick long enough for the Montreal radio interview to be pushed back to an incredible two days. Two days was a lot for them, normally they’d have a phone call, a couple of hours, or even a day if lucky. But two days ment that they could spend the night together, and because One direction flew in on the red eye flight, they could get two.

When Harry checked in with the rest of the band, he went straight to his room, changed to pajamas and a sweatshirt with a hood, and left to room 2089, her room.

Harry got a little queezy on the trip up; his fear of heights combined with his lack of sleep and flying sickness didn’t make for a great combo. He just really needed some sleep.

He sprinted through the halls, knocked on the door, than yanked into the room by the only person he would want to yank him like that.

Y/n pushed him up against the closed door and kissed him. It was definitely messy—it was pass midnight and they’ve both been working, so who could blame them—but perfect for them.

“Darling I love your lips so much but I’m so tired I’m gonna need you to carry be to the bed.” Harry begged. “Need y’a to lift me up bridal style.”

“Mm, think you’ll have to carry me—“ Harry dropped his head so it was on her shoulder, grunting slightly. “—Or we can awkwardly waddle to the bed.”

They collapsed onto the bed, held in each others arms with sleep encompassing the couple right away. Harry was bear-hugging Y/n, practically turning into a blanket with the only goal of supplying her warmth. Y/n was happily hugging and subconsciously combing his long, unruly hair while they slept.

The work day started at 9 am. They haven’t seen each other much, but took comfort in the fact they could at least get mindnight to 9 together. Harry was receiving his goodbye kiss soon enough, though. It wasn’t a total loss; Harry got more kisses in the shower and showed Y/n exactly how much he missed her.

Harry was adjusting his pajama shorts as he was reluctantly pushed out of her room and raced to the elevator, making sure he didn’t give a surprise show to any of the guests in the hotel. He was alone in the elevator and ran into no one as he unlocked the door to him room.

He closed the door behind him and sighed, that is until he got spooked by some familiar faces.

“You could’ve let us know you got a booty call before we decided to have a 8am meeting, Styles.” Lenard, one of the many One Direction managers, yelled.

Among him was his mates, Niall, Liam, and Louis. All had their head down and a sorry look at Harry.

“I was only gone for a night.” Harry defended. “Still in the hotel-“

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, boy.” The grouchy man replied. “As punishment, you are on backups for the radio performance-”

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Lenard boomed. He turned to the other singers. “Take this as a warning boys. You’re all excused.” The other boys gave a sorry look to Harry, patting his shoulder, giving a nod, but they all could see was how pissed off Harry had become.

When the door shut, and it was just the two of them, Lenard got back on his bullshit again. “If your main concern is meeting with some girl willing to put herself out-“

“That’s unfair! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Harry yelled back. “I am not just sleeping around, I just missed my girlfriend.”

“Oh right, your girlfriend Y/n, the one who sleeps to get roles” Lenard snickered.

“That is not true you asshole!”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Lenard spoke. Lenard knew fully well who Y/n is, she was the reason Harry wasn’t willing to go into PR relationships with other celebrities. Harry was the most marketable members of One Direction, and Lenard wanted to make sure he could do the most so he could get a raise in his salary.

“You’re more than welcome to fuck around with some other girls. That Jenner one—“

“I already said no, Lenard!” Harry seethed. “I’m sick of all your controlling nagging! I’m singing and dancing my ass off and putting all my work into this and all you can do is complain that I miss one of your surprise meetings!”

Lenard didn’t know what to say, or quite frankly, didn’t care, so he ignored Harry. “You’ll be on closer watch. I will make sure to tell security to never let you out of their sight.”

“That’s unfair-“

“Quiet or you’ll be on backups the rest of tour.” Lenard threatened.

“You can’t do that! I’m half the show!” Harry fought back. “You know the show won’t be any good if I’m on backups.”

“Just clean yourself up and wear what you are suppose to. Downstairs in thirty.”

Lenard walked out, slamming the door behind him. Not letting Harry get a word in.

During the whole interview, Harry had on a fake smile. He was glad Y/n taught him how to make a fake smile look more believable, because all he could see was red.

Ever since Zayn left, One direction management had tighten its claws onto the remaining members. Wanting to make the boys sign a new contract, locking in the boys practically permanently. Y/n, like always, came in a clutch when she prevented Harry from signing and got Harry to get a lawyer that wasn’t connect to 1D, providing her own. With this new lawyer, Harry was able to prevent permanent control, letting him drop when he needed; which only caused more chaos in the group.

As sad as he was for his friend for leaving the band, he understood were Zayn came from. Privacy, independence, freedom, that’s all he wanted.

“Harry you’ve been quiet here today, what’s on your mind.” The interviewer asked.

An idea came to Harry: subtly piss off management. His fake smile turned into a smirk.

“I’m thinking about a shag a recently had.” Harry replied.

“A shag?”

“A shag.” He said bluntly. “Now I got this song idea in my head.”

“How interesting.” The interviewing commented, trying to find an interesting yet pg way to spin this, yet all Harry could focus on was the middle aged men in suits on the other side of glass, all glaring at Harry, roaring up to end this.

“Anyone in particular?”

“According to public opinion, I can only ever write songs about one girl, so everyone can go figure who I’d sleep with.”

One of the managers banged on the window. Everyone looked up as he made a wrapping up sign with his hand. Harry smiled, proud of himself.

“Well, that’s One Direction for you folks…”

“That bloody fucker—“

“Hey, hey, hey.” One of the other managers, an older rich guy by the name of Vincent—the most tolerable out of the bunch, calmed Lenard down.

“He just ruined that interview! We’re going to have a weeks worth of bad press!”

“I already contacted them and they agreed to cuts Harry’s part…”

The voices trailed off as Harry snuck out of the group and into an elevator at the hotel, he made eye contact with one of the members of security but the man, Paul, had a soft spot for young love and simply looked away.

Harry pressed button twenty and the doors quickly shut, the elevator starting its climb to the high floor. He raced to Y/n’s room as the doors opened and rapidly knocked on her door.

“It’s me!” He yelled, knowing a crazy fan would knock the same way he was.

The door swung open and Y/n was met with a sad tall man, so genuinely looked like he needed a hug.

“Harry?” She ushered him inside, locking the door and pulling him in for a hug. “What happened?”

“Management.” Harry sighed. “I got yelled at for not being in my room because apparently there was an impromptu meeting this morning. Then I kinda implied we were together to stick it to him during the interview and said i was writing a song about us having sex and now he’s pissed and I’m so so sorry.”

Y/n broke apart from Harry’s tight hug, pulling back to get a look at the man, once boy, that was apologizing for standing up for himself. She couldn’t believe it. Against Lenard too, which makes Harry’s actions much more valid.

She stroked his cheek, looking into his green eyes that had a tinge of red from tears of anger forming in his eyes. “Hey if it’s to stick it to that Lenard then I’ll release our sex tape if it mean he’d quit and leave us alone.” Y/n joked, causing Harry to let out a much needed sigh of laughter.

“He’d probably drop me after that.”

“Yeah but he’d be jealous.” Harry smiled again, looking at the love of his life. He hand traced her jaw, and thumb traced her lip.

Harry nodded agreeing with the plan, until his face quickly went sour. “But my mum would kill me—god.” Y/n giggled as Harry look deeply annoyed.

“I think it’s time.” Harry’s decided, taking a deep breath before he continued. “I think I’ll bring it up with the others.”

“Really?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah. Lenard has already threatened to make me back up and he said some stuff about you-“ He took a deep breath. “I think I could do better on my own, with my own team. People who don’t care if I sleep with you, or sing about sex.” Harry chuckled, leaning into the fantasy.

“Oh yeah? And how would this sex song go?”

“Hmm.” Harry thought, before singing a jingle of a tune. “I just want to taste it.”

“Haha. You’re funny.” She chided. “Remember to never let your dick do the writing here.”

“Maybe writing about sex is a bit too much. Even for me.” Harry thought. “He would make it way to rude for public radio.”

“He?”

“Yeah my dick, Ed.” Harry teased. “You want to meet him again?”

“Wait Ed like Edward, your middle name?”

“Yeah and Ward is the name of my bonus nipple—“

“I think it’s time for bed.” Y/n interrupted. “You need sleep.”

Harry nodded and followed her lead, stripping himself until he was left in his boxers and she was in her bra and panties. Sex definitely was not on the menu tonight, but they both were a sucker to intimacy and body warmth.

“I’m flying out tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t remind me.” Harry groaned.

“I was thinking, you come with me.” Y/n asked.

“You mean I should skip interviews tomorrow?”

“You have sick days you’re entitled to.” Y/n reminded him, booping his nose. “They can’t sue you for catching a cold. And you definitely look sick in my expert opinion.”

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” Harry snuggled closer. “Where are we going then?”

“Plane goes to England. Maybe see your mum and then leave to Italy?”

“That sounds so perfect.” Harry sighed, knowing that honestly sounds amazing. “I love you.” He kissed her face, sprinkling them all over her face. “So much.”

“I already said I love you. Don’t make me regret that." Y/n said, sleep taking over her voice. “Goodnight Harry.”

“Night, love.”

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lrryswtca · 1 year

Text

✦˙.˙🖇️ ⁺ Burning desire

♡ —— onde louis ensina sua irmãzinha a ser uma boa namorada.

☆. avisos: h!inter (com boceta e seios), humilhação, dracrifilia, degradação, humilhação, negação de orgasmo (leve), manipulação, spaking, falsa simpatia e desuso de preservativo.

INCESTO NÃO-SANGUÍNEO.

🐇— diferença de idade: louis29 harry18

! - lembrando que se algum desses assunto lhe deixar desconfortável, é recomendado que não leia, preserve sua saúde mental.

plot feita pela: @tpwkis4 <33

wc: 3.7k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✦

Harry sentia o palpitar de seu coração cada vez mais rápido ao decorrer do dia. À noite ela teria um encontro com seu novo namorado, Nick, e ela sabia perfeitamente o que ele planejava para o final do dia.

A garota passara manhã e tarde nos confins da internet, procurando saber fazer o certo na hora do ato e nada, nenhum lugar sabia a explicar com clareza, ela só achava sites pornôs que se sentia enojada demais para assistir.

Certa hora, Harry cai sobre seus lençóis rosa bebê de sua cama e choraminga baixinho. Ela não entendia porque era tão complicado se sentir confiante para apenas ir ter sua primeira vez como qualquer outra adolescente sem experiência. Styles obrigava-se a entender tudo antes de lhe entregar para Nick.

— Hazz? — uma voz pouco rouca resmunga do outro lado da porta. Era óbvio quem era. — Posso entrar? — ele continua.

— Entra, Lou. — Harry se senta novamente, com uma perna dobrada sobre a outra, ela repousa uma de suas mãos na coxa enquanto a outra arruma seus cabelos rebeldes.

Um homem berando aos trinta entra no quarto repleto de posters da Hello Kitty, ursinhos de pelúcia de tamanhos variados e um carpete branco felpudo abaixo de seus pés, carregando uma bandeija de comida.

— Você não saiu do quarto uma vez hoje, então trouxe algo para você comer. — Louis dissertou conforme caminhava até a cama da garota.

Quando William sentava-se sobre o colchão, Harry observou como seu meio-irmão era um homem bonito. Com certeza ele já havia ficado com várias mulheres e, provavelmente, pelo menos uma delas não era experiente, ele tivera que ensiná-la, certo? Não iria descartar uma garota apenas por falta de prática, Louis não era um babaca.

Pensando nisso, Harry concluiu que, sendo parentes, mesmo não sanguíneos, Louis explicaria a ela de uma forma fácil para o entendimento básico. Afinal, ela era sua irmãzinha e ele não negaria isso a ela, não é?

— Lou... — com a voz mansa, Hazz coloca a bandeija de lado, que ao olhar de relance continha algumas frutas picadas em cubinho numa tigela e uma garrafa de danone de morango, empurrando-se para mais perto de Tomlinson. Os olhinhos de cachorrinho abandonado em sua expressão. — Você sabe que eu, basicamente, já sou adulta e Nick e eu estamos namorando a algum tempo...

Styles respira fundo, sabendo que existe uma possibilidade de Louis apenas sair do quarto e não à responder devidamente. O homem odiava Nick. Harry duvidava se era pelo simples fato de seu irmão sentir ciúme da irmãzinha dele namorando um garoto mais velho, já que Nick tinha 24 enquanto ela tinha 18, ou se havia algo mais.

— Hoje temos um encontro... — esclareceu de uma vez, os pelos de sua nuca arrepiando-se pelo olhar profundo que recebera de William. — Eu acho que ele quer dar o próximo passo na nossa relação! — murmurou rapidamente, desviando o olhar nervosa.

— E você não quer? — antes que a garota pudesse respondê-lo, Tomlinson continua, agora com as sombrancelhas franzidas — Olha, Hazz, se ele tiver te forçando a alguma coisa...

— NÃO! — Styles o interrompe. — Eu quero isso, s-só não sei muito que fazer ou como fazer. — encolhe-se envergonhada, a cacheado se sentia tão exposta. — Você me ensina?

— E como eu faria isso? — seriamente, Tomlinson a perguntou, seu olhar duro sobre ela.

— Bem, eu pensei que não seria tão difícil já que você, possivelmente, já ensinou outras garotas — explica, criando coragem o suficiente para voltar a encarar o meio-irmão, vendo-o enrugar os lábios.

— Você quer que eu te ensine como eu as ensinei? — devagar ele pergunta, compreendendo aos poucos onde aquela conversa estava sendo levada. A cacheada apenas assente envergonhada, as bochechas coradinhas entregando que ela sabia exatamente a forma que o mais velho iria a ensina-lá.

— Por favor, louzinho... Eu quero ser boa para ele — Harry não sabe ao certo em que momento os olhos de William se tornaram escuros, mas no próximo segundo, suas costas já estavam deitadas sobre seu colchão e o homem mais velho ajustava-se entre suas coxas gordinhas.

Seu coração nunca bateu tão rápido em toda a sua vida, o susto foi tanto que os olhos verdinhos encheram-se de água e a forma bruta que Louis percorreu sua mão pela cintura dela, a apertando, não ajudou as lágrimas a não cairem.

Louis, por sua vez, estava hipnotizado, concentrado demais em sentir a pele leitosa da garotinha sobre seus dígitos. Ela era perfeita, ele se sentia tão sortudo por ser o primeiro a corrompê-la.

— Agora, hazzy, minha garotinha vai ficar bem quietinha enquanto eu te ensino a ser uma boa vadiazinha, não é? — o homem observa a outra assentir copiosamente, sua respiração irregular. — Abra as pernas. — ditou, não esperando tanto tempo antes de desferir um tapa na coxa de Styles, forçando-a a abri-las.

— Desculpa, deculpa! — a menina implora gritando, suas mãoszinhas caminham até seu rosto para secar as bochechas encharcadas.

Impaciente, Tomlinson tira as roupas dela de forma ágil, seus olhos brilhando ao ver a grutinha pulsante da outra, era tamanha a vontade de toca-la que ele o fez sem pensar.

— LOU! — Harry se contorce em uma tentativa falha de fechar as pernas, coisa que é impedida pelo braço livre de William as segurando.

— Fique quieta, porra — seus dedos logo estão circulando a xotinha de garota, ignorando os gemidos manhosos que esta proferia pelo ato. Tão bom quanto apenas encostar, Louis descobriu ser ainda melhor estar dentro dela quando se enfiou, sem aviso, na buceta. — Eu vou enfiar mais um, princesa. — Informou e fez, sem esperar uma resposta.

— A-ah... — os dedos longos de Louis iam fundo na bucetinha da irmã, ela, por sua vez, se contorcia em êxtase, sentindo seus olhos revirar-se fortemente e suas pernas tremerem. — P-Por que eu me sinto assim? — suas falas eram arrastadas e cheias de gemidos entre as palavras.

— Isso é o que você sente quando eu te toco, gatinha. — o melzinho da xotinha de Harry molhava todos os seus dedos. A visão que ele estava tendo nesse momento, a memória de ser a primeira pessoa a abrir sua garota daquela forma, nunca sairá de sua mente. — Porque só eu sei tocar uma vadiazinha burra como você — Ele viu Hazz negar com a cabeça como podia, isso o fez acelerar ainda mais o movimento de seu braço. Louis sentia seu pau mais apertado a cada minuto que passa dentro de seu short, uma vontade quase incontrolável de apenas o tirar para fora e se afundar dentro daquela buceta rosada.

Styles não conseguia raciocinar, ela sentia seu mundo apagando e voltanto, seu corpo tinha espasmos e seu melzinho saia de si como uma cachoeira.

Mentira seria dizer que Harry era totalmente inocente, ela sabia muito bem o que estavam fazendo e como tudo aquilo era errado, mas sua mente implorava para deixá-la desfrutar de tamanho prazer, seus olhos pidões indo e voltando em direção a virilha do irmão mais velho.

Louis sabia de tudo aquilo.

— Você é tão desesperada por um pau que veio se rastejando até o mais próximo de você, não é? — rapidamente, louis tira seus dedos de dentro da grutinha de Harry e leva até os lábios da garota, a forçando a os abrir e sentir seu próprio gosto docinho. — Acha que eu não sei que é uma puta, Harry? — a voz grossa sussurra no pé de seu ouvido, baixa e melodiosa. — Que não escutava quando você enfiava esses dedos dentro da sua buceta enquanto tomava banho?

— L-Lou — sente um tapa ardio em seu rosto, sua fala saindo engasgada pelos dígitos em sua língua. Os olhos de Harry enchiam-se de água, ela nunca se sentiu tão humilhada e tão excitada.

— Me peça, princesa. — E sendo a boa garotinha que era, Harry entendeu perfeitamente o que seu irmão queria dizer e sentiu uma lágrima escorrer por sua bochecha antes de dizer:

— Fode minha bocetinha, papai....

— Papai, uh? — Um largo sorriso surge nos lábios de Louis, satisfação brilhando em seu olhar. — Eu vou acabar com você, bichinho.

As mãos nervosas saem do corpo da garota apenas pelos breves segundos em que se direcionaram a calça jeans preta que o mais velho usava, abrindo os botões e o deixando completamente nu em uma velocidade descomunal.

O Tomlinson não era um santo, muito longe disso. Em sua faculdade, substituindo a seriedade e plenitude de alguém que cursava direto, Louis era conhecido por todas as mulheres que já passou uma noite, nada mais que isso. Claro, eram várias, diversas, mas nenhuma o fez ficar tão exitado em segundos como sua irmã havia o feito sentir, apenas estando parada e gemendo seu nome.

— Vem cá, cachorrinha. — sentando-se encostado na cabeceira da cama da outra, Louis a chama, sinalizando com batidinhas em suas coxas, agora, descobertas.

Harry engatinha até ele choramingando, sua xotinha pulsava tanto, ela precisava do irmão dentro dela, seus olhinhos de cachorrinha imploravam por isso. Ela era uma boa garota, afinal, por que Louis não havia a dado o que quer?

— Papai vai comer minha bucetinha agora? — indadou manhosa ao se sentar onde deveria, o bico dos seus lábios cheinhos e rosas logo se desfez quando Tomlinson o pressionou contra os seus.

— Pare de ser apressada, filhote — Edward sentiu o momento exato que suas coxas começaram a ser alisadas, os dígitos as vezes escorregando para a parte interna e quase tocando sua grutinha tão necessitada. — Você não vê como está sendo patética? Eu estou apenas te dando um carinho e você está se esfregando na minha perna como uma cadela no cio. — de fato, em algum momento após o início da carícia, Harry começara a esfregar-se contra a coxa do mais velho, não sabendo controlar seu desejo.

— Desculpa, Lou — choraminga, seu rosto indo de encontro com o pescoço do outro, escondendo-se lá envergonhada. — Mas é que eu preciso tanto do seu pau em mim, eu preciso mesmo, papai. Você pode me dar ele, por favor?

— Claro que eu vou, princesa, fica calma — Acaricia a bochecha dela, vendo-a inclinar-se sobre sua palma em busca de mais daquele afeto. Surpresa, de fato, ela ficou ao receber um tapa ao em vez disto, observando o sorriso sádico do mais velho se tornar ainda maior. — Você é tão burrinha, filhote, como consegue? — Louis nega com a cabeça, um riso irônico saindo por entre seus lábios — Você me chamou até aqui para lhe ensiar a ser uma boa garota, não é? — a menina assente — Certo, então primeiro eu preciso adestrar a minha cachorrinha.

Styles é derrubada de volta na superfície se seus lençóis, suas pernas se encontravam arreganhadas com William as segurando de tal forma.

— Responde pra mim, irmãzinha, quem é seu dono? — espera poucos segundos, escutando apenas um choramingo vindo da citada — Responde, sua puta! — uma série de cinco tapas são desferidos na buceta aberta de Harry, que grita desesperada, seu melzinho transbordando tanto que escorre até seu cuzinho, melando toda a região.

— O-O papai! O papai é meu dono, só ele! — responde, finalmente, engasgada. Saliva escorria do canto de seus lábios até a fronha do travesseiro. Harry estava em um estado deplorável e sabia que Louis estava apenas começando.

— Boa garota. — Louis nota quando um pequeno sorriso satisfeito aparece no rosto da garota. — E como uma boa garota, você vai gozar apenas com o papai batendo da sua xotinha, não vai?

— E-Eu não consigo, papai... — tenta negar. Os dedos do Tomlinson ainda estavam em cima da sua buceta, e ela, em busca de qualquer coisa que a satisfaça, rebola contra eles.

Percebendo isso, Louis volta com a série de tapas, irritado com tamanha ousadia. Harry esperneia e tanta fugir do irmão, que a mantém firme no lugar.

— Você está maluca, porra? — um último tapa é dado, momentos antes de Louis se inclinar para ficar totalmente nu, retirando a camiseta que ainda usava. — Quem você pensa que é para fugir de mim assim? — berrou transtornado, a raiva tomando conta de si, até que ele levanta e sai do quarto, deixando Harry bem confusa para trás.

Não tardou para o mais velho voltar, portando consigo uma coleira rosa, Styles instantaneamente a reconheceu. A casa onde moravam tinha uma cachorrinha chamada Lola, Louis comprara aquele acessório para a mesma a algumas semanas.

— Vem aqui agora. — Harry obedeceu, levantando da cama com as pernas tremulas, seu líquido especial correndo por suas pernas e pingando no chão. — Ajoelha! — No momento que a garota faz o que foi ordenado, Tomlinson passa a coleira por seu pescoço, um pingente prateado com um L cravado reluzia à luz do quarto. — Isso é para você lembrar à quem pertence, você é minha, Harry, não tem como fugir de mim. Eu sempre vou te encontrar.

Styles deveria estar concentrada no que era lhe dito, estava levando uma bronca por ser uma má irmãzinha, afinal. Mas o pau grosso e babado de pré-semen sobre o abdomem de Louis a chamava mais atenção. Era tão bonito, tão grande, ela poderia morrer engasgada com sua porra e se sentiria realizada.

Suas mãozinhas vão ao meia de suas pernas, ela era uma garota burra e sabia que seria punida pelo que está fazendo, mas ela precisava de alívio, sua buceta doía tanto.

— Você não aprende mesmo, não é, cachorrinha? — suas unhas se cravam no couro cabeludo dela, arrastando sem se importar de volta para a cama, jogando-a de qualquer jeito no colchão. — Eu ia ser gentil com você, Hazz, ia mesmo, mas como eu infelizmente reparei que você só é uma puta sem valor, eu vou te tratar como uma.

Os próximos segundos são resumidos em Louis enfiando seu pau brutalmente na entrada da garota, gemendo rouco pelo aperto de estar no interior de uma bucetinha virgem. Ele entrou tão rápido, que Harry ao menos teve reação, sua boquinha aberta e os olhinhos verdes caindo lágrimas foram a única coisa que fez durante um tempo.

— P-Papai... D-Dói... — o choro, agora, era alto. Harry se entorcia e batia nos braços fortes de Louis, a dor era insuportável mas tão gostosa ao mesmo tempo que ela rebolava do pau do outro em movimentos involuntários. — Tira, por favor...

— Me pede para tirar mas está se esfregando igual um putinha no pau do papai — Tomlinson ainda estava parado, esperando a garota se acostumar com seu tamanho e com a invasão. Por mais prazeroso que seja ver sua irmã chorar de dor por estar sendo comida como a vádia que é, ela ainda era virgem e Louis não queria de fato trazer uma memória ruim da sua primeira foda. — Presta atenção, eu vou me mexer e te comer até você não aguentar mais, está me ouvindo? — Harry assente devagar, o choro cessando aos pouquinhos conforme ela se acostuma. — Eu quero que me diga uma palavra que me fassa parar, para me avisar que você não quer mais, okay?

— Melancia. — com isso, os movimentos leves se inicial. William entrava e saia de sua irmã, aumentando o ritmo gradativamente, uma de suas mãos vão aos seios de Harry, apertando enquanto a outra segurava sua cintura. — P-papai... — a sensação de ter seu irmão mais velho a comendo daquela forma era surreal, sempre o observou e teve desejos com o corpo do outro tão perto de si, mas isso? Isso era um sonho, que Harry teve o prazer de realizá-lo.

— Você é tão deliciosa, amor. Uma putinha tão boa de comer. — Edward gemia com os elogios, Louis sabia como a garota amava ser elogiada, descobrindo, agora, que no mesmo tanto de ser degradada.

As estocadas ficaram rápidas, virmes e brutas. Tomlinson não tinha barreiras o impedindo de fazer quaisquer coisas, isso se tornando um fato ao ouvir a garota pedindo por mais, gemendo seu nome.

— Papai eu... Eu preciso... — uma sensação imunda o ventre de Styles, sua buceta queimando em resposta. — S-Sai... — Ela não entendia o que estava por vir, entretando, Louis tinha uma noção e, querendo que aconteça, começa a estimular o grelinho dela. — N‐Não, papai, para! E-Eu.... — Harry joga a cabeça para trás gemendo alto quando jatos de um líquido transparente molham o abdômen de Louis, explusando seu pau do interior. Ela havia esguichado.

Maravilhado não chega nem aos pés de como Tomlinson se sentia naquele momento. Ele estava tão orgulhoso de si mesmo e da sua garotinha. Seu pênis pulsava e pré-porra descia por toda a extensão.

— Você é tão perfeita, bichinho, tão fudidamente gostosa. — William observa quando os olhinhos fechados da mais nova se abrem e, em vez de o encarar, encara seu pau, um brilho faminto surgindo na imensidão verde de sua íris. — Você quer, gatinha? — Louis segura sua extensão, a balançando conforme aproxima seu falo da boquinha rosada de Harry.

— Por favor, papai — Mesmo com a voz fraca de tanto gritar, ela implora, suas pequenas mãos querendo encostar no irmão, mas não o fazendo por receio dele se afastar por não ter pedido permissão. Sua língua é posta para fora, lambendo a cabecinha do pau de Louis, ao mesmo tempo em que olhava para o mesmo em aprovação. Louis, por sua vez, se encarrega de segurar os fios da Harry, forçando-a a abrigar toda sua extensão, chegando até a garganta da mesma.

Harry se engasga, obviamente, mas isso não impede Tomlinson de continuar metendo em uma boquinha sem dó nem piedade. A garganta vibrava conforme Styles gemia, isto causando um enorme prazer no irmão, que não parou os movimentos até sentir sua virilha formigar, sabendo que seu orgamo estava próximo. Entretanto, ele não continuou naquele posição sabendo desse fato, se encarregando de voltar para entre as coxas de Harry e meter seu pau em sua grutinha, lentamente desta vez.

— O papai me come tão bem, minha bocetinha gosta tanto de abrigá-lo dentro dela — elogia delirando, tonta por tantas sensações sentidas em poucos segundos. Seu ventre formigava novamente e ela, agora, tinha certeza que gozaria em breve. — E-Eu estou vindo, papai...

— Eu não deixei você gozar, Harry. — ditou conforme metia de forma lenta na irmã. — Você só pode gozar depois que eu gozar. — Informou, ouvindo o choramingo de Harry. Os olhos da garota se encheram de lágrimas novamente, por que ela não podia se aliviar? — Se for uma boa cachorrinha, papai deixa você gozar junto com ele. — Louis sabia que havia uma grande possibilidade de gozar em poucos minutos, com isso, ele leva seus dedos para o clitóris de Styles, o amassando no mesmo ritmo de suas penetrações.

Não tardou para seus orgasmos vieram, juntos, como Tomlinson ordenou.

Louis ainda fica um tempo dentro de Harry, saboreando a sensação que era seu aperto, antes de se retirar e ver sua porra deslizar pela bucetinha judiada até o cuzinho da garota. Uma vista que facilmente o deixaria duro novamente.

— Papai... — Harry o chama, ganhando sua atenção. — Obrigado por me ensinar a ser uma boa garota. — ela agradece em um filete de voz, rouquinha.

— Minha cachorrinha — Louis se caminha até estar deitado, com sua irmã em seu peito. — Você sempre foi uma boa garota, mas o papai quer que seja só a garota dele. — sua voz é mansa, um carinho era feito nos cachos de Harry.

— M-Mas e o Nick, papai? — A bochecha rosada se arrasta no peito de Tomlinson, seu olhos verdes encarando o outro em confusão.

— Ele é só um idiota que estava com você apenas para te comer, minha gatinha. — William encara Harry de volta, seu rosto transmitindo uma calmaria não existente em seu interior ciumento. — Eu amo você, eu nunca iria embora depois de usar seu corpinho como ele faria.

— Mesmo? — seu olhar brilha, ela amava tanto seu papai, confiava nele com sua vida. — M-Mas o quê eu faço? Não vou ao encontro amanhã? — perguntou, sentando-se na cama e gemendo no processo pela fricção de sua xotinha com o lençol.

— Claro que vai, meu amor, o papai que dar um último presentinho ao seu namorado antes de você ser só a minha putinha particular...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ✦

Eram por volta das quatro da tarde, Londres estava cinzenta e silenciosa, um vento gélido percorrendo a cidade e se chocando com a pele branquinha e descoberta de Harry. Ela estava em pé no meio de um parque vazio, próxima a um carro preto que conhecia bem, esperando Nick para o encontro tão aguardado. Ele estava atrasado, por sinal.

Suas mãos tremiam e suas bochechas coradas entegavam o quanto ela estava nervosa para aquele encontro mas, afinal, o encontro ainda iria acontecer?

Seus pensamentos são deixados de lado quando Edward vê a cabeleira loira do, futuramente, ex-namorado se aproximando.

— Oi meu amor — Nick sorri, tentando beijar Harry que desvia, um olhar pouco irritado surgindo em sua face.

— Nick eu quero terminar com você — diz de uma vez, não tardando em fazer o que Louis ordenou a si e contrair a xotinha descoberta por um calcinha e deixar a porra que ele havia depositado minutos atrás dentro de si escorrer por suas pernas, por debaixo de uma sainha branca quase transparente.

— Como assim, meu bem? — Nick desvia o olhar quando nota algo escorrendo pela perna da garota. — O que é isso, minha linda?

— A porra do meu dono. — informa confiante, um orgulho brotando em seu peito por não tremular sua fala.

Finalmente, o loiro nota as marcas pelo corpo de Styles, os roxos no pescoço que iam descendo até os seios avantajado, os lábios inchados e suas coxas vermelhas em tapas.

— Dono? — Atordoado, ele pergunta se afastando sutilmente.

— Louis é meu dono agora, eu nunca mais quero te ver, Nick! — então, ela abre a porta do carro e se direciona para dentro, ignorando completamente os chamos do ex.

— Você foi muito bem, bichinho. — um sorriso nasce no rosto de Harry, que se vira animadinha para encarar seu papai, que a olhava orgulhoso. — Vem cá, vou te dar um recompensa.

Com as pernas para cada lado do corpo do mais velho, Edward se encaixa para sentar-se sobre o membro de seu irmão mais velho, feliz e realizada.

E Nick, ainda do lado de fora, apenas ouve os gemidos manhosinhos de Harry, o carro balançando conforme ela quicava no pau de Louis.

— Eu te amo, cachorrinha. — Louis diz, ajudando-a com os movimentos contínuos.

— Amo você, papai — Harry respondo entre gemidos, segurando o rosto do mais velho e o beijando apaixonada.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ✦

é isso, bichinhos!! 💌 eu espero mesmo que vocês tenham gostado, foi a primeira one que eu escrevi aqui e, com certeza, a que eu mais escrevi 😞 muito muito obrigado por lerem e até uma próxima💗

#louis and harry #harry styles #larry stylinson #louis tomilson #one direction #hinter #intersex #smut #oneshot #lrryswtca #larrysmut #hbottom #harrybottom #ltops #louistops

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babydoslilo · 6 months

Text

Entre Rivais

O que acontece no jogo, fica no jogo. Ou pelo menos tinha sido assim até Harry Styles e Louis Tomlinson, capitães de times rivais, deixarem a competitividade e arrogância influenciar suas atitudes fora do campo.

Talvez não tenha sido uma boa escolha para Tomlinson pressionar o corpo forte na parede. Também não foi muito bem pensado que Styles se viu entre um peitoral másculo e um sofá.

Em um cenário majoritariamente masculino e homofóbico como o mundo do futebol, não é recomendável que dois jogadores heteros desenvolvam certos tipos de sentimento.

Bom.. eles terão que lidar com isso.

Essa história contém: Smut gay; Revezamento; Enemies to lovers; Harry um pouco menor que o Louis; Mutual pining (quando as duas pessoas se gostam, mas acham que o outro não está interessado).

Pequeno aviso aos que leram Rivals: vocês vão achar muita semelhança com a oneshot ziam no início, mas essa é a história completa que eu queria fazer quando pensei naquele plot. Boa leitura!!

WC: +18,4K

O apito soou estridente anunciando o início da partida. Seria só mais um jogo comum entre dois times ingleses se não fosse pela competitividade que exalava dos poros dos seus respectivos capitães.

Apertar as mãos dos seus oponentes poderia ser descrito como o momento mais cortês e amistoso de qualquer esporte, mas também era o mais falso. Os olhos claros se encararam por segundos inteiros e nem um "bom jogo" foi pronunciado, os maxilares rigidamente marcados e o aperto forte em suas mãos deixou claro o quão sério iriam jogar naquela manhã. Assim que se encontraram frente a frente novamente para jogar a moeda e decidir quem iniciaria com a bola, o ar pareceu se tornar mais pesado e o choque entre o azul e vermelho das roupas assim tão próximas poderia soltar faíscas.

Pela primeira vez durante toda a etapa classificatória das equipes, o sol brilhava forte no céu, fazendo com que os jogadores ficassem suados e cansados ainda mais rápido. A tela verde que era o gramado estava totalmente pintada com pontinhos misturados das cores azul, branco e vermelho dos times e o uniforme preto que acompanhava com velocidade os jogadores para marcar qualquer penalidade no jogo.

O uniforme de Louis era branco com mangas e short azuis, e já estava manchado de terra, suor e grama em poucos minutos da partida. A faixa preta que segurava os fios curtos molhados o irritava com a pressão constante em sua cabeça e ele estava a ponto de arrancar tudo com o nervosismo que sentia a cada minuto que passava sem um maldito gol. Os 15 minutos iniciais do primeiro tempo foram cruciais para determinar o ritmo e seriedade com que os times jogavam, e mesmo que o resultado não fosse eliminar ninguém da competição, era importante se manter em um bom pódio.

Tomlinson, como capitão, seguia correndo o máximo que podia e animando os colegas, incentivando a sempre continuar com as marcações e ataques. Aquele apoio era fundamental e todo mundo podia reconhecer o efeito que tinha uma boa liderança. Do outro lado do estádio, o time rival não tinha a companhia do seu capitão em campo, mas podiam sentir a apreensão e incentivo que o cacheado emanava dos bancos, não conseguindo, no entanto, se manter sentado enquanto os parceiros jogavam, e por isso estava sempre gritando ordens em pé como se fosse o técnico.

Harry Styles estava se recuperando de uma cirurgia no joelho e por isso só entraria diretamente para o embate se fosse realmente necessário. Enquanto os colegas conseguissem manter a defesa bem alinhada, as marcações pressionando os adversários e os passes bem feitos, não havia motivos para se desgastar. Essa tática seria útil em não lesionar ainda mais o jogador se ele de fato conseguisse se manter calmo e descansado enquanto não precisava se esforçar, recomendação que realmente não era cumprida ao que as pernas envolta em um short branco se movimentavam ansiosas de um lado para o outro e os braços tatuados não paravam quietos, passando a mão pelos fios castanhos e apontando para o jogo aos gritos em todo segundo.

O dois times em campo eram muito bons, não dava pra negar, mas assim que Louis fez o passe que foi brilhantemente finalizado por outro atacante, marcando o primeiro gol da partida quase no final do primeiro tempo, a torcida se tornou voraz na arquibancada e Harry sentiu a pressão em seus ouvidos, bem como no estômago. Teria que jogar também.

Mais uma vez o sílvio longo do apito soou, indicando o final desse tempo, e os dois times se recolheram cada um em seu vestiário. Os técnicos e seus assistentes com prancheta em mãos mostravam desenhos e estratégias que poderiam tomar a seguir, os jogadores ouviam atentos às recomendações e sugeriam trocas e substituições, os massagistas e fisioterapeutas davam uma revisão geral em todos os garotos, aplicando sprays mentolados e fitas adesivas, Kinesio tape, para alívio de dores e possíveis distensões musculares, e os capitães tentavam se concentrar na responsabilidade que estava em suas mãos.

Quando puderam voltar para o campo, alongando rapidamente o corpo e dando pulinhos para esquentar o sangue, o clima do ambiente parecia ter mudado. Com os capitães e atacantes à postos direcionando os seus, a atmosfera se tornou quente e pesada, o sol contribuindo para tal já que se aproximava do meio-dia, e os olhos quase fechados pela claridade acharam foco um no outro, encarando com determinação o rival do outro lado do campo. Mais uma vez o som estridente fez com que os corpos se movessem com velocidade, estavam todos famintos no segundo tempo, uns querendo se manter na liderança e outros querendo retomar o poder.

A bola girava nas chuteiras de marcas famosas, o gramado já contava com algumas falhas e a terra se mostrava após quedas e derrapadas em um mesmo local. Os uniformes sujos já estavam se colando aos corpos musculosos e alguns jogadores se sentiam doloridos após tantos empurrões e puxadas que davam e recebiam. No entanto, o embate pessoal entre Tomlinson e Styles não tinha acontecido com tanta ênfase até que o calçado com o número 28 estampado conseguiu domínio total da bola, driblando a defesa dos outros com agilidade e se aproximando perigosamente do gol.

Foi nesse momento, quando estava quase lá, de cara com o goleiro adversário e a área livre, que Louis sentiu um corpo forte e poucos centímetros mais baixo colar ao seu com dureza, uma mão agarrou firme a barra da sua camisa e um peito largo fez pressão em suas costas enquanto pernas ágeis trabalhavam para tentar tomar a bola.

O maior tentou se livrar do agarre com os cotovelos, mas não conseguiu. Tentou jogar a pélvis para trás para ganhar mais distância entre o quadril do outro e o seu, o que também afastaria ele da bola disputada, mas o homem insistia em lhe encoxar, não se afastando um centímetro sequer. A confusão de corpos estava tão intensa que o juiz viu a necessidade de parar o jogo, dando um pequeno aviso de que aquilo não era dança de salão para estarem colados, e assim que Louis virou para ver quem estava lhe marcando daquela forma, seu sangue ferveu.

O cacheado respirava com dificuldade enquanto seus olhos ferozes encaravam os azuis do outro, as mãos que estavam apoiadas na cintura alheia subiram em rendição quando o maior se encheu de uma adrenalina e raiva tão grande que mal viu a hora em que o corpo agiu sozinho e foi de encontro ao que estava em frente. As mãos grandes também tatuadas agarraram o uniforme vermelho e Harry sentiu seus pés levantarem involuntariamente pela força, os narizes quase se esbarraram com a proximidade que tinham tomado naquela confusão que pareceu durar minutos, mas, em verdade, durou segundos antes de diversos jogadores virem afastá-los.

Eram vozes muito graves falando todos ao mesmo tempo, muitos sotaques diferentes de uma só vez e não dava para entender uma palavra sequer, a única coisa que estava em foco eram as feições raivosas e cheia de promessas silenciosas que eles trocaram pouco antes de um cartão amarelo ser levantado em direção ao de uniforme azul.

O jogo seguiu acirrado, mais marcações pesadas ocorreram entre os dois e sempre pareciam mais violentas do que as demais. Uniformes eram esticados ao ponto de quase rasgarem, os músculos das pernas já estavam doloridos após tantos empurrões e rasteiras, shorts amassados e levantados depois de tanto contato e um certo volume compondo toda essa bagunça. Era normal de acontecer em partidas de futebol por conta de todo atrito entre os jogadores, então ninguém se importou muito com isso.

O relógio mostrou que faltavam apenas 7 minutos dos acréscimos para o jogo terminar quando o time que estava em desvantagem marcou gol. A torcida cada vez mais barulhenta nos minutos finais, a ansiedade estampada na cara de cada um presente no estádio, vaias e gritos de guerra se confundiam na acústica local, jogadores mancavam cansados e doloridos pelo tempo em campo quando o apito soou pela última vez.

Jogo encerrado, placar empatado.

Após todo jogo era comum que rolasse uma after party com todos os jogadores dos times que competiram no dia, além disso várias modelos eram convidadas para embelezar a festa e outros artistas em geral não ficavam de fora. Era uma ótima oportunidade de confraternizar com outras celebridades, conhecer novas pessoas, arriscar uma noite casual ou simplesmente curtir como se fossem anônimos.

– Que honra ter a sua preciosa presença nos agraciando essa noite senhor Alex, já estava me convencendo que tinha esquecido dos seus velhos amigos. – a voz de Louis saiu brincalhona enquanto conversava com Alex Turner.

Eles se conheciam desde a adolescência, costumavam dividir baseados e andar de skate nas ruas mais esquisitas de Londres. Mas a vida seguiu e os caminhos se tornaram distantes assim que um olheiro levou Louis para a França para jogar em seu primeiro clube pouco antes de completar 18 anos e quando finalmente fechou contrato com o grande time inglês, Chelsea, e pôde voltar para casa, soube que seu antigo companheiro tinha dado sorte com a pequena banda de garagem e estava tentando a vida de artista nos Estados Unidos.

– Seu senso de humor não mudou nadinha, Louis. É muito bom te ver novamente, cara. – um sorriso torto estampou os lábios finos do cantor. – Ah! Deixa eu te apresentar uma pessoa.. – ele passou os olhos castanhos em volta de onde estavam até finalmente achar quem procurava. Acenou com as mãos e Louis acompanhou o belo homem que caminhava em sua direção. – Esse é Victor Nunez, meu acompanhante essa noite.

O rapaz era genuinamente bonito, Louis pensava nunca ter visto alguém com o rosto tão simétrico e anguloso dessa forma. Ele tinha o corpo alto e músculos em todos os lugares certos, diversas tatuagens que cobriam os braços, um estilo de roupas exóticas e invejáveis ao mesmo tempo e caminhava como se pudesse pisar em nuvens com suas botas de salto.

– Eu sou Louis, muito prazer. – apertou em um cumprimento educado os dedos esguios com unhas pintadas do outro. – Não me leve a mal, mas você é modelo? Acho que combinaria muito com você, deveria tentar.

– Sim, ele é, Tomlinson. Obrigado pelo elogio sutil ao meu parceiro, muito gentil da sua parte. – a voz de Alex cortou qualquer tentativa de fala do acompanhante e Louis virou o rosto em confusão para encarar o amigo.

Os olhos castanhos dele estavam fuzilando as mãos ainda unidas e Tomlinson tratou de separar. Não entendia o que estava rolando entre os dois, mas não queria atrapalhar.

– Bom, Alex… eu posso falar por mim mesmo. – o modelo deu um sorriso pontual para o homem ao seu lado e voltou a olhar para o jogador, suavizando a expressão. – Obrigado, Louis.

– Certo.. eu vou falar com os caras do time, mas aproveitem a noite. Depois a gente se vê, mate. – o jogador se despediu dos outros dois e saiu o mais rápido possível, não querendo ouvir a discussão entre dentes que pareceu começar ali. Estranho.

Louis tentou se misturar entre as rodinhas de conversa que estavam formadas, nenhum assunto lhe prendendo a atenção por completo. Tinha um sentimento que espreitava a superfície da sua pele sempre que ficava alguns minutos disperso, o cérebro se esforçando para encontrar da onde isso vinha, mas sem sucesso.

Ele se sentia esquisito desde o jogo pela manhã. Geralmente no final do dia toda a adrenalina e tensão já teria ido embora depois do banho relaxante e sessão de massagem que era seu ritual obrigatório após cada partida, porém tinha algo diferente dessa vez. Tomlinson podia sentir sua nuca queimando e os pelos dos braços arrepiados, como se o corpo estivesse em alerta e não conseguisse descansar.

Era estranho porque nenhuma confusão ou briga em campo era levada para a vida real, o ditado "o que acontece na partida, fica na partida" era seguido à risca, então o momento de confraternização posterior servia para acalmar os ânimos, reforçar a amizade entre jogadores de times rivais, desopilar do estresse diário com álcool e outras drogas, além de consolar quem tivesse perdido. Pelo menos estava sendo assim para todos os outros.

No entanto, Louis e Harry ainda guardavam uma certa frustração e irritação mesmo após horas do término do jogo, o que até então era desconhecido por eles. Enquanto todos os colegas conversavam, riam e bebiam juntos, já nem lembrando do placar do jogo ou que no próximo mês iriam se enfrentar em campo novamente, eles fizeram questão de se manterem distantes, sendo ligados apenas pelo olhar duro que quase não desviava. Os olhos azuis de Tomlinson estavam tentando decifrar o que os esverdeados pensavam ao lhe fitar com tanta intensidade, fazendo o músculo dos braços fortes tensionar quando o cacheado levou o copo de bebida até os lábios grossos ainda com o foco sobre si.

Os fios de cabelo lisos e molhados pelo recente banho do maior contribuíam para a sensação de calafrio que arrepiava todo o corpo, ao passo que as mãos se fecharam em punhos, sentindo o sangue quente pulsar nas veias saltadas e uma vontade absurda de segurar ou bater em alguma coisa. Não era normal tanta tensão vibrando pelo corpo por conta de uma situação comum de acontecer no trabalho que tinha, mas pareceu um sinal do destino quando Harry, que estava do outro lado do grande salão e aparentemente havia cansado desse jogo de encaradas raivosas que eles tinham entrado, largou o copo que segurava em cima de um balcão qualquer e, deixando uma espécie de desafio para trás, seguiu rumo a um corredor próximo à saída.

O maior não precisou pensar nem por um minuto antes de seguir o rastro do perfume marcante que o outro deixou, não se importando em despedir-se dos colegas que estavam em sua volta. Talvez não tenha sido uma boa ideia, e ele só teve essa percepção quando sentiu o impacto das suas costas batendo contra o concreto da parede assim que dobrou um dos corredores mais afastados e escuros do local.

Era tarde demais.

– Oh, porra. Qual é seu problema comigo, cara? – Louis falou, sentindo sua cabeça ser forçada contra a parede e os punhos em sua camisa limitando a respiração. – Me larga!

– O meu problema com você? Você só pode estar brincando! – A respiração quente e descompassada de Harry batia no queixo do outro ao que ele gritava raivoso, se aproximando cada vez mais. – Tava me provocando a porra do jogo inteiro, fazendo questão de se esfregar em mim quando eu estava só fazendo o meu trabalho de marcação, e agora me segue até aqui pra quê? – encostou a testa contra a dele, o nariz amassando o do outro com a força que ele colocava na ação e os lábios rasparam quando ele continuou. – Qual a porra do seu problema?

Louis sentia as respirações colidindo uma na outra pela proximidade, o sangue pulsando nas têmporas e a pupila dilatando quando o instinto falou mais alto e ele se viu tomando impulso com as mãos firmes na cintura fina do menor, empurrando-o com força contra o outro lado do corredor. Não foi uma escolha racional e eles só notaram o que de fato estavam fazendo quando uma mordida mais forte foi dada nos lábios grossos de Harry e devolvida na mesma intensidade. O beijo que trocavam era doloroso, faminto e puramente sexual.

Não existia delicadeza na troca de saliva, muito menos na maneira que as barbas arranhavam os dois rostos na mesma medida, deixando a pele por baixo vermelha e sensível, e também não havia delicadeza nas mãos que puxavam os fios lisinhos ou nas outras que apertavam as costas e cintura do menor. O gosto amargo do álcool que deixava resquício nas línguas só contribuía para que ambos sentissem o corpo mais receptivo, aceso, e a mente embaçada, sem foco.

O tecido da camisa do cacheado estava sofrendo com os puxões e amassos que as mãos firmes de Louis deixavam por todo o peitoral e costas, descontando ali toda a frustração de estar desse jeito por um jogador rival. Não passaram muito tempo naquela bagunça de grunhidos graves e respirações pesadas entre os beijos e mordidas, numa disputa não muito silenciosa para ver quem dominava melhor ou por mais tempo, pois assim que a mão direita do maior foi em direção ao pau de Harry em um aperto forte, as mãos deste fincaram todos os dígitos na carne macia da bunda de Louis.

Precisaram separar os lábios para ofegar em conjunto, ambos com as pupilas dilatadas e contornos visíveis em suas calças.

Sem nenhuma palavra proferida em voz alta, saíram aos tropeços pelo corredor em direção a uma das portas que tinha ali. Pareciam incapazes de tirar as mãos um do outro e bastou a porta ser trancada por dentro, assim que encontraram um cômodo disponível, para as peças de roupas serem puxadas e tiradas da forma mais rápida possível. Harry não mediu forças quando pressionou o outro corpo na porta trancada, aproveitando para subir pelas costas largas o tecido fino da camisa que ele usava, e logo que Louis se viu livre daquele tecido, tratou de inverter as posições, trocando de lugar e abrindo sem muito cuidado a camisa social que Styles usava, não se importando realmente com os botões que acabaram voando pela força utilizada.

À medida que a pele pálida e completamente cheia de tatuagens ia se mostrando, o maior passou a deixar beijos molhados e mordidas. O primeiro alvo foi o pescoço de Harry, onde o amargo do perfume tomou conta da língua quente de Louis, trazendo um erotismo e ardência que nenhum deles tinha experimentado com os aromas adocicados anteriores.

Depois ele seguiu para o tronco, tentando manchar a pele com chupões e mordidas mais fortes, uma clara competição com a tinta preta que era abundante naquele local. A boca atrevida foi rápida em descer até o cós da calça de alfaiataria que Harry usava, os olhos azuis do maior encarando com curiosidade a espécie de folhagem desenhada no fim do abdômen definido.

Eles não pensaram muito ao tirar com agilidade os tecidos que faltavam para deixar aquele corpo estonteante totalmente despido, ambos descobrindo o quão bem podiam trabalhar juntos. No entanto, antes que Louis pudesse aproximar mais uma vez os lábios da pele quente que pulsava totalmente rígida, o menor pôs as mãos nos cabelos castanhos, segurando com força o suficiente para que o outro ficasse de pé mais uma vez e cambaleasse para trás, seguindo à contra gosto o comando silencioso que lhe foi dado.

A sala que eles estavam não era muito grande e tinha apenas uma mesa de canto com um aparador de bebidas e copos, duas poltronas próximas uma da outra e um sofá de couro marrom claro ao centro. Parecia uma espécie mais informal de escritório ou sala para pequenas reuniões. Esse ambiente só ficou realmente claro para os homens que estavam tão absortos no que estavam fazendo para dar uma olhada geral, quando Louis sentiu seus calcanhares baterem em um material geladinho e liso, claramente o móvel de couro.

E ele estaria sentado e à mercê do outro se sua mobilidade não fosse boa o suficiente para inverter de novo o jogo e derrubar o cacheado bem no centro. Harry estava agora nu, jogado no sofá e totalmente disponível para o que quisesse fazer. Foi com isso em mente que o maior não perdeu tempo e logo estava com as mãos firmes na cintura fina, pressionando o quadril alheio com força, e direcionando seus lábios e língua até a carne tenra e pesada da ereção em sua frente.

– Oh, merda! – Harry gemeu contra a própria vontade assim que seu pau foi abrigado por um calor quase opressivo. A única reação que seu corpo foi capaz de tomar naquele momento era fincar as pernas no estofado e segurar com firmeza o cabelo do outro.

Não era romântico, nem delicado. Parecia quase punitiva a forma como os lábios cheios de Louis desciam e subiam sem trégua, famintos e quase sem controle, deixando a aspereza da barba marcar a pele pálida sempre que descia até a base, olhando para cima como se desafiasse o outro a reclamar. O maior era rápido, não perdeu tempo com sutilezas ou preliminares e o primeiro contato já foi intenso e quase doloroso, ocupando toda a boca e se divertindo com o chiado que Styles soltou por entre os dentes.

O menor tentou algumas vezes fazer com que Louis o deixasse respirar um pouco, aquele aperto em seu membro em conjunto com os olhos raivosos lhe deixavam no limite, mas o outro não se importava, nem queria ceder. Foi por isso que, sentindo o momento em que um acúmulo de saliva escorreu de propósito pelas bolas até chegar em sua entrada, ele fechou os punhos de maneira dolorosa na cabeça alheia e passou a estocar com força contra a garganta, sentindo a glande bater ritmadamente bem no fundo.

De sobrancelhas franzidas e olhos lacrimejantes pelos pequenos engasgos, Tomlinson não iria desistir. Esses momentos de intimidade geralmente não traziam à superfície seu lado mais competitivo e irracional, mas o outro jogador parecia ter o segredo para lhe deixar assim.

Logo os dedos largos passaram a se esgueirar pela bagunça molhada que a própria saliva tinha deixado no corpo do menor, conseguindo penetrar aos poucos a entradinha minúscula e tensa mesmo com o balanço das estocadas que Harry não dava intervalos e vencendo com muito custo a resistência dos músculos que pareciam estar travados por pura provocação.

– Que filho da put- porra. – a respiração ficou presa na garganta assim que foi preenchido por dois dedos. – Não pense que você vai me foder. Isso não aconteceria nem nos seus melhores sonhos.

O nariz que estava colado em sua virilha soltou um arzinho em deboche e a cabecinha sensível do seu pau pulsou com a vibração da garganta que lhe acomodava tão bem. Os jogadores se encararam mais uma vez em desafio antes de Harry retomar as estocadas com ainda mais agressividade, pouco se importando se isso poderia machucar ou esgotar a voz do outro quando acabassem.

Ele também não pensou muito que, assim como ele poderia sempre ir mais forte e mais fundo naquela boquinha, o outro teria muito prazer em revidar suas ações.

Cada maldita estocada que dava na cavidade quente e babada era seguida por uma pressão dentro de si. A ardência de ter aqueles dedos se movimentando com rapidez e sem muito cuidado na sua entrada, acertando aquele pontinho que deixava a visão escura, somado à pressão que por minutos assolava seu membro, não restavam opções para Harry senão deixar os músculos das pernas cansadas finalmente relaxarem e se render ao orgasmo.

Sem nenhum aviso, Louis sentiu um líquido quente e espesso jorrar por sua garganta, o fazendo tossir e se engasgar um pouco pela surpresa. Os músculos em volta dos seus dedos apertaram uma última vez antes de relaxarem completamente, os joelhos alheios caíram afastados e o rapaz parecia tremer um pouco quando ele tirou a extensão quase flácida da boca e passou a limpar as poucas lágrimas que tinham escorrido e a porra branquinha que escapou pelo canto dos lábios. A pupila completamente dilatada completava a bagunça do seu rosto e o pau rígido e dolorido quase furava o tecido fino do jeans que ainda vestia.

O cacheado parecia completamente fodido enquanto tinha as mãos acima da cabeça e tentava recuperar o fôlego, ainda meio desnorteado pelo recente orgasmo e muito desatento para reparar no outro corpo que exalava uma tensão absurda enquanto se despia completamente com todos os músculos rígidos como pedra. Pela feição determinada, não parecia que ele realmente queria fazer aquilo, era mais como se ele precisasse e não conseguisse controlar. A cada passo mais próximo do corpo quente e relaxado no sofá, o rosto se fechava ainda mais e a extensão grande e rubra latejava.

– Ei! O que você pensa que tá fazendo? – o cacheado se forçou a abrir os olhos repentinamente e apoiou o antebraço no sofá, levantando o corpo o suficiente para ver o que o outro pretendia após agarrar os tornozelos de Harry e se enfiar entre as pernas abertas dele.

– Só.. cala a boca, tá? Eu- porra, eu preciso te foder agora. Então você vai fazer o favor de usar essa sua linda boquinha só pra gemer, entendeu? – A voz saiu grave e Louis pôde sentir a garganta arranhando, a primeira consequência da noite que ele teria que lidar.

– O que? Você só pode estar louco – Harry riu surpreso e tentou afastar o próprio corpo para trás. Mas o riso morreu e os olhos claros se tornaram bem abertos assim que sentiu ser puxado pelas pernas e uma extensão grossa e rígida colidiu consigo. – Não. Não.. Eu disse não! Porra- Tomlinson, olha, você não pode-

– Mas que caralho! – O resmungo saiu dos lábios inchados ao mesmo tempo que um estalo fez eco no cômodo. Louis não percebeu em que momento sua mão saiu dos quadris magros de Harry e colidiu com o rosto dele.

A palma da mão latejou, parecia que diversos alfinetes estavam sendo espetados ali e o maior só podia imaginar qual era a sensação que o outro estava sentindo na pele que rapidamente se tornava vermelha. A garganta secou, ele não sabia o que fazer e nem se tinha quebrado o clima com isso e talvez Harry considerasse um erro. Bom.. As dúvidas foram sanadas assim que viu o pau do outro, que estava quase flácido, tomar vida novamente.

Até Styles parecia surpreso com a reação do próprio corpo, mas logo dispersou o transe que tinha entrado e agarrou com firmeza o pescoço alheio, forçando os dedos na nuca até ter a outra face contra a sua. Olhos nos olhos, eles se encaravam com raiva, determinação, desafio e algo a mais.

– Vai ficar só olhando ou vai fazer alguma coisa? – a voz raivosa e debochada era um contraponto aos olhos brilhantes que, impacientes, pareciam implorar.

– Você quer tanto meu pau em você que está tão nervoso assim? – um riso em escárnio escapou dos lábios que, mesmo com a voz estranha, tinham um poder gigante sobre o corpo do outro.

Louis finalmente cansou do joguinho de provocações e se rendeu ao que tanto queria. Levou a mão até sua ereção há tempos dolorida e sensível pela falta de contato, fechou os dedos ao redor e movimentou o punho para cima e para baixo algumas vezes, observando como os lábios bem desenhados de Styles se abriram, os olhos seguindo com atenção cada centímetro que era coberto para depois aparecer novamente.

Não durou muito tempo, no entanto, e Harry acompanhou quando a pontinha brilhante e avermelhada tomou lugar no centro das suas pernas, sumindo até que ele sentisse uma pressão lhe empurrar. As bordas, antes molhadas, não estavam colaborando dessa vez. O tamanho do membro não se comparava com os dedos que lhe abriram e ele sentiu o estômago gelar com essa realização, ansioso.

– Cospe. – levantou os olhos vidrados ao ouvir a voz ríspida dar o comando e uma mão ser estendida em sua frente. Harry realmente queria rebater, mas o corpo não pareceu concordar com essa vontade e quando se viu já estava acumulando o máximo de saliva que podia na ponta da língua e deixando escorrer pelos lábios.

Ele não tinha desviado o olhar das orbes alheias e por isso se sentiu satisfeito quando viu a expressão de Louis endurecer enquanto o líquido transparente ainda fazia ligação entre sua boca e aqueles dedos que já estiveram tanto dentro de si, quanto contra seu rosto. Era interessante saber que podia causar sentimentos tão conflitantes no outro, como se a raiva entre eles fosse tanta que precisavam foder para finalmente seguirem em frente.

Ambos ainda tinham a atenção um do outro quando Louis pressionou mais uma vez a glande naquele aperto sufocante, forçando toda a resistência até que Harry se sentiu cheio. Empalado talvez fosse mais fiel ao sentimento. Ele estava estático, esperando que em algum momento pudesse relaxar o corpo inteiro e aproveitar. No entanto, não parecia que aconteceria em breve e isso o irritou.

– Caralho! Porra! Eu te odeio tanto, merda. – respirava ofegante e estava a um passo de desistir.

– Então quer dizer que o querido capitão de um dos maiores times da Europa não pode aguentar uma simples foda? Você é patético, sinceramente.. Eu esperava mais.

Ouvir isso foi um pouco agridoce para Harry. Ele não queria se importar com que o outro pensava dele, mas ao mesmo tempo a fala mexeu com seu ego. Ele não simpatizava com esse específico jogador, mas não queria desistir agora. Ele não gostava de se sentir inferior, mas seu pau expeliu uma quantidade significativa de pré porra.

Com os olhos fuzilando o outro, o menor respirou fundo algumas vezes, aproveitando para descontar a frustração da dor que sentia com as pontas dos dedos que marcavam os ombros e costas largas de Louis. E assim que relaxou o suficiente para que ele pudesse se movimentar, não dava para voltar atrás.

O ritmo não foi intenso de início como era esperado apenas por se tratar deles dois. Na verdade, a junção do aperto doloroso que a extensão de Louis sofria somado à própria vontade dele de fazer com que outro se sentisse ainda mais desesperado e frustrado, só o fazia retardar as estocadas, deslizando para fora numa lentidão enlouquecedora, como se precisasse sentir todos os malditos centímetros com detalhe, para logo depois brincar com a ponta gorda da cabecinha, deixando apenas ela em contato com a pele do outro que tremia em impaciência.

Ele fez isso uma, duas.. talvez cinco vezes antes que Harry surtasse com a provocação.

A destra agarrou com força uma das nádegas firmes do maior e a outra mão se ocupou em rodear o pescoço lisinho, trazendo finalmente um contato que não fosse extremamente calculado e sufocante. O cacheado puxou aquela carne macia em um só impulso e gemeu aliviado com todo o pau de Louis dentro de si. A mão que estava no pescoço trouxe o rosto corado e suado dele para próximo do seu, os lábios grossinhos esbarrando com as respirações enquanto o polegar e indicador afundavam as bochechas barbadas.

– É melhor você fazer essa porra direito antes que eu me arrependa, tá me ouvindo? – Harry rosnou com as bocas ainda em contato e deixou uma mordida forte no lábio inferior de Louis.

– Lembre que foi você quem pediu, princesa. – jogou no ar com um sorriso maldoso e logo Styles sentiu seu fôlego ir embora.

As estocadas se tornaram firmes e certeiras, pareciam saber exatamente onde mirar, lhe deixando totalmente zonzo e sem direção. Não ajudava com sua tentativa de preservar a dignidade o fato de que as mãos grandes e pesadas insistiam em segurar suas coxas ao redor do quadril que lhe empurrava sem parar e, quando não estavam deixando a marca dos dedos ali pelo aperto, estavam subindo em direção ao rosto, alcançando uma distância moderada antes de descer a palma na pele corada.

Eram nesses momentos que o menor se sentia mortificado após gemidos saírem altos sem autorização por seus lábios. Sentia a bochecha quente dos dois lados, todo o local ardia e pinicava, mas a sensação parecia lhe deixar flutuando. Estava tonto e sobrecarregado, não tinha certeza se seus olhos estavam abertos ou não, só conseguia focar no peso sobre si, na face latejando sem parar e em sua entrada totalmente preenchida.

Em algum momento seus dedos fizeram caminho até os próprios lábios que soltavam murmúrios confusos e ininteligíveis, ocupando espaço ali por alguns segundos e resgatando toda a saliva que conseguiu. Logo em seguida, com a ponta dos dedos lambuzadas e escorregadias, ousou em aproveitar que o outro estava concentrado em acabar consigo e arrumou a posição para conseguir o que queria. Ele estava tão sobrecarregado que precisava descontar de alguma forma e arranhar a pele bronzeada ou morder os lábios macios de Tomlinson já não parecia ser o suficiente.

– Oh, porra! Hm.. – Louis gemeu surpreso ao sentir os dígitos gelados em sua entrada, estranhando um pouco o desconforto de ser alargado ainda que minimamente, mas seria hipocrisia pedir para que o outro retirasse os dedos de si enquanto ele próprio afundava com brutalidade o pau naquela bundinha de Harry. Então ele não iria negar.

Era um pouco estranho e desconfortável para ele. Na verdade, toda essa situação com o outro jogador era completamente estranha e surreal.

Tomlinson nunca imaginou que teria Styles abaixo de si, tão entregue e corado, parecendo mais macio a cada gemido que escapava pelos lábios agora inchados e com o rosto completamente vermelho e marcado. Eles deveriam se preocupar com essas marcas se não quiserem levantar suspeitas, mas os olhos verdes que pareciam espelhos de tão brilhantes ao revirar as orbes não pareciam sequer cogitar se preocupar com isso naquele momento.

Enquanto Harry parecia estar fora de órbita, soltando gemidos cada vez mais altos e manhosos sem pensar em quem poderia ouvir do lado de fora, Louis parecia estar fora de si. Os olhos, em vez de possuírem um brilho bonito e sensual como no outro, revelavam um brilho que escurecia a feição, o deixava feroz, como se estivesse em conflito com uma besta dentro de si e não havia chance do lado de fora ganhar.

Não era arrependimento, no entanto. Estava mais para fome e revelação.

Ele nunca teve a experiência de ter outro homem sob si e no momento isso só parecia certo demais. O sentimento era de que perdeu muito tempo sem aproveitar de um corpo forte gemendo e implorando pelo seu pau, a voz grave deixando todos os pelos do corpo arrepiados, sabendo que poderia reduzir à lágrimas outro cara, que seria tão viril quanto possível para a sociedade .

Assim que o pensamento se realizou e Louis notou pequenos caminhos molhados na face de Harry, ele percebeu como seu corpo, sozinho, estava empenhado em tirar tudo o que pudesse daquele momento. O quadril ia forte e rápido, acertando a próstata do outro em quase todas as estocadas, as mãos estavam segurando os joelhos do cacheado o mais afastado possível um do outro e a visão dali de cima era surreal.

Styles já tinha há muito fechado os olhos e se rendido, ainda tinha uma das mãos apoiadas na carne farta e dois dedos que lutavam para permanecerem quentinhos dentro da entrada alheia, mesmo que só tivesse conseguido deixar que as pontas dos dígitos ficassem ali sem que ele precisasse se esforçar para alcançar mais profundidade. Ele estava fodido demais para esse trabalho. A outra mão estava na própria ereção que descansava sobre a barriga lisinha, deixando uma bagunça pegajosa e molhada pela pele tatuada e ele sequer sabia em que momento o cérebro deixou de registrar o que acontecia com o próprio corpo. Harry gozou em algum momento entre os tapas no rosto, mãos marcando as coxas, estocadas brutas e olhos azuis lhe enlouquecendo. Era impossível para ele precisar o tempo, estava tudo uma bagunça.

Mas aparentemente seu corpo ainda estava sensível o suficiente para perceber o segundo exato em que seus ouvidos captaram um gemido sôfrego mais alto, seu tronco sentiu um peso extra repentinamente jogado sobre si e sua entrada vazou com a porra quentinha, lhe deixando melado por dentro e por fora.

Harry não teve coragem de abrir os olhos e realizar que eles realmente fizeram isso. Louis sentiu que o outro tentava controlar a respiração abaixo de si e não tinha intenção de conversar sobre o que aconteceu agora. Porra.

Com os olhos firmemente fechados e pernas bambas, o cacheado só deu falta de um corpo quente em cima do seu quando um arrepio subiu pela pele descoberta, o vento frio marcando presença agora que não tinha nada lhe aquecendo. Não tinha barulhos no ambiente, nenhum farfalhar de roupas ou passos. Quanto tempo ele passou tentando fingir que nada tinha acontecido?

Finalmente ele reuniu coragem para lidar com a situação feito um adulto responsável pelas próprias atitudes e abriu os olhos. Não tinha ninguém ali, estava sozinho.

III

No dia seguinte, Louis estava com uma ressaca infernal e muita dor de cabeça. As memórias da noite anterior não estavam muito claras desde o momento em que ele deixou o corpo tenso do outro jogador no sofá e saiu às pressas de volta pro mezanino da festa, pediu duas doses de alguma bebida muito forte e não lembra de ter parado apenas nelas.

Ele não costumava ser um babaca com suas parceiras casuais, na verdade ele se considerava um ficante bem responsável emocionalmente. Nunca deixava elas sozinhas após fodê-las como fez com Harry.

Mas.. tudo com o cacheado foi tão repentino e intenso, o corpo de Louis reconheceu que vinha ansiando isso por um longo tempo, ele nunca se deixou ser tão rude com os corpos pequenos e femininos outras vezes, ele nunca tinha deixado o impulso o dominar, e ver como podia ser agressivo com outro homem, de uma maneira que não sabia querer ser, lhe assustou pra caralho. Além de todo esse choque sobre o próprio comportamento, ainda tinha um outro lado para lidar.

Enquanto eles estavam trabalhando juntos em prol do prazer, não parecia que havia nada errado. Mas assim que ambos gozaram e a realidade pareceu vir à tona, sentir o corpo de Harry cada vez mais petrificado, tenso e aparentemente arrependido não era o que Louis estava esperando. O cara estava todo mole e derretido embaixo dele em um momento e no minuto seguinte tinha as pálpebras fechadas com força, lábios franzidos e parecia implorar para que o corpo em cima dele sumisse.

Foi um banho de água fria.

Louis até pensou, enquanto virava copos e mais copos no bar, que preferia esquecer esse dia inteiro. Mas ao levantar na própria cama, sem saber exatamente quem tinha o ajudado a chegar em casa, e ao olhar para o espelho do outro lado do cômodo, vendo o corpo bronzeado e dolorido com listras vermelhas e círculos arroxeados manchando a pele, percebeu que dificilmente conseguiria esquecer.

Ele tentou seguir a rotina normalmente, rezando para que ninguém do clube tivesse notado algo na festa e para que nenhum blog de fofoca tivesse postado algo com seu nome. Por incrível que pareça, tudo estava normal. Louis compareceu aos treinos pelo resto da semana, os assuntos com o pessoal do time pareciam os mesmos de sempre, os olhares de zombaria pelas costas marcadas não pareciam diferentes de quando ele aparecia assim após um dos vários encontros com as antigas ficantes, nenhuma desconfiança sobre um jogador adversário específico.

Mas apesar de não haver nenhum boato envolvendo o nome do cacheado, Tomlinson não conseguia tirar os olhos verdes e o corpo pálido da cabeça. Podia ser uma fixação completamente normal para um cara que teve seu primeiro homem, só que a forma como os dedos vibravam em ânsia para tocar na pele macia novamente, além da maneira que a concentração parecia cada vez mais dispersa em momentos que não deveria tirar a atenção das orientações do treinador, por exemplo, ou da bola que foi facilmente tomada dos seus pés, e, ainda, a forma como uma angústia subia pelo estômago antes de dormir, lembrando de como os olhos verdes foram escondidos de si pouco depois dele ter uma das melhores experiências da vida.. isso definitivamente não era normal.

E Harry.. Harry estava uma bagunça.

Depois de abrir os olhos e se pegar sozinho e usado, um frio se alojou por toda a espinha. Foi difícil levantar dali, não apenas pelas dores em todo o corpo, mas porque ele se sentia pequeno e frágil. Ainda assim, reuniu o pouco de dignidade que lhe restava, se é que havia algum resquício ainda, e juntou as roupas, se martirizando um pouco sobre a aparência desgrenhada da blusa sem botões e implorando às divindades para que todos da festa já estivessem bêbados o suficiente a ponto de não notar o estado deplorável dele.

Assim que deu um jeito na aparência das roupas, fingindo que era comum sair por aí com o peito exposto e a blusa social completamente aberta sobre os ombros, ele se esgueirou pelo corredor quase vazio até encontrar um banheiro. Deplorável era um elogio perto de como ele se sentiu assim que a luz clareou a visão e ele se viu no espelho.

Definitivamente não dava para se deixar ser visto dessa forma. Os cabelos pareciam nunca ter visto um pente, totalmente embolados, o torso pálido parecia uma tela abstrata com tantas manchas em tons diferentes de vermelho, os olhos ainda guardavam um certo brilho e o rosto tinha marcas bem delineadas pelos diversos tapas que ganhou. Porra. Ele parecia bem fodido.

Demorou alguns minutos até ele se recompor do choque inicial ao se ver assim e quando se convenceu a não surtar em um local cheio de pessoas, ele caminhou em passos rápidos e com a cabeça baixa até a saída dos fundos. Nem cogitou se despedir dos colegas e conhecidos, só focou em chamar um uber o mais rápido que pôde e finalmente desabar na própria cama. Com sorte esse dia não teria acontecido de verdade e seria só mais um pesadelo estranho como os que ele imagina ser um super herói ou uma donzela da Idade Média.

Ele não teve sorte.

Isso ficava cada vez mais claro quando ele teve que dar uma desculpa esfarrapada, esperando ser convincente o suficiente, para o técnico do time por ter faltado três dias seguidos de treino. Não era prudente se ausentar quando estava tão perto do próximo jogo, mas Harry não podia simplesmente aparecer publicamente com cinco dedos tatuados em cada lado da face, isso seria humilhante e revelador demais.

Infelizmente os dias em casa não foram exatamente de descanso. O cérebro se manteve ocupado demais em repetir muitas e muitas vezes tudo o que aconteceu entre ele e Louis desde o início do outro dia. O cacheado estava com problemas para seguir em frente sobre isso e esquecer o outro jogador, na verdade parecia que o corpo não queria esquecer e ele se via excitado e sensível sempre que os pensamentos lhe levavam de volta ao momento, e isso acontecia com mais frequência do que ele estava disposto a admitir.

Quando achou que estava suficientemente decente para voltar à vida em sociedade, Harry tentou ocupar a cabeça com tudo que não lhe causasse gatilhos sobre o maior. Isso era uma tarefa muito difícil quando o próprio trabalho e uniformes suados lhe remetiam ao outro jogador, quando os corpos molhados no vestiário pareciam demais um corpo bronzeado que ele conheceu muito mais que qualquer outro, quando olhava no espelho em casa e já sentia falta das manchas cobrindo a própria pele, mesmo que elas ainda não tivessem sumido completamente.

°°°°°

– Tá tudo bem, filho? Você tá nervoso com o jogo de hoje? – Harry ouviu a voz carinhosa da mulher.

Geórgia trabalhava em sua casa desde que Harry se entende por gente e cuidava dele como uma mãe faria. Por isso que ele fez questão de levá-la consigo para todas as cidades que mudava por conta do trabalho, pelo menos facilitava o fato de o marido da senhora já tinha falecido e não tiveram filhos. Talvez seja por isso o apego quase materno e o cuidado que ela tinha com Harry.

– Oi, Gê.. – cumprimentou com um abraço carinhoso que sempre lhe deixava confortável, com a sensação de lar. – É.. acho que tô um pouco nervoso sim hoje. Quer dizer, é um jogo importante né- é compreensível.. eu acho. – sorriu sem graça.

Essa mulher provavelmente o conhecia mais que a própria mãe do cacheado, ele não tinha esperanças que ela acreditasse nesse discurso.

– Mas não é só isso.. ou é, criança? – Criança. Era assim que Geórgia chamava ele sempre que queria mostrar que estava ali, não importava para o quê.

Não dava para se enganar em pensar que ela não tinha notado o comportamento estranho de Harry nesse último mês. Logo após um dos primeiros jogos do campeonato, seu garoto tinha aparecido todo marcado, faltou alguns treinos, coisa que não tinha costume de fazer, e andava com a cabeça nas nuvens. Ele não explicou o que tinha acontecido, mas Geórgia não era tão desatenta como ele imaginava, e sabia muito bem como jovens bonitos conseguiam marcas como aquelas. Ela também já foi jovem um dia.

– Acho que não posso mais ser considerado uma criança, sabia?! – Harry tentou brincar e desviar a atenção dos olhos castanhos que o faziam querer se encolher e desabafar como um bebê de 5 anos no colo da mãe. Bem parecido com o Harry dessa idade que corria para o colo materno da empregada sempre que as crianças mais velhas não lhe deixavam jogar no campinho da escola.

– Você vai ser sempre uma criança para mim, filho. E você sabe que eu estou sempre aqui se você quiser conversar.. não precisa temer.

Os carinhos que ela fazia nos fios cacheados e o beijo que ela deixou em sua testa, fizeram Harry soltar uma respiração profunda e deixar o medo de lado.

Ela lhe conhecia melhor do que ninguém, esteve em todos os momentos difíceis com ele, comemorou cada vitória.. Ela não iria lhe abandonar se ele contasse como estava se sentindo após a descoberta.

Harry nem percebeu em que momento começou a falar. Ele simplesmente soltou tudo que vinha guardando, eram muitos murmúrios confusos e rápidos, mal fazia sentido para os próprios ouvidos e a respiração repentinamente ofegante não ajudava, mas isso só refletia como ele estava por dentro.

Ele esperava que Geórgia tivesse compreendido pelo menos alguma parte do que conseguiu jorrar pelos lábios trêmulos, esperava não precisar repetir sobre a noite com Louis e sobre como se sentiu bem com ele, esperava que não tivesse soado tão patético quando contou que não conseguia tirar o outro homem da cabeça apesar de ter tentado muito. Esperava também não ter soado muito inseguro quando falou sobre estar em processo de aceitamento sobre ser gay.

A sexualidade não seria uma questão para ele se o universo em que estava inserido fosse diferente. Isso parecia estar estampado na cara dele, pois o abraço que recebeu após minutos de desabafo parecia dizer "eu vou estar aqui mesmo que tudo dê errado, criança".

°°°°°

Entrar em campo contra aquele time novamente não tinha o direito de o deixar tão nervoso assim. Louis estava se sentindo um amador, isso era inaceitável.

O estômago estava embrulhado, os olhos vagavam ansiosos pelo gramado, procurando por alguma coisa de forma inconsciente, os músculos rígidos e as pernas trêmulas. Esses sintomas não eram habituais e ele quase agradeceu quando viu o corpo forte com cabelos marrons e olhos verdes ao longe, porque finalmente a agonia por baixo da pele pareceu se acalmar. Quase.

Mas logo esse sentimento ansioso deu margem a outro, mais feio e mais forte. Irritação. Ele não tinha esquecido completamente a forma como o outro se negou a olhar em seus olhos após o que fizeram, e Louis queria empurrar ele em alguma superfície e forçá-lo a olhar só para si. Queria fazer os olhos verdes ficarem vidrados, obcecados, eles não deveriam desviar de Louis.

O mês que passou não fez nada para diminuir essa necessidade que o maior sentia. Cada dia vivido foi doloroso para essa necessidade de atenção, ser negado a isso fez algo muito forte nascer nele.

O moreno nem se importava mais que o outro cara fosse um homem, a única coisa que conseguia pensar era em como foi bom, como o fez se sentir poderoso ter aqueles olhos brilhantes fixados nele, implorando por ele. Provavelmente isso significava que Louis era gay ou pelo menos bissexual, mas ele não estava surtando por isso.

Sua família sempre foi muito apoiadora e se ele dissesse que descobriu um aspecto novo da sexualidade aos 25 anos, o máximo que fariam seria dar risada e zombar dele por ter perdido tanto tempo. Ele também sente como se tivesse perdido tempo, talvez seja por isso a urgência pulsando nas suas veias.

O jogo passou em um borrão. Chelsea em seu costumeiro uniforme azul versus Manchester United de vermelho. O moreno tentou se manter o mais distante possível do cacheado durante a partida, trocou as marcações com os parceiros do time, errou alguns passes e teve que ouvir os gritos e broncas do técnico. Louis não se sentia o mesmo, e provavelmente os fãs também notaram isso.

Agradeceu mentalmente a Alex quando o amigo mandou uma mensagem o convidando para um pub após o jogo, era a desculpa perfeita para não ir no after com os companheiros de time e de brinde não deixaria suspeitas. Mas assim que chegou no local marcado para encontrar o cantor, Louis não tinha mais certeza. O clima estava estranho, Alex estava cabisbaixo e parecia angustiado com alguma coisa, ele também estava sem acompanhante dessa vez.

Não demorou muito para a bebida fazer efeito e liberar as amarras dos dois homens que queriam conversar com alguém, mas sem admitir para si mesmos o real problema.

O jogador tentou ouvir o que o outro falava, tinha algo sobre o modelo que ele lhe apresentou da outra vez, Louis não entendeu muito bem porque o sangue que pulsava nos ouvidos o impediu de se concentrar. Provavelmente estava sendo um péssimo amigo e ao ver como Alex parecia um merda, deduzindo que foi a falta do outro rapaz que fez isso com ele, Louis tomou a decisão mais prudente para a sua cabeça. Bom.. Essa cabeça que já tinha inserido uma quantidade questionável de álcool, mas ainda assim.

Ele esperava ter aconselhado bem o amigo a resolver o problema com o modelo quando disse algo como essas frases clichês sobre “correr atrás da felicidade” que você geralmente encontra em imãs de geladeira. Não estava prestando muita atenção, mas lembra do olhar repentinamente motivado do outro e do momento em que ele virou as costas e saiu do bar. Com a mente girando em ansiedade, Louis só podia imaginar que foi por uma boa causa que o amigo lhe deixou sozinho e com a conta para pagar.

Ele nunca tinha sido o amigo conselheiro ou racional dos seus círculos sociais, aquele em que as pessoas confiavam para lamentar da vida e pedir ajuda. Louis estava mais para o amigo brincalhão que as pessoas chamavam para se divertir e desestressar, mas essa situação com o outro mexeu em alguma coisa dentro de si.

Foi no impulso que ele se viu pegando um carro para o local da festa dos times quando já tinha passado tempo o suficiente para a comemoração estar em seu melhor estado. Ele queria se convencer que não, mas tinha uma vozinha em sua cabeça que acertava em dizer o motivo para ele querer ir até lá. Só tinha uma pessoa que ele precisava encontrar.

O lugar escolhido para a festa dessa vez tinha sido um clube noturno e o ambiente sensual e elegante recepcionou Louis muito bem assim que o rapaz passou pelos seguranças da porta. O auge da madrugada tinha chegado e havia muitos corpos suados e colados dançando alguma música eletrônica no centro do salão e era bonita a confusão de luzes roxas e azuis que piscavam para a euforia dos convidados.

O ambiente não era tão grande como da última vez, para a alegria do jogador, então Louis pensou que poderia conseguir uma melhor visão das pessoas que estavam ali se fosse para o mezanino observar de cima e quem sabe encontrar o que tanto estava procurando. Andou por entre as pessoas, se atrapalhando um pouco com o embalo dançante que elas seguiam e tropeçando em algumas pernas pelo caminho, passou sem realmente cumprimentar ninguém específico até chegar na escada que dava acesso ao espaço mais alto e aberto do salão.

Não tinha nenhum jogo de luzes ali em cima, o que deixava o ambiente um tanto escuro e sufocante, mas dava para enxergar a presença de alguns grupos sentados nos sofás e mesas que rodeavam o local. Algumas risadas chegavam até seus ouvidos enquanto Louis se apoiava no metal preto que rodeava todo o mezanino e passava as orbes azuis por todos os rostos lá embaixo. Era frustrante não reconhecer os fios marrons em meio a tantas cabeças e mais chato ainda era perceber que com tantas luzes coloridas, o verde que ele veio buscar talvez tenha passado despercebido.

Louis soltou um suspiro resignado e estava pronto para sair dali quando sentiu um arrepio correr pela espinha, daqueles que traz o sentimento de estar sendo observado. No entanto, o ponto principal no caso dele era que só tinha uma pessoa capaz de despertar a rigidez em seus músculos ao ponto dos punhos fecharem com força ao mesmo tempo em que traz moleza para as pernas, fazendo com que queiram ceder ao peso de apenas um olhar.

Ele nem tinha certeza se a presença que sentia atrás de si era real mesmo ou apenas fruto dos muitos copos de cerveja que tomou antes de vir, mas foi só girar em seu próprio eixo que ficou claro. Um pouco tonto por finalmente ter toda a atenção que desejou daqueles olhos tão enervantes ao longo das últimas semanas, o moreno sentiu como se a consciência tivesse abandonado seu corpo ao que as próprias pernas se moveram para a frente até sentir duas mãos em sua cintura e ele finalmente respirou, nem lembrando em que momento seus pulmões resolveram prender o máximo de ar que era possível.

Diferente da primeira vez em que estiveram tão próximos, agora nenhuma palavra ousou sair de ambos os lábios, nem mesmo para provocar ou ofender. A tensão entre eles era cautelosa, os corações ainda receosos sobre tudo que tinha acontecido e sobre o que ainda poderia acontecer, apenas o mínimo som já poderia tornar tudo real. Eles ainda não estavam prontos para a realidade.

Apesar de toda a confusão mental, os corpos não escondiam a chama e necessidade correndo pelas veias e bombeando no peito. Louis não beijou Harry ali, estava contente em apenas ter para si o monopólio de toda a atenção do jogador. Harry não tirou as mãos da cintura firme do outro, mas sentia as pernas pesadas demais para fazer qualquer movimento diante daquele homem à sua frente.

Mas eles devem ter saído do torpor em algum momento porque instantes depois Louis se viu seguindo Harry para dentro de uma casa grande, bem arrumada e um tanto impessoal. Sua testa franziu um pouco e ele piscou os olhos mais uma vez ao subir a escada até o segundo andar, não lembrava em que momento decidiram sair da festa ou mesmo como chegaram ali, a única certeza era que aqueles móveis frios no quarto espaçoso que entravam definitivamente não eram seus.

°°°°°

Harry sentia os dedos tremendo um pouco em nervosismo e seu estômago dava piruetas ao que deixou a porta do quarto fechar em um baque surdo. Talvez os drinques que tinha virado na festa tentando descontar a frustração por não achar os olhos azuis bonitos ali tenham lhe dado a coragem necessária para levar o outro ao seu lar, ou talvez as doses só tenham servido para ele esquecer da humilhação e desprezo que arrepiava sua pele com as lembranças no último mês.

Nublado por sentimentos conflitantes, o cérebro do cacheado só tinha a pretensão de sentir mais uma vez o que ele sentiu naquele dia. Era certo, ele foi desejado.. feliz. Pelo menos por um momento.

Enquanto se aproximava do ser confuso em sua cama, era fácil notar como as emoções para ele também não eram muito claras. O maior ainda exalava uma energia de tensão nos músculos como da primeira vez, mas agora seu olhar transbordava contentamento e uma certa possessividade sempre que o verde encontra o azul. É desconcertante.

O silêncio parecia dizer muito para eles e logo passou a ser mesclado com os sons de ofegos rápidos e sem ritmo. Harry beijava e mordia os lábios finos de Louis como se estivesse à deriva e aquela fosse sua salvação. A saliva escorrendo pelo canto dos lábios, os narizes se esbarrando enquanto eles tentavam ganhar mais profundidade do que era possível, nunca sendo suficiente. Os cabelos de Louis já estavam uma bagunça porque as mãos grandes de Harry não se contentavam em apalpar os músculos do braço e todo o tronco do outro, também tinham que reivindicar os fios castanhos para si.

Não demorou para as peças de roupas estarem jogadas pelo quarto e o lençol claro que compunha a cama ficar amarrotado, as pernas fortes de músculos torneados se embrenhavam em uma tentativa de fazer com que os membros rígidos entre elas não incomodassem tanto assim. Harry estava por cima e se sentia poderoso dessa forma, podendo ver e marcar cada pedacinho da pele bronzeada que seus dentes pudessem alcançar, se contentando e afastando a boca apenas quando via a cor irradiar o local.

Louis tentou inverter as posições algumas vezes antes de desistir completamente e apenas aproveitar. Ele se sentia vulnerável de alguma forma essa noite, não sabendo se isso era reflexo da conversa com o amigo mais cedo, da inquietude do mês que passou ou simplesmente era o efeito que Harry Styles despertava em seu corpo. Mas foi assim que ele se viu completamente duro e ansioso por qualquer toque que o outro estivesse disposto a lhe dar.

As mãos possessivas de Harry viajaram por todo o corpo quente do maior até se encontrarem no local que sabia que ele ia gostar, deixando uma sobre o pescoço que subia e descia tremulante em respirações rasas e a outra no membro grande que pulsava com aquelas saliências grossas aparentes por toda a extensão. Styles ainda não tinha decidido onde as veias lhe desconcertam mais, se nos braços fortes de Louis ou.. bem.

Os gemidos saíam entre os beijos longos, mal era possível discernir qual dos dois tinha soltado e ainda assim Harry conseguia notar o brilho feroz que tomava conta da face de Tomlinson sempre que via o outro também tendo prazer ao lhe tocar. E ele não ficava para trás, na verdade sua posição tão maleável essa madrugada tinha uma certa malícia por trás, os corpos pareciam entender que cada um precisava que fosse exatamente assim daquela vez, como se houvesse uma necessidade implícita de acabar com algumas inseguranças que ainda permeavam suas mentes.

Mas enfim Harry conseguiu sentir dois dígitos roçarem em sua entrada enquanto a própria mão ainda bombeava devagar o pau alheio, os dedos que queriam lhe penetrar estavam secos e a fricção era um tanto áspera, mas causava um certo arrepio satisfeito em sua nuca. Não querendo nada muito desconfortável, o menor olhou nos olhos do outro e separou os lábios, deslizando a língua rosada para fora em um convite que Louis entendeu muito bem.

Logo os dedos tatuados foram inseridos na boca molhadinha e o cacheado revirou os olhos ao sentir sua garganta ser atingida com precisão. Não era necessário estocar os dedos ali se a intenção fosse apenas lubrificar, mas Louis não pôde resistir à face do outro enquanto levava dois dedos tão fundo naquela boquinha e quando se viu, já estava forçando o queixo alheio para cima e provando que ele podia aguentar ainda mais. O aperto que o menor deixou em seu pau antes de largar ele pesado sobre a barriga de Louis tinha sido apenas mais um incentivo.

Mesmo com apenas a lembrança do toque quente em sua extensão, Tomlinson só percebeu mesmo o que Harry pretendia quando sentiu seus lábios serem forçados a abrir ao que os dedos lambuzados com sua pré-porra se inseriam ali, reinvidicando o espaço como seu.

Styles ainda deu um jeito de alinhar suas ereções enquanto colocava e tirava repetidamente os dedos daqueles lábios finos, por vezes passando os dígitos por toda a boca e queixo de Louis só para gemer manhoso com a visão, deixando o som sair entre os dedos grossos que lhe preenchiam. Esfregar os membros era tão gostoso e tão frustrante na mesma medida, porque ele queria mais contato, mais pressão e por mais tempo. Sempre iria querer.

Foi quando Louis abandonou a cavidade quentinha em que seus dedos estavam e voltou a esgueirar a mão por entre as nádegas pálidas que Harry decidiu fazer o mesmo. Nada de se sentir usado essa noite, ele queria tudo. As pontinhas rodaram por algum tempo, espalhando saliva pelo local até que, um pouco temeroso pela brincadeira de espelho que o cacheado pareceu começar, Tomlinson penetrou as duas pontas de uma vez, contando com a sorte da excitação e saudade para que aquilo não fosse doloroso.

Sentiu seus músculos retesarem assim que o cacheado espelhou a ação em si e viu os olhos dele brilharem em determinação. Era estranho como o inferno, mas ao mesmo tempo era alucinante e ele, sem pensar, acabou introduzindo cada vez mais centímetros até que sentiu a borda do cacheado no último nó dos seus dedos. Soltou a respiração que nem percebeu ter prendido e um gemido saiu sem aviso por entre os lábios, sentindo também em si o incômodo de ser preenchido pelos longos dedos do outro, ao passo em que Harry gemeu com um sorriso brilhante e todos os dentes à mostra. Ele parecia a porra de uma puta.

As estocadas começaram receosas e apenas gemidos e as respirações pesadas dominavam o quarto, não sendo necessária uma palavra para os corpos que já se entendiam tão bem. Logo a necessidade e euforia deslizavam por baixo das suas peles e ambos os quadris não se continham ao rebolar freneticamente, o pulso de Louis já estava dolorido pela posição enquanto tinha três dos seus dedos dentro do cacheado que ainda estava por cima e arrastava o próprio pau rubro e tenro sobre o membro do outro, não esquecendo nunca de estocar os dígitos com cada vez mais força entre a bunda redonda do maior.

Os lábios estavam se mordendo e respirando juntos no pouco espaço que os distanciava quando Louis soltou um murmúrio de descontentamento, ficando confuso por um tempo sobre o motivo pelo qual seu cérebro tinha ficado chateado repentinamente até ele perceber que a entrada estava agora vazia e pulsando em torno de nada, mas não por muito tempo. Harry foi rápido em se posicionar melhor entre as pernas musculosas e bronzeadas do outro, agarrando a própria extensão pela base e direcionando a glande vermelha para a entradinha lambusada que piscava ansiosa.

A agilidade de Louis não foi o suficiente para interromper, no entanto. Apenas se dando conta da audácia do cacheado quando um gemido dolorido rasgou sua garganta e suas pernas prenderam com força a cintura do outro homem.

E como se isso tivesse despertado algo em si, a primeira palavra em, provavelmente, horas foi proferida.

– Filho da puta!

O aperto ao seu redor era no mínimo sufocante, tornando difícil pensar e até mesmo a respiração estava saindo rasa, como se os pulmões não conseguissem absorver todo o ar necessário. Harry usou todo o controle que tinha para tentar permanecer estático, sabendo muito bem como podia estar sendo doloroso para o outro, mas ainda conseguiu sorrir assim que aquelas palavras deixaram os lábios alheios.

Todo o esforço foi em vão, pois assim que seu queixo foi agarrado com uma força que deixou sua visão escura por um tempo, o quadril de Harry se movimentou involuntariamente. Ele descobriu essa inclinação a gostar de situações, digamos, mais agressivas com Louis, então o corpo parecia agir antes mesmo que ele conseguisse pensar.

– Hoje você me surpreendeu, princesa. Não achei que tentaria me foder desse jeito, já que você gostou tanto quando a situação estava invertida.. Rhm – grunhiu com a estocada forte e certeira que recebeu assim que Harry ouviu sua fala.

– Eu a- eu acho melhor você, hm.., ficar bem mansinho hoje. O comando não é seu d-dessa vez. – a respiração e os gemidos que saíam pelos lábios gordinhos atrapalharam um pouco a intensidade com que o cacheado pretendia falar, o que o deixou um tanto irritado.

Parecia que mesmo Louis estando embaixo ele ainda tinha controle do corpo do cacheado, de modo que Harry se perdia nas estocadas, sentindo aquele aperto em seu pau tão sensível e rezando para não se desmanchar em poucos minutos, e a irritação por reconhecer isso só o deixou ainda mais empenhado em arrancar a pose serena do outro. Por isso o menor passou a ir e vir com mais força e intensidade, mesmo que os movimentos saíssem erráticos algumas vezes, em outras ele acertava com louvor a próstata do outro jogador e se não fosse o cenho franzido e os arranhões que Louis deixava pelo seu peito, Harry até pensaria que ele realmente não estava afetado.

Mas suas pernas, apesar de fortes, não estavam acostumadas com a intensidade de foder um cara, então logo os músculos estavam falhando e tremendo. Com medo de Louis aproveitar disso para tirar sua diversão momentânea, Harry conseguiu virá-los sem tirar sua extensão do local quentinho e apertado em que ela estava, sorrindo aliviado ao que pôde estender as pernas e ainda assim sentir seu pau tão bem abrigado.

Louis soltou um palavrão baixinho ao notar que as mãos do outro em sua cintura não lhe deixariam desmontar dali tão cedo. Com as duas mãos sobre os mamilos marrons do homem deitado, Louis tomou impulso e passou a deslizar pela extensão de maneira intensa e ritmada, torcendo os biquinhos rígidos nas pontas dos dedos e admirando como o outro parecia desnorteado sempre que recebia algum estímulo mais forte.

O pau de Louis balançava e batia no próprio umbigo a cada movimento e Harry não tinha a mínima vergonha de encarar a ponta gorda totalmente vermelha e brilhante, deixando um rastro molhado na pele lisa da barriga do outro sempre que encostava lá. A boca do cacheado estava aberta e soltava palavras desconexas e sons que ele sentiria vergonha mais tarde apesar de não conseguir impedir agora, seu pau começou a pulsar repetidamente mas alguma coisa estava segurando seu orgasmo e ele não conseguia entender.

Tomlinson viu o outro homem começar a ficar cada vez mais agitado e audível, com uma feição dolorida, como se precisasse muito se libertar e o corpo não estivesse obedecendo, as pernas dele se debatendo no lençol e os olhos verdes aguados implorando por ajuda. Foi puro instinto quando Louis torceu mais uma vez um dos mamilos que ainda segurava e desferiu um tapa ardido no rosto de Harry. A pele se avermelhou instantaneamente e o cacheado gritou. O líquido quente escorrendo por sua entrada mostrou que sua ideia funcionou perfeitamente e o maior precisou apertar com força a própria base para não gozar também. Ainda não.

Enquanto Harry respirava fundo e forçava os olhos a se abrirem depois de ter o orgasmo mais intenso da sua vida, sentiu uma respiração em seu ouvido e suas pernas serem abertas. Louis se posicionou entre elas e deslizou o pau na entradinha do cacheado, penetrando todos os centímetros sem nenhuma pausa, totalmente impaciente. O menor abriu os olhos e azul foi a primeira coisa que viu pela janela do quarto, o céu estava naquele estado entre se despedir do cinza da madrugada e dar saudação à luz do dia. Depois, o azul que apareceu em sua frente quando virou o rosto era bem mais intenso.

– Minha vez. – sentiu mais do que ouviu a voz do outro já que a fala se deu tão perto dos próprios lábios e em apenas um sussurro rouco.

As estocadas começaram ao mesmo tempo em que Louis tomou os lábios inchados para si, forçando sua língua a desbravar todo o espaço e mal deixando o cacheado lhe beijar de volta. Louis era assim quando queria uma coisa, ele não se contentava com pequenas partes, queria a posse de tudo.

Sua língua parecia foder a boca de Harry tão bem quanto seu pau na entrada dele, o ar era superestimado e ele não queria precisar parar para uma coisa tão superficial quanto respirar sendo que podia apenas devorar aquele homem o tempo inteiro. Mas o cacheado estava molinho e sensível demais, responsivo demais, manhoso demais.. e deixando Louis mal acostumado demais.

Ele tinha essa coisa sobre sentir que conseguia ser muito bom para o parceiro ao ponto de o deixar desnorteado, e Harry levava isso a outro nível. Eles eram muito bons juntos, de fato.

E após um choramingo com o seu nome saindo daquela boquinha que, para Louis, já era sua, não foi possível se segurar mais. Esporrou todo o interior de Harry, mordendo mais uma vez o lábio inferior que já estava quase roxo e o marcando, reivindicando.

Se jogou exausto ao lado do outro, sem ligar para o quanto estavam grudentos ou sujos, e apenas deixou a inconsciência lhe levar, aproveitando da respiração pesada próxima a si como um conforto e deixando os resquícios de prazer do orgasmo ondular pelos seus nervos.

Um latejar incessante na cabeça acordou Louis e assim que ele abriu os olhos ficou um tanto confuso com o quarto e a cama confortável onde havia dormido. A confusão, porém, durou segundos bastantes para ele relembrar com todas as células do corpo o que tinha acontecido na noite anterior, sentindo os pelos se eriçarem e o membro fisgar com a recordação.

No entanto, ele estava sozinho na cama e não ouvia nenhum barulho no quarto inteiro, o cacheado provavelmente tinha acordado há um tempo dado o lençol já frio ao seu lado. Louis não se deixou abalar por isso, então apenas levantou como se estivesse em casa e abriu umas duas portas antes de finalmente encontrar o banheiro para ficar minimamente apresentável. Depois de vestido, desceu a escada lembrando como chegou confuso ontem, mas sem se arrepender nem por um minuto.

À esquerda da sala de entrada ele ouviu uma voz melodiosa e não conteve sua curiosidade até entrar no local e dar de cara com uma senhora de cabelos grisalhos e com a aparência simpática montando uma mesa de café da manhã. Assim que passou pelo aro da porta, ela notou sua presença e deu um sorriso com a feição confusa.

– Oh, olá, querido! Você dormiu aqu- ah! Entendi. – soltou um risinho sem deixar que Louis a respondesse primeiro, já se ocupando em puxar uma cadeira para ele e lhe direcionar um olhar que seria impossível recusar. – Vem, senta para o café. Se você estiver procurando o Harry, ele teve um telefonema cedo e saiu sem nem comer, acredita? Vocês, crianças, são sempre assim.

– É.. Eu não, eu- eu não estava com o Harry desse jeito, sabe.. – como ele poderia explicar pra uma senhora tão gentil e aparentemente muito íntima do cacheado a relação totalmente conturbada deles sem ofendê-la?

– Não se preocupe, querido. Eu sei como vocês jovens são com essas "ficadas" hoje em dia, é assim que chama?! Enfim.. eu não preciso de explicações, pode ficar tranquilo. – Sorriu de uma maneira sincera mesmo com o olhar cuidadoso, era possível notar que apesar de tudo ela se preocupava com Harry. – Pode me chamar de Geórgia, você é o Louis, certo?

– Como..

– O meu menino pode ter deixado escapar alguma coisa vez ou outra, bobagem. – fez um gesto com as mãos como quem dizia "deixa pra lá", mas Louis só focou na parte em que Harry tinha comentado com outra pessoa sobre ele. Isso era.. interessante. – Só peço que não magoe ainda mais meu Hazz, entende? Ele já teve o suficiente por uma vida.

– Mas é que-

– Gê! Bom dia! – um Harry sorridente entrando pela cozinha atrapalhou sua fala. O homem se direcionou até a funcionária e deu um abraço carinhoso, deixando um beijo sobre sua cabeça, e só então notou Louis ali sentado com uma xícara de café fumegante em mãos. – Ah, oi Louis. Não sabia que você ainda estava aqui.

O maior ainda não conhecia a personalidade de Harry o suficiente para dizer que o tom com que ele deixou essa última frase soou um tanto magoado, porém Louis não lembrava haver razão para isso, então apenas ignorou tal pensamento.

– Na verdade eu estava só esperando você chegar.. – coçou a nuca um tanto sem jeito. – a gente pode conversar?

– Eu- na verdade eu não acho que seja necessário. – ele tomou uma respiração funda e desviou os olhos, completando em seguida sem nenhuma entonação. – nós dois somos adultos, foi consensual, é o que é. Aí! – Ele deu um pulinho no lugar e Tomlinson quis sorrir ao ver a mão de Geórgia sair da cintura do cacheado. Os dois trocaram um olhar enquanto Louis apenas observava a conversa silenciosa que apenas quem se conhece muito é capaz de ter.

Depois de uns segundos Harry soltou um suspiro longo e encarou Louis, a senhora deu um sorriso astuto e saiu sem falar mais nada.

– Vem logo. – com um revirar de olhos, Harry tomou caminho rumo a uma parte ainda desconhecida para o outro, que logo percebeu estarem indo para um belo quintal. Não tinha nenhum funcionário por perto e o cacheado sentou em uma mesa sombreada que tinha ali, esperando com uma calma fingida o que Louis tinha a dizer.

A questão é que ele não tinha ideia do que falar agora ao encarar os olhos verdes clareados pela luz do dia. Tomlinson ficou alguns segundos experimentando as palavras na boca, apenas para desistir e recomeçar uma tentativa após a outra, o que já estava deixando o outro homem sem paciência.

– Olha, vamos só pular a parte em que você diz que a noite anterior não significou nada e que ninguém pode descobrir, ok? – Harry desandou a falar rápido, desistindo de esperar que o outro decidisse usar a própria voz ao invés de parecer um peixe fora d'água, abrindo e fechando os lábios. – Eu sei de tudo isso e concordo. Sua saída sorrateira da outra vez deixou muito claro o jeito como você lida com as coisas, então vamos só-

– Porque você não olhou para mim? – O maior deixou as palavras saírem pelos lábios junto a uma respiração estrangulada, e só notou que queria perguntar isso esse tempo todo quando as palavras já tinham soado no ambiente. – Você fingiu que eu não estava lá, que nada tinha acontecido. Você se recusou q me encarar, porra! Porque?

– O que? Eu- Você não estava lá, Tomlinson. Eu não precisei fingir uma ausência porque, advinha, eu estava sozinho! – Harry estava confuso de verdade e a sua respiração saía cada vez mais rápida enquanto ele tentava diminuir o tom de voz para não chamar ainda mais atenção dos funcionários.

Os dois pares de olhos claros se encararam confusos e ressentidos. A comunicação não parecia ser fluida entre eles e muitos sentimentos contraditórios povoavam suas mentes. A diferença do ponto de vista, a sinceridade em cada palavra, a dor não tão explícita, mas ainda visível, a forma como eles enxergaram o que aconteceu.. Nada podia ser mais diferente, mesmo se tratando de uma única situação.

– Eu.. – respirou fundo. – Eu saí de lá porque percebi que você não queria lidar com minha presença no momento. Eu não iria aguentar essa rejeição depois de me sentir tão be- quer dizer, depois de tudo. – os olhos azuis estavam fixos na mesa entre eles.

– Bom, então você imagina como eu me senti um merda quando abri os olhos e não tinha ninguém comigo. E-eu estava literalmente fodido e sozinho, realmente não foi nada legal. – O sorriso irônico que apareceu em sua face tentava desviar a atenção dos olhos marejados, sem muito sucesso.

– Eu não imaginei na hora..

– Deu pra perceber.

O silêncio que se estendeu a partir dali foi angustiante. Ambos estavam confusos, magoados e ressentidos do próprio egoísmo. Não tinha muito o que falar no momento, o assunto era sensível demais e eles só precisavam refletir um pouco sozinhos.

Foi assim que Louis se viu dando um sorriso triste e saindo da grande casa após uma despedida estranha, tinha sua cabeça doendo e fervilhando em pensamentos, o coração palpitando da mesma forma. O cacheado não se ressentiu da saída dele dessa vez, precisava mesmo de um tempo pra colocar tudo no lugar, sua mente e emoções, e então tentar entender um outro lado dessa história.

°°°°°

Horas.

Dias.

Semanas.

O tempo não parava de correr.

Nos primeiros dias Harry finalmente conseguiu entender o outro, apesar de não descartar a própria razão. Reconheceu que transar com uma pessoa e ver um possível arrependimento tão instantâneo deve ser mesmo dolorido e Louis não estava tão errado assim de ter saído antes de uma decepção maior.

Mas seu ponto de vista também era válido, e Louis percebeu isso quase imediatamente após a conversa deles. O maior não tinha pensado por esse ângulo até sair dos lábios de Harry e quando se deu conta de como pareceu pro outro, se sentiu muito mal. Ele ficou tão focado na própria rejeição depois de se sentir tão certo com o outro que só de pensar que Harry poderia não ter sentido o mesmo… foi demais para suportar. Então ele nem cogitou a possibilidade de como Styles poderia se sentir usado e descartado ao se ver sozinho naquela sala.

Louis não era uma pessoa má, tampouco um amante egoísta. Ele se arrependeu amargamente de ter saído como saiu assim que as consequências ficaram claras em sua mente, mesmo reconhecendo e validando também seu ponto de vista.

A vida não era preto no branco e tudo que acontece tem nuances que só enxergamos quando mudamos a perspectiva. O que não significa que a visão anterior estava errada ou algo do tipo, só resta aprender a lidar com as novas informações também.

Após todo esse esclarecimento, as semanas que se seguiram revelaram algo muito importante: eles não pensavam um no outro apenas pelo mal entendido, senão isso teria acabado assim que entenderam o lado um do outro. Mas, pelo contrário, Louis continuou distraído nos treinos e sem conseguir sair com nenhuma outra pessoa, seus amigos estranharam e zoaram o fato até o moreno admitir que alguém estragou todas as outras para ele.

Harry já havia admitido sua derrota quando na terceira semana seguida àquela noite, ele continuou sonhando com um par de olhos azuis e acordava decepcionado por não ter aquele corpo quente ao seu lado. Se lamentou com Georgia por algumas horas certo dia até a senhora se cansar de ouvir sobre a mesma pessoa tantas vezes. Seu refúgio tinha se tornado ler as matérias que saíam com o nome Tomlinson na manchete, já que não tinha com quem conversar, nem tinha visto o homem novamente.

O assunto sexualidade não passou por eles. Harry já tinha desabafado com a única pessoa que importava e Louis já tinha o apoio de toda a família sobre isso. Estava tudo normal em suas vidas, apenas precisavam superar aquela saudadezinha que doía no peito, uma saudade de algo que nunca tiveram.

– Vem Styles, o jogo já vai começar e não tem muita gente aqui, prometo. – a voz de Josh, um colega do futebol, soava pelo celular do cacheado, enquanto tentava convencê-lo de se juntar aos amigos em um bar próximo para assistir uma das partidas do campeonato. Por sorte, o Manchester United, seu time, já estava na semifinal, então ele não estava preocupado com essa parte.

– Cara, você é tão insistente! – deu um sorriso derrotado. – Chego em 20. – e desligou a ligação a tempo de ouvir os gritos na outra linha.

Seria bom pra ele distrair um pouco a cabeça, estava finalizando três meses desde o primeiro jogo da temporada e ele poderia espairecer e se divertir com os amigos de uma forma mais tranquila. Com a seriedade que eram os últimos jogos, as festas pós partida não eram mais tão badaladas, os jogadores que ainda estavam no campeonato preferindo descansar para o próximo jogo. Então o máximo que faziam era se juntar em algum pub mais discreto e sem movimento para tomar uma cerveja e torcer para os times mais "fracos" ganharem, o que traria mais chance de vitória para eles mesmos.

Harry chegou no local combinado, que não era tão longe do centro de treinamento deles em Londres, e se direcionou à mesa dos fundos em que reconheceu estarem sentados dois colegas do Manchester e um do Chelsea, a rivalidade realmente só ficava nos campos. Tinha um outro copo em frente a uma cadeira vazia, provavelmente o dono tinha saído para algum lugar e voltaria depois.

Após cumprimentar todos da mesa e pedir sua própria cerveja, o menor sentou ao lado da cadeira vazia, olhando fixamente para o telão suspenso na parede e vendo os times cantarem o hino da Inglaterra. A cadeira ao seu lado foi puxada e um perfume amadeirado tomou conta dos seus sentidos, trazendo uma sensação de que conhecia aquele cheiro de algum lugar. Quando seus olhos desviaram da tela para o homem que havia chegado, Harry prendeu a respiração e sentiu as bochechas avermelharem.

Louis deu um sorriso mínimo, um tanto envergonhado, após sentar e tomar um gole longo da própria bebida. Era estranho encontrar o cacheado depois de tudo o que aconteceu entre eles, ficava difícil saber como agir. Ele nunca se sentiu assim antes e o revirar em seu estômago era prova disso.

Apesar desse impasse inicial, bastou o jogo começar para que eles ficassem agitados e barulhentos, pareciam velhos amigos comemorando ou discutindo a cada toque de bola. De alguma maneira eles acabavam sempre se tocando, as cadeiras pareciam mais juntas que no início e as mãos vira e mexe se esbarravam ou tocavam o braço do outro para comentar algum acontecimento. Os copos de cerveja se amontoavam pela mesa no decorrer da tarde e sorrisos esticavam os rostos, era como se as poucas pessoas na mesa deles e na parte externa do bar desaparecessem quando eles estavam se olhando, nada mais tinha foco.

Quando o apito final consolidou o placar de dois a um para o time que teria que enfrentar o Chelsea na semifinal, o moreno colocou as mãos no rosto apesar de um sorriso brincalhão estampar sua face enquanto Harry zoava consigo apertando o braço envolta do seu ombro e bagunçando seus cabelos. O sorriso de covinhas era gigante e os olhos verdes brilhavam em apenas uma direção, e não era para os ganhadores da partida que ele estava olhando.

°°°°°

Louis chegou no vestiário no dia seguinte pronto para se preparar para o jogo tão importante que teria, precisava dar o seu melhor, por ele e pelo time. O dia anterior foi importante para estabelecer um novo recomeço com o outro jogador, eles não conversaram mais sobre o que passou, mas ficou implícito que estava tudo bem agora, haviam superado.

No entanto, bastou entrar no local e ver o desgosto no rosto de alguns companheiros que ele notou ter algo errado. Dave, um dos colegas mais antigos ali, veio imediatamente em sua direção e o levou até os chuveiros e sem falar nenhuma palavra estendeu o celular em frente ao rosto de Tomlinson, estava aberto em uma página de fofoca como qualquer outra, mas o que chamava atenção era uma foto sua. Com Harry.

Franziu a testa ao reconhecer que a foto foi tirada no momento de comemoração do fim do jogo no dia anterior, o recorte não mostrava os outros amigos ao redor da mesa, só focava nos dois rivais sorrindo e muito próximos. Até aí não teria nenhum problema, se não fosse as outras imagens dos últimos jogos desses dois times, mostrando os momentos em que Louis e Harry perderam a bola ou cometeram algum erro em campo. Em uma dessas fotos Louis parecia irritado consigo mesmo e chutava o gramado. Em outra, Harry estava de joelhos com a mão no rosto e de cabeça baixa após perder um pênalti.

"Até que ponto o profissionalismo vai? Estariam Styles e Tomlinson negligenciando o próprio talento no futebol por um romance escondido? Descubra como os dois jogadores rivais estão sendo medíocres em campo apenas para não enfrentar seu affair em uma final."

– Que porra? – A manchete era desonesta e nojenta, Louis estava tão chocado que não conseguiu pensar muito no que dizer para convencer seus colegas que aquilo não era verdade.

– Ei, eu te conheço, cara. Fica de boa, já já eles esquecem isso tá? Bora pra cima hoje e vai ficar tudo bem, não precisa explicar. – Dave tentou consolar o amigo mesmo sabendo que os outros não compartilhavam da mesma ideia.

Louis não teve tempo para mais nada antes do treinador e técnico entrarem no ambiente, o aquecimento e instrução começou e ninguém mais tocou no assunto. Ele pensou que tudo seguiria normal, mas bem.. o pensamento só durou até o técnico vir até ele enquanto já estavam na fila para entrar em campo e retirar a faixa preta de capitão do seu braço. Não despejou nada mais do que um sorriso de desculpas antes de sair com a faixa e entregar para outro jogador. Então é isso, seu próprio time não confiava nele o suficiente para permanecer no posto. Ótimo.

O clima do jogo foi sufocante, parecia que toda a arquibancada tinha visto a matéria e estavam duvidando do caráter da estrela do time, o que deixou Louis um tanto desnorteado durante os primeiros minutos. Mas ele ainda faria o trabalho dele mesmo que ninguém tivesse fé, então guardou as preocupações em um cantinho do cérebro e jogou como nunca. Não era como se ele estivesse tentando se provar para alguém, só que todos os olhares desconfiados sobre si lhe deixaram com um gás e uma determinação maior ainda.

Não sabia se era a homofobia internalizada que fez seus parceiros de trabalho agirem daquela forma ou se foi pelo fato da notícia envolver um concorrente, e Louis só podia torcer para que Harry não tenha visto aquela palhaçada ainda ou que, pelo menos, esteja tudo bem.

Placar final 2x2. Teriam que ir para os pênaltis. Dos 5 jogadores escolhidos, Louis seria o último a chutar. Os torcedores apreensivos, o técnico sem outra opção, e na cabeça do moreno só passava uma dúvida: ele provaria que todos estavam errados ao duvidar de si ou daria o desgosto que muitos estavam esperando?

A rede balançou seis vezes, cada time com três gols. O quarto jogador do Chelsea bateu na trave, mas o goleiro, por sua vez, equilibrou a situação conseguindo agarrar a bola adversária. Na quinta e última oportunidade, o jogador adversário chutou alto de mais. Seria agora ou nunca, Louis iria bater.

°°°°°

Harry estava no estádio daquela vez. Como o próximo time classificado iria ser seu adversário na final, depois de ganharem a semi, todos os jogadores do Manchester United estavam juntos acompanhando o jogo da arquibancada. Ele tinha visto a notícia pouco antes de sair de casa e foi o caminho inteiro implorando para todos os deuses que Louis não tenha se desestabilizado com isso ou perdido o foco da partida.

Em que momento passou a desejar que o outro se classificasse para a grande final, ele não sabia dizer. Mas ainda assim se pegou mais apreensivo pelo outro do que por si.

Os colegas de time lhe lançavam olhares tortos cada vez que ele se empolgava um pouco mais durante o jogo, fazendo com que o cacheado tivesse que reprimir alguns gritos ao morder o próprio lábio e segurar firmemente o banco onde estava sentado para não levantar. No entanto, todo o controle que tinha conseguido não foi o suficiente para lhe segurar durante o pênalti que seria decisivo. Louis só precisava acertar aquela maldita bola na rede e foi impossível para Harry se manter calmo.

Quando percebeu já estava em pé enquanto todos os jogadores que lhe faziam companhia permaneciam sentados, apesar de tensos. As mãos do cacheado revezavam entre ir para os lábios ou os fios chocolates, ora mordendo as unhas, ora puxando os cabelos. Ele não percebeu na hora, mas havia um paparazzi atrás de si e o ângulo permitia que o foco da lente estivesse totalmente sobre o cacheado, captando Louis posicionado ao fundo, e, além disso, a diferença entre a altura dele em pé e os colegas sentados daria muito para falarem.

Os olhos verdes captaram o momento exato em que Louis deu um beijo no topo da bola, a posicionando no local marcado na grama, para logo depois dar alguns passos para trás. A chuteira branca bordada com o número 28 oscilava na visão das pessoas enquanto Louis dava uma corridinha sem sair do lugar. O apito soou e ele correu. Fingiu que ia chutar em uma direção e chutou em outra. Harry fechou os olhos.

Só teve coragem de abrir as orbes e ver o resultado quando seu ouvido doeu pelos gritos da torcida completamente exaltada e seus músculos tremeram com a vibração da arquibancada. Como se tivessem ensaiado, Louis, dos ombros dos colegas e com um sorriso gigante no rosto, conseguiu lhe encontrar na multidão e o cacheado finalmente se permitiu sorrir.

O sorriso e o olhar que trocaram prometia um jogo disputado na final, uma competição acirrada, mas também exalava uma alegria por serem eles, ainda que de lados opostos.

VII

A foto rodou todos os meios de comunicação e redes sociais possíveis, até os jornais em TV aberta decidiram confabular sobre o possível romance entre os jogadores, Styles e Tomlinson estavam estampados no cenário mundial com um alcance gigante dada a proporção em que chegaram na competição. Entretanto, eles não tinham se visto durante esse intervalo entre os finais de semana que separava o último jogo da grande final, também não tinham se comunicado por qualquer outro meio.

Harry tinha recebido uma ligaç��o dos pais poucos minutos após entrar no carro em direção à própria casa depois de assistir a semifinal, o tom de voz da mãe, sempre impessoal, não tinha mudado apesar das circunstâncias. A mulher gastou alguns poucos segundos para perguntar como estavam as coisas, mas não demorou a entrar no assunto que realmente a fez lembrar o contato do filho depois de, provavelmente, meses sem uma ligação decente.

Desde criança o cacheado não guarda lembranças de ser muito próximo dos pais. Enquanto os colegas eram buscados na escolinha pela mãe ou pai e recebiam um abraço caloroso no portão de saída, Harry tinha que esperar algum carro com um motorista para pegá-lo, sempre foi assim. Essa logística só mudou com a chegada de Geórgia na casa da família, que viu como o garoto vivia solitário e sem atenção dos mais velhos, sempre ocupados demais para o próprio filho, e passou a dar todo o carinho e companhia que ele merecia e precisava. Nos próximos anos da infância e adolescência, o garotinho de cabelos encaracolados nem cogitava esperar a presença dos pais em algum evento ou reunião na escola, já sabia que era Geórgia quem viria lhe socorrer e estava bem com isso.

“Então, é verdade?” – ela questionou sem qualquer entonação, não demonstrava nenhum sentimento, seja decepção ou acolhimento.

“E se for?” – Harry não se sentia corajoso, os olhos marejados e a respiração presa eram provas disso. Ele preferiu observar o trânsito lento enquanto o silêncio da mãe pesava em seus ouvidos. Quando tinha passado segundos suficientes para ele achar que a ligação tinha caído, continuou. – “Eu não tenho nada com o Louis, mãe. Mas só porque não depende apenas de mim.”

“Ahn.. certo, Harry. Eu preciso ir agora, se cuida filho.”

Depois de deixar o celular cair ao seu lado no banco, Harry não sabia como se sentir. Aliviado não era bem a palavra já que ela não demonstrou qualquer apoio, mas não estava necessariamente triste. Na verdade, ele percebeu que aquela ligação não tinha mudado em nada e não o faria chegar em casa chorando como ele pensava que seria assim que sua família descobrisse. Estava tudo normal.

Assim que consolidou isso e passou pela porta da sua casa com um sorriso ameno, lembrou da frase que disse para a mãe: “Mas só porque não depende apenas de mim”, e parou de andar no meio da sala, encarando a parede contrária como se ali tivesse qualquer coisa minimamente interessante. Então era isso? Ele realmente não se importaria de entrar em um relacionamento com um homem? Quer dizer, não dá para enganar a si mesmo, ele não se importaria de estar num relacionamento com Louis.

°°°°°

A grande final iria acontecer em algumas horas e todos os jogadores já estavam na concentração se preparando física e psicologicamente. O gol da vitória no outro final de semana fez com que os parceiros de time de Louis respirassem mais aliviados e com a certeza de que o colega jamais prejudicaria o próprio trabalho em prol do que ou de quem quer que seja. A faixa preta identificando o capitão voltou a apertar o braço tatuado de Tomlinson, deixando um calor reconfortante e prazeroso para ele no local.

Louis não teve mais notícias de Harry e nem conseguiu entrar em contato, suas redes sociais sempre monitoradas o impedia de enviar qualquer mensagem para o outro antes do jogo decisivo porque isso poderia significar alguma manipulação do resultado e eles não precisavam de mais essa atenção negativa. A pressão já era muita naquele momento, então ele teria que esperar o campeonato acabar e os ânimos acalmarem para finalmente ir atrás do que queria. E ele sequer tentava enganar a própria mente para arranjar uma outra explicação para a pele arrepiada com determinadas lembranças ou para o coração acelerado e o estômago embrulhado só de pensar nele. Louis queria o cacheado e era impossível fingir que não.

No momento em que entraram no gramado, tudo sumiu. Seu pensamento só estava preenchido pela gratidão por ter chegado até ali e pela determinação em dar o seu melhor. Assim que encarou os olhos ainda mais verdes que o campo, o apito soou e eles sentiram os corpos encherem com a adrenalina.

O suor banhava a pele pálida de Harry, suas pernas queriam tremer enquanto corria e dava a vida pelo próprio time, a cada posse da bola no próprio pé ou nas chuteiras dos companheiros ele sentia seu estômago revirar em ansiedade. Essa sensação sempre foi o porquê ele escolheu o futebol. Além de, obviamente, ser muito bom no que fazia, o frio na barriga antes de entrar em campo e a adrenalina durante toda a partida eram completamente recompensados ao final do jogo quando ele reconhecia ter feito o que estava ao seu alcance, Harry jogava com tudo que tinha, independentemente do resultado.

E todo esse esforço ficou claro quando, finalizando os acréscimos do segundo tempo, o placar estava empatado. 1x1. O desespero evidente no olhar de ambos os técnicos e a torcida fazendo o estádio tremer com a euforia de um jogo tão acirrado, assim como deveria ser. Mais um resultado que seria decidido nos pênaltis, eles não poderiam vacilar agora, tinha muito em jogo: um título, uma taça, o auge das suas carreiras.

Dez jogadores escolhidos, entre eles seus respectivos capitães. Todos completamente determinados e focados em um único resultado, a vitória. O Manchester seria o primeiro a tentar marcar gol e Harry estava como o quarto da fila, na última posição estava o camisa 10 do time e o cacheado se sentiu um pouco mais aliviado por não estar no lugar do cara. De outro lado, Louis era o quinto jogador a bater, como de costume, pois o seu pênalti de esquerda era a melhor chance para o Chelsea. O moreno estava fazendo exercício de respiração para focar apenas em fazer um bom trabalho, esquecendo todos ao redor.

O primeiro jogador correu logo após a autorização do árbitro, mas talvez esse impulso impensado tenha custado muito. A bola caiu direto nas mãos do goleiro. Isso poderia desestimular todos os próximos a chutar, não era um bom começo para a moral do time, mas Styles tirou de si uma confiança que não existia e tentou incentivar os outros quatro na linha de frente.

O jogador do Chelsea deu uma parada antes de chutar, o que fez com que o goleiro antecipasse a jogada e fosse ao chão, oportunidade que o primeiro aproveitou muito bem. Goleiro no chão e bola na rede, a torcida comemorou como nunca.

Era a vez de um dos melhores amigos de Harry e ele deixou um aperto de incentivo no ombro do rapaz, coisa que pareceu funcionar. A torcida vibrou antes mesmo dos jogadores perceberem o gol. O segundo e terceiro jogadores adversários conseguiram marcar no canto direito, mas o antecessor de Harry não deixou barato. Harry estava em desvantagem de um ponto quando se posicionou atrás da bola, se ele errasse agora não teria mais chance de ganhar.

Respirou fundo e olhou nos olhos do goleiro. O cacheado não tinha a estratégia de olhar para um canto do gol e chutar no oposto, isso já era manjado pela maioria, então ele focava apenas em desestabilizar o goleiro olhando no fundo dos seus olhos como se nada temesse. O apito soou em seus ouvidos e ele permaneceu alguns segundos imóvel, a tensão era tanta que torcida se calou. Harry correu e chutou. A bola rodou quase que em câmera lenta para todos ali, a respiração falhou na garganta dos torcedores quando a bola raspou nos dedos do goleiro e entrou no canto superior esquerdo. A rede balançou e a torcida se tornou ensurdecedora. Harry finalmente pôde respirar.

Não dava para saber se era o nervosismo pelos gritos de guerra que cercavam o local ou se o goleiro colega de Harry tinha ficado mais incentivado após a marcação do seu capitão, mas para a infelicidade do Chelsea, seu quarto jogador não teve sucesso como o quinto adversário. Louis teria que acertar, era a chance de um empate ou já era.

Tomlinson beijou a bola no seu ritual costumeiro, deu passos para trás e soltou uma expiração longa ao esperar a autorização do árbitro. Quase que de imediato ao som do apito, ele correu e chutou, confiante. Não encarou outro lugar senão o goleiro caindo para a esquerda enquanto sua bola entrava com louvor no canto direito. 4x4, placar empatado. Teriam mais cinco rodadas então.

A confiança dos jogadores agora estava mais firme, cada um sabendo da própria capacidade de ganhar. Então dizer que o jogo estava sendo um dos mais difíceis e disputados da história era até eufemismo. Começaram novamente os próximos cinco pênaltis com os jogadores na mesma ordem, no entanto o resultado não permaneceu o mesmo.

Após Harry marcar e se posicionar ao lado dos colegas para dar apoio ao último jogador do time, só lhe restavam torcer para que ele acertasse e Tomlinson não, realização que foi um pouco agridoce para o menor. Infelizmente, o chute não teve força o suficiente e o goleiro do Chelsea conseguiu bater a bola para fora antes dela ultrapassar a linha do gol. Se Louis acertasse agora, o título seria deles.

A pressão de estar nessa posição era terrível ao mesmo passo em que era revigorante. Se errasse teria que conviver com a decepção de milhares de pessoas em suas costas, mas se acertasse a gratidão de outras milhares o faria se sentir realmente bem. Bom.. ele não teria que lidar com a primeira opção e percebeu isso assim que terminou de fazer sua jogada e viu todos do time que estavam no banco invadir o gramado em sua direção. Ele olhou para a bola dentro do gol, depois desviou para os amigos pulando sobre suas costas e comemorando como nunca, mas seu olhar acabou encontrando um cacheado com lágrimas nos olhos e costas encurvadas.

Louis estava feliz, óbvio, mas só conseguiu realmente aproveitar aquele sentimento quando Harry deu de ombros em sua direção e ofereceu um sorriso mínimo, reconhecendo o bom trabalho do outro e a vitória merecida. O espírito esportivo não tinha sumido, afinal. Ainda era possível ficar feliz com a conquista de quem se gosta, mesmo que não seja a sua também.

VIII

A festa de comemoração estava sendo o ambiente mais barulhento e feliz que Harry já tinha posto os pés na vida. Litros e mais litros de champanhe eram jogados para o alto, molhando todos que estivessem por perto, os saltos e sapatos mais desconfortáveis faziam uma barreira próximo à parede, mostrando que os seus respectivos donos estavam se divertindo tanto que deixaram a classe de lado para aproveitar o momento.

Harry chegou um tempo depois do usual, já que teve que passar em casa e ser consolado por Geórgia. Somente aquela mulher sabia o quanto o cacheado costumava ficar afetado com perdas desse tipo, e foi por isso, inclusive, que ela estranhou assim que ele passou pela porta da frente sem nenhuma lágrima manchando o rosto. A postura estava abatida, é claro, mas ela estava esperando algo pior.

Ainda assim, acolheu seu menino nos braços como sempre fazia e sentaram juntos no sofá para comer besteira e assistir algo desinteressante na televisão por algumas horas. Eles não precisavam falar nada, o conforto e companhia já foi o suficiente para Harry recuperar pelo menos um pouco da sua energia e bom humor. Então, apenas depois de despedir-se da mais velha com um beijo no topo da cabeça e um abraço apertado, ele decidiu ir se arrumar. Tinha uma festa para comparecer.

O rapaz cumprimentou alguns conhecidos, ouviu inúmeros elogios à sua performance em campo, bebeu uns drinks e finalmente começou a procurar por Louis. Suas mãos estavam suando e a garganta estava seca quando finalmente encontrou a figura muito bem vestida parada em uma das saídas laterais do espaço em que a festa rolava.

Ali o vento frio da madrugada bagunçava os fios da franja do moreno, mas sua blusa preta de manga longa e gola alta parecia fazer seu trabalho muito bem em mantê-lo aquecido. Louis estava de costas, sem prestar tanta atenção à sua volta e muito focado na paisagem de luzes da cidade em sua frente para reconhecer o barulho de passos atrás de si.

– Parabéns pelo jogo de hoje, o resultado foi até que justo. – o maior ouviu o tom rouco proferir tais palavras de maneira calma e a forma como seu corpo reagiu ao reconhecer o dono da voz não deveria ser considerado normal.

– Obriga– o agradecimento ficou preso na garganta quando ele virou na direção do outro e viu o que poderia ser considerado a versão mais bonita que já havia visto de um ser humano. Não, em verdade nada se compara ao próprio cacheado quando está chorando de prazer, mas o visual das coxas grossas apertadas em uma calça social branca e o tronco vestido em uma camisa de cetim vermelho sangue chegava bem próximo. – É.. você foi muito bem também, sabe disso.

Eles ficaram se encarando em silêncio pelo o que poderia ser considerado uma eternidade, apenas sentindo as batidas ritmadas dos corações quase em sintonia, pulsando e exigindo que os anseios fossem atendidos. Louis olhava o ser em sua frente e queria ele para si, o tempo todo e completamente seu. Harry encarava o mais alto e se sentia completo, feliz como nunca esteve antes.

– Você sairia comigo?

– Podemos ter um encontro?

Foi um pouco confuso quando dispararam as perguntas ao mesmo tempo, o que causou um sorriso digno de covinhas afundando as bochechas do cacheado e um Louis com ruguinhas ao redor dos belos olhos azuis. Eles não poderiam estar mais sintonizados.

Epílogo

– Quero você olhando para mim, princesa. – deixou um tapa ardido na coxa do outro, por cima da calça social azul marinho que ele vestia. – Se você revirar esses lindos olhos verdes de novo eu vou te deixar assim, ouviu? – Louis proferiu em um tom duro antes de abrigar novamente toda aquela extensão rígida entre os lábios.

Eles estavam numa limusine em direção a festa de comemoração aos 118 anos do Chelsea, que ano após ano surpreendia cada vez mais a imprensa e os amantes do futebol com toda a dimensão do evento. As pessoas se comportavam como se estivessem em um desfile de gala, e o tapete vermelho que geralmente ficava em frente ao local realmente dava tal impressão.

Era também por isso que Louis e Harry tinham escolhido chegar em grande estilo no carro luxuoso preto, com direito a motorista e champanhe lá atrás. Por sorte o automóvel era extenso o suficiente para a parte traseira, onde os passageiros estavam, ficar distante do painel fechado que os dividia da cabine do motorista.

O trânsito em Londres já não ajudava em um dia normal, imagina em um dia de evento como esse. A cidade estava praticamente parada, os poucos resquícios de paciência sendo extremamente necessários a cada um que andava poucos metros num trânsito infernal apenas para frear segundos depois. Foi assim que Harry, um pouco risonho e leve pelas bolhas da bebida no paladar, acabou atiçando o outro jogador. Bastaram pequenos deslizes de mão pelas pernas fortes, alguns beijos molhados pelo pescoço alheio e num instante ele estava segurando gemidos manhosos e pressionando a nuca contra o estofado de couro.

O conjunto social que vestia, junto à camisa branca por baixo, fazia o calor queimar sua pele e os olhos azuis em sua direção, desafiando ele a desviar o olhar, era enlouquecedor. Louis descia com os lábios sem se importar com a intensidade na maneira como chupava a glande rosada ou, ainda, com as linhas finas e vermelhas que sua barba deixava na púbis do cacheado.

– Porra, Lou.. hm- eu amo tanto sua boca. – duas lágrimas gordas caíram em sequência pelos olhos de Harry, que não ousou desviar do homem em sua frente, de joelhos no chão do carro. – Eu preciso-ah! Amor, por.. por favor.

E Louis jamais negaria um pedido feito dessa forma, então tratou de forçar a própria garganta a engolir tudo o que podia, sentindo o peso conhecido em sua língua e o calor lhe povoar por dentro enquanto marcava a cintura pálida do outro com um aperto forte por baixo dos tecidos.

O líquido pegajoso a esse momento já tinha um gosto comum e até apreciado, algo entre o sal e o vinagre, mas muito bem vindo. O maior engoliu como pôde, restando na língua apenas o fantasma do sabor para dividir com o outro que, de bom grado, abriu a boca para receber um dos melhores beijos que já havia experimentado.

– Deixa eu te ajudar, amor? Vai ser rapidinho.. – Harry apalpou sem vergonha a ereção de Louis por cima da calça preta de tecido fino que ele usava. O terno também preto deixou seu homem tão sexy que foi impossível não aproveitar daqueles minutos de trânsito parado. Entretanto, deviam tomar cuidado para não serem ouvidos pelo motorista ou vistos apesar do vidro escuro. Por isso Louis não deixou o outro ajoelhar como ele mesmo tinha feito há poucos instantes.

– Nós estamos quase chegando, não vai dar tempo.. Mas tá tudo bem, sim? Quando a festa acabar você me- Ei! – parou de falar quando Harry se pôs de joelhos no banco, abaixou a calça apenas o suficiente para deixar a bunda redondinha à mostra e apoiou as mãos no vidro que rapidamente embaçava. – O que você tá fazendo, Haz, ficou louco?

– Vem, me fode, rápido. – Louis não tinha a intenção de levar o comando a sério, mas sua mente não impediu que levasse a mão até o zíper e liberasse o membro grosso e rígido, se aproximando o bastante para arrepiar a pele pálida do outro. – Você não gozaria a tempo se eu te chupasse, mas tenho certeza que eu sou muito mais apertado e você vai - Isso, Hmm..

– Você sabe bem como me convencer não é? – sorriu contra a bochecha que ostentava uma covinha profunda e puxou o rosto de Harry em sua direção, deixando o queixo virado o suficiente para que os lábios pudessem se conectar e gemer em conjunto. – Olhos nos meus, querido. – sussurrou com a voz rouca enquanto deslizava o pau rígido na entradinha do outro.

Não foi muito difícil vencer a resistência porque Harry ainda estava um pouco aberto pelo sexo no banho antes de se arrumarem, então Louis rapidamente passou a estocar de maneira forte e precisa. Ele saía de maneira lenta e voltava com tudo, atingindo a próstata com as marteladas mais prazerosas que o menor já conheceu. A intenção era serem rápidos, não tinham tanto tempo disponível.

A adrenalina de estarem praticamente visíveis, os gemidos que eram soprados em sua boca, os olhos verdes que reviravam e lutavam para não ceder ao peso das pálpebras, o aperto em seu membro sensível.. não tinha como segurar. Assim que o carro virou a esquina da Avenida na qual reconheceu o local da festa pelos flashes das câmeras que faziam luzes piscarem ao longe, Louis só precisou imaginar a face do cacheado exatamente como ele estava agora, entregue e fodido, completamente lindo, sendo estampada naquelas câmeras para o orgasmo lhe atingir de maneira intensa. Egoísmo ou privilégio, não sabia, mas agradeceu por aquela imagem ser apenas sua.

– Deixa minha porra bem guardadinha, princesa. Não quero ver uma gota escorrendo quando a gente chegar em casa. – deixou um beijo na testa de Harry, que ainda estava um tanto desnorteado e com bochechas coradas.

E após fecharem mais uma vez os zíperes e botões, conferirem se estavam com os fios de cabelo no lugar certo e roupas sem muitos amassos, o moreno saiu pela porta da limusine e estendeu a mão para o outro jogador. Assim que Harry se pôs em pé ao seu lado, de mãos dadas e uma feição séria contrastando com a vermelhidão no rosto, muitas câmeras e microfones viraram na direção deles e uma série de flashes foram disparados.

°°°°°

"Depois de 8 meses desde o primeiro rumor sobre o casal do futebol, finalmente o namoro foi oficializado. Tomlinson e Styles chegaram juntos à festa de comemoração dos 118 anos do Chelsea, uma revelação em grande estilo, não acham?

Confira agora as fotos desse momento revolucionário para o cenário do esporte inglês, com direito a mãos dadas e olhares apaixonados. Eu já estou shippando e vocês?"

Fim.

#larry fanfiction #oneshot #smut #harry styles #larry #ltops #fanfic #one direction #louis tomilson #hbottom #revezamento

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eveningepiphany · 1 year

Text

hotel room | H.S

summary: harry & Y/N are friends but it’s a love hate relationship with so much tension you can hardly breathe. this tension isn’t any better when they get stuck in a hotel room together for the night. and it only has one bed.

warnings: SMUT! hand job (f+m receiving), PIV unprotected, sloppy morning sex, teasing, swearing, praise, friends to lovers.

A/N:I have opened my requests! and I’d love to write some from you guys, so send them in here <3

———

“So there’s only… definitely only one room for us?” I say slowly, and the lady behind the counter nods.

“Y/N,” Harry says, “we’ve shared a room before—“

“I’m so sorry the inconvenience— Since the multitude of delayed flights from the storm we’ve had an unexpected influx of last-minute bookings…” her hands are zipping along the keyboard as she is clearly under the pump.

“You’ve been booked under a single room.” She glances up, face turned up apologetically, confirming.

I nod, knowing there’s so many other people needing somewhere to stay right now, there’s no point being picky.

It’s just one night.

Because Harry and I live in the same part of the UK, we usually catch the same planes to and from when we get short breaks from touring with the band.

So of course we flew out for our Australian leg of the tour several hours ago and got stuck at our layover destination, Abu Dhabi.

The storm rolled in quick, putting hour— even day long— delays on flights. So now people are scrambling to book hotels for the next few nights.

Luckily our management got on it as soon as we’d called them about the delay of out flight, but I suppose they only could get us the one room for two.

We get our room key and head up the elevator to the 7th floor.

When we walk into the room there is a single queen bed in the centre of it, and I glance at Harry out the corner of my eye. We are always close to one another being in the band, but never “share a bed” close.

“Don’t stress.” He says.

“I’m not stressed.” I quip.

“Yes you are, don’t try and bullshit me.”

“Harry, we’re adults it’s fine.”

“Hardly adults.” He chuckles.

I scoff at his constant digs, there is a fineline of how much Harry I can tolerate in a day and we are really pushing it.

“Well if you think that then I implore you to take the couch.” I know just by looking at the couch he’d hardly fit on it, and I’m not that much of an asshole to let that happen.

“Oooh, you’re just trying t’get the bed all to yourself? Bloody bed hog.”

I open my bag up, pulling out fresh clothes and my toiletries, “Was just providing you the options. I’m going to shower.”

“Too bad if I wanted one first.” He sighs dramatically, with a little smirk that usually indicates he’s teasing.

“Too bad indeed.” I smile sarcastically at him as I shut the door.

It’s so nice to wash away the gross feeling that sticks to your skin after long flights like we just had.

When I come out of the bathroom he’s laying in the bed, crisp white doona pulled back.

“Dude you’re getting airport germs in the bed.”

He glances up from his phone, eyeing me for a split second— I’m just in sleep shorts and a plain tshirt.

“It’s fine, I’ll just have this side.” He replies, a smile breaking out over his face.

He leaves me no room to respond as he stands up, “im gonna have a shower as well, and then we can order room service, how’s that sound?”

I nod, “I’ll get the menu and have a read through.”

It’s weird how we one minute can’t stop sarcastically niggling and the next we’re back to being normal friends.

I browse through their relatively large menu as the shower runs in the background. If I strain, I can hear Harry gently humming.

I’m happy to see my favourite foods on there… and heaps of deserts.

He comes out shortly after while I’m still reading the menu, and he’s clad in only grey sweatpants, adorning damp hair.

I choose to tear my eyes away from his bare chest, “I’ve figured out what I want to get, have a read through.”

I chucked him the menu and he comes to sit down next to me on the bed.

Im surprised we don’t end up in another debate about the sleeping arrangements, but I think we’re both so exhausted from the flight. The 8 hour plane trip settling deep into our bones.

“They have y’favourite.” He says with a smile playing on his lips.

“Yea, I’m so glad. It’s all I’m craving right now.”

“What are you gonna get?” I lean to look over his shoulder at the menu.

“Maybe I’ll try their tacos?”

“I’m gonna order some of the desert stuff too.”

“Y’gonna be so full.” He laughs.

“It’ll be worth it.” I say, as I stand up to go over to the phone on the desk in the corner of the room.

I ring up and order an unnecessary amount of stuff before giving them our room number and hoping back into bed.

It’s so cozy, and if it weren’t for the food I knew was coming, I’d probably curl up and fall asleep straight away.

We lay together, talking about the plan for the next few days until the food gets delivered with a knock on the door.

I get up to open it, taking the trays of food from the kind waiter.

He groans, “God it smells good.”

We both spread the dishes of food on the bed and quickly start eating.

The TV starts playing reruns of friends, the episode where Ross makes the paste with his leather pants, trying to get them up.

We’re both tearing up with laughter, stuffing our faces with our first proper meal since dinner on the plane over 5 hours ago.

“Holy shit.” He says, and we’re are letting out fits of giggles, as Ross says “—and the lotion and the powder have made a paste…”

“I swear— why did he listen to joey.” I scoff, shoving a bite of food into my mouth.

“No, because the way it just keeps getting worse.” He buries his face into his hands with a pained grin.

We watch a few of the episodes that were playing, sharing the last of the chocolate cookies that I’d ordered.

I stood up to move all the trays our food came on over to the small kitchen bench, leaving them for the morning.

“That was so yum.” I sigh out, content and full.

I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and finish up my night routine, ready to honestly just go to sleep.

I come out with a small smile on my lips, excited to get back into bed where it’s cozy. Slipping back under the crisp white sheets, Harry turns off the TV.

The room is now dark, “fuck… can’t see now— I gotta brush m’teeth as well.”

“Have my phone.” I chuck it in his general direction, and clonk him straight in the side.

“Ouch.” He huffs, grabbing it and turning the flash on.

He pads over to the bathroom while I roll my eyes at how dramatic he is.

He turns the lights on in there, coming back over to give me my phone now that he can see.

I text a few of my immediate family members to let them know we’d settled into our hotel, choosing to leave out the fact we’re sharing a bed.

I mean assuming that’s what the plan is. I highly doubt he wants to sleep on the couch.

Being the only female in a band of boys leads to lots of assumptions throughout my family unit. Especially with Harry.

They mistake our arguments as ‘pent-up sexual frustration’. Which is far from how I like to think of it.

He steps out from the bathroom, and I turn my torch on so he can flick the light off.

He scrapes a hand over his face, looking to me with tired eyes.

The hotel was relatively quiet now, only a few drunken laughs echoing down the hallway as it nears 12am.

He climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers over himself.

I tug my pillow down a bit before turning off my flash.

“Y’tired?” He asks quietly, sounding already kind of groggy.

I hum in agreement, rolling to face him. It’s quiet a few beats.

I can just make out his outline next to me,

I can feel the warmth of his body from where I’m laying. And it feels like I’m being enveloped by it in a strange— yet lovely way.

The thought floats around in my head, images conjuring from the darkness.

I blame this on the 8 hour flight and sleep deprivation.

Usually I can ignore it, but as much as he’s a proper pain in the ass sometimes, I’d have to be visually impaired to say he wasn’t good looking.

And hell he’s laying in the same bed as me without a shirt on.

“Y’staring at me.” He chuckles softly, and I startle a little.

“How can you even see me?” I ask, amused.

“I can’t, can just feel it.”

“As if you can feel it.” I scoff, “I’ll roll over if my eyes being on you makes you too uncomfortable.”

“No, no, wait come back.” He whines as I start to move.

I huff out a laugh, and roll back over to him.

I keep my eyes shut, “better?”

He whispers a yes, and I smile.

I keep that very smile as I drift off, listening to Harry’s slow breathes from beside me, allowing them to lull me to sleep.

———

I can only half remember waking up.

I was warm, heavy, and I felt his body before I saw it.

My eyes had only opened a tiny bit—there was light creeping through the thin curtains, making his unruly hair just visible.

My leg was thrown over his hip, and I was pressed right into his chest. We were fully intertwined, and fuck did it feel nice.

I close my eyes again, I can feel his morning wood. My heart jumps a little in my chest. Maybe I can just roll over— pretend I didn’t feel it, and go back to sleep.

I carefully strain to make the movement, but I instead get pulled closer to him.

He pushes himself against me, a sigh slipping from his nose, and I realise moving may have been a bad idea.

“Fuck…” I hear him mutter against my hair, bucking his hips up again.

“Harry.” I say, voice croaky with sleep. Of course this does nothing.

I have no idea how awake he is, I’m not even fully awake yet. But Jesus, this feels better than it should.

I feel like a horrific person for enjoying the way his clothed-length is pressed into me. But by god I am not strong enough to remove myself from this situation.

“Harry, wake up.” I groaned, squirming a little in his grasp.

He seems to come to it, just enough to realise whatever the fuck is happening in a couple seconds.

“Y/N…? Fuck. what is—“ I feel his body tense underneath me as it hits him, and he probably feels his boner pressed between my legs.

His hand flys up to my thigh that’s resting on his hip, “Holy shit—“

“It’s fine, H.” I whisper, and I’m not really sure why I say that, or what I’m implying by doing so.

Or what it means paired with the fact I haven’t protested to his dick practically grinding against my cunt.

“What do you mean?” He asks, groggily.

“Not sure.” I confess, whimpering a little as he still is hard underneath me. I push into him a bit out of unspoken desire and I hear him swallow.

He doesn’t say anything as he slides his hand up my leg, cupping it on my ass.

I glance up to see his face, his eyes still half-lidded, and his cheeks have a gentle flush to them.

I feel myself getting wetter as he keeps rubbing himself along my thin sleep shorts.

He moans a bit, and I slip my hand between us to palm his cock through his sweatpants.

“This ok? Want me to help you out a bit?”

“God— yes please…” he groans.

I push it underneath his waistband, tugging him out.

He’s heavy and hot in my hand. Glancing down, its bigger than I expected. The tip is flush and red, glistening with the damp beads of precum. Hardly surprising he’s got such a pretty cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ— look at y’little hand wrapped ‘round me.” He swears.

I slowly squeeze the head of it, and that quickly has him bucking into my palm.

His own hand travels between my sleep shorts, “Mind i return the favour?”

I hum in agreement, but he doesn’t do anything, “Gotta hear you say it, tell me what you want.”

I roll my eyes, of course he’s like this in bed, wants to hear how bad I want him.

“What do you want me to say to you Harry? How bad I want your fingers in my wet cunt right now, or how I want you to fuck my clit with your tongue?”

“Want my tongue do you? Because yes that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.” He says, smirking as he dips his hand under my shorts, running his fingers through me.

“No panties… been next to me all night with your pussy so easily accessible. Such a little slut.”

He collects my arousal, carrying it up to my swollen clit. I moan with the action, trying to keep my hand pumping rhythmically.

This proves to be a challenge, as he’s very clearly skilled with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Hardly even touched you.”

“Been grinding your dick into me for a bit, actually.” I hiss as he slips a finger into me.

“Sorry, Baby. Did my hard cock get you all worked up?” He teases, and I hate the fact that he’s right.

I give a particularly hard squeeze and he grunts, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He quickens the pace of his fingers, fucking them in and out of me.

“Hard to hate me when I’m making you feel so good, hm?” He kisses my forehead, curling his fingers in me.

I cry out. Fuck— I was going to come.

“Wait, wait, wait— don’t wanna come yet, please…” I clench my thighs around his hand and it stills.

I look up at him, his green eyes burning with desire.

He doesn’t say anything, just leans his head down and places a wet kiss on my lips.

He keeps his fingers pumping slowly in and out of me as we start to kiss.

He brings me close to coming again a few times, just to tease me, but he keeps his focus on my lips— pulling my bottom one between his and sucking on it.

It’s messy and sloppy, edges of it blurred from the morning haze still over us.

“Harry.” I say into his mouth, legs shaking a little.

“Want you in me.” It comes out of me as an unbridled thought.

“Jesus…” he murmurs, stunned by hearing the words fly out of me so openly.

He pulls his lips away, cock twitching in my hand, “you want…”

“You want me to fuck you?”

I nod, grabbing the hem of my shirt and slipping it off.

He’s enamoured by me, it’s clear in his eyes.

He reaches his hand up, out of my sleep shorts and he cups my breast with it gently.

He moves his mouth down to place gentle kissed over them.

“You’re perfect, yknow that?” He says against my skin, tugging me closer to him as I smile at the flattery.

“I’m on birth control too.” I state.

He glances up, and it appears I’ve shocked him yet again, “you wanna take me raw?”

I haven’t gone without I condom in ages… but I trust him.

“We’re both clean, right? I trust you.”

He smiles, “I’m clean. As long as your sure.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of something.

He pulls my sleep shorts off, and I help shuck his sweats the rest of the way down his legs.

We’re warm between the sheets, and he’s peppering open-mouthed kisses along my neck as he lines himself up with me.

He locks eyes with me as he pushes in, and both of us moan at the feeling.

“Fuck— you’re tight.” He squeezes his hands on my hips.

I am blinded with the pleasure of him filling me up, I can’t even think about how bad an idea this could be.

“Feels so good, H.” I groan, scraping my nails along his chest.

“Can feel you clenching around me.” He reaches a hand down to play with my clit.

He’s gonna make me come embarrassingly quick— especially considering he sort of edged me a bit while we were kissing.

He was thrusting into me, a perfect pace to have me squirming in his arms.

I can tell he’s getting close, my name flying out his mouth paired with vulgar words and moans.

“I- fuck- I’m not gonna be able to drag this out if you keeping squeezing m’cock like that.” He pants.

“I’m close, so just come with me.” I plead, the thought of him finishing with me adding fuel to the fire in the pit of my stomach.

“God H, I’m gonna come— hard.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, keep talking.” He says, his skin slapping into mine, chasing his orgasm.

“You’re so pretty.” I blurt, spewing the first thing that comes to mind as I look at him.

He really is, his hair is tousled from sleep and my hands, his eyes half lidded from pleasure and tattooed chest slightly damp.

He swears, bottoming out and coming hard without warning. His hand circles my clit fast, bringing my crashing down with him.

“Harry!” I cry, burying my head into the crook of his neck as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He groans, still thrusting into me trying to prolong his orgasms.

The high slowly ebbs away, and he stays in me for a bit. Nothing but the sounds of our laboured breathing filling the room.

I think we don’t know what to say, after something like that happens— when it all comes on instinct and you’re without any clue on what it changes.

Our dynamic, though it was a love-hate kind of thing, it was a consistent one. You knew what to expect. Now that this has happened…

“I have no idea what you’re thinking right now.” He whispers, “and that kind of scares me.”

I lay quietly for a few heartbeats, “just… that was really good. And I’m not 100% prepared for what might happen after this, y’know. To us I guess.”

“Well. To keep it simple, I really like you— and that was some of the best sex I’ve ever had so…” he trails off, unsure where to go with the sentence.

“Ok— so this isn’t gonna ruin our friendship?” I sigh in a bit of relief.

“Of course not,” he pulls back to look at me, and a smile spreads across his face, “after all, we are adults.”

———

3K notes · View notes

fetusharryluvr · 1 year

Text

knight in shining armour

in which a single mother moves in three doors down from harry, and her two year-old finds herself outside his flat…

Harry fumbled with the keys after locking the front door to his flat, shoving them into his pocket. Whilst humming some random tune that, if you asked him where he’d heard it, he wouldn’t be able to tell you, he turned around, stopping in his tracks when he was met with a strange sight. A little girl standing all alone in the hallway. Well, ‘little girl’ may be a bit of an overstatement, she couldn’t have been any older than two.

He crouched down so he was more at her level, giving her a warm smile, “Hello, little lady.”

The 2ft child sniffled, rubbing her nose with one hand and giving Harry a small wave with the other.

“Where’s your mummy, love? She must be worried sick.” He felt a bit silly asking her, nor did he expect her to tell him, but what else do you ask a toddler wondering about on their own?

She pouted. Her little lip started to quiver, and she looked up at the man with sad, puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright.” He soothed. He stretched out his tattooed arms, picking up the girl and propping her up on his side. “It’s okay, bubs, we’re gonna find your mummy.”

He carried her around, trying to work out where she could have possibly come from. The little light bulb inside his head lit up when saw the door to flat 106 was slightly open. Despite that, Harry didn’t want to intrude into your home, so he lightly knocked three times.

It took a couple of minutes for you to open the door, and when you did, your face fell, eyes widening at the sight of your daughter in the arms of a stranger.

Harry could clearly see how worried and confused you were, which why he was quick to jump in and explain. “She was wandering outside my flat. I saw your door was open and I assumed she’d gotten out. Uh, I live three doors down - flat 109.”

“Oh my god,” Your voice was shaky, as if you were on the verge of tears. The brunette loosened his grip on the toddler, allowing you to take her from him and hug her tightly, her little arms wrapping around your neck. “I’m so sorry. I was too focused on the washing up— I must’ve left the door open— I didn’t realise she got out.”

Harry simply nodded his head and smiled. He didn’t quite understand why you were apologising to him. You had nothing to apologise to him for. “She’s adorable.” He stated, unable to pull his eyes away from the little angel.

Just as intended, his words brought a bright beam to your face. “Well, I definitely think so, but I suppose I’m biased.”

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You informed him. “An’ this is Noelle.”

Now he could see the both of you side-by-side, Harry realised just how similar you and Noelle looked. She was like a mini you, and, my god, you were gorgeous.

“Do you wanna come in for a coffee?” You offered, “As a thank you.”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” He smiled, and you were secretly relieved. You couldn’t thank him enough.

Harry followed you inside, shutting the front door behind him. He looked around in reverence. For such a small flat, you kept it unbelievably tidy, especially considering you were the mother of a toddler. The rug by the sofa was spotless, with a plastic container full of toys in the corner of the room, and a rather empty bookshelf in the other corner - which consisted of a small collection of Paddington Bear books stacked in alphabetical order, and a couple of true crime novels.

“You’ve got a lovely place.” He observed.

“Thank you. It’s not ideal, but it’s got the extra room for Elle.”

Whilst you hovered around the kitchen counter to make coffee, Harry sat himself down at the table, making faces at the little girl in the high chair opposite him. “Have you lived here long?” He asks, “‘S just I haven’t seen you around before.”

You grabbed two mugs out from the cupboard, “We moved in two weeks ago. The rent on my old place was gettin’ too expensive. Plus, Elle was getting too big to be sharing a room with me.” You heard her laughing, prompting you to turn around. Harry was playing a game of peek-a-boo with her, causing her little lips to turn up in a wide smile. “She likes you.”

“Yeah?” He peers over his shoulder at you with an endearing grin.

“Yeah.” You nod, returning the expression. “She’s normally not great with strangers, but that’s probably the most I’ve seen her smile in a long time.”

He turned back around, continuing his string of goofy faces. “Well, she’s got a beautiful smile. Just like her mum.”

You bent down and opened the door to the fridge, hissing out a quick, “Shit.” Under your breath.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, concerned.

“We’re out of milk. I’m so sorry.” You sighed, rubbing your temple. It was clear in your tone that you were embarrassed.

Much to your surprise, Harry wasn’t mad. Far from it, in fact. “It’s okay.” He softly assured you.

You shook your head, beginning to feel another headache coming on, something that tended to happen when you didn’t get enough sleep. “No. No, it’s not. I should’ve checked— I could’ve sworn I had at least half the carton left—”

“Y/N.” Harry calmly cut you off, “Really, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“I’ll pay you back somehow.” You assured him. “I promise.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You nodded, not wanting to take no for an answer. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing her back, I dread to think what would’ve happened if—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, but the look on Harry’s face told you that you didn’t need to. “You’re our knight in shining armour.”

You visibly cringed the second the words left your mouth, “Sorry,” you laughed. “Been reading too many fairytale stories.”

His cheeks flushed red. “No, I like it.” He breathed out a chuckle, whilst Noelle wrapped her hand around his forefinger. “I’m always happy to help a little damsel in distress.”

2K notes · View notes

cupid-styles · 2 months

Text

renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!"

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do.

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.)

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain.

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it.

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair.

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint.

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky."

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late.

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?"

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom.

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?"

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take.

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there.

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!"

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles.

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces.

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction.

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat.

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them.

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone.

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely.

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg.

"What does usavory mean?"

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes.

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes.

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class?

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom.

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it.

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N.

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included.

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper.

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07.

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table.

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart.

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins.

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always.

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it.

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups.

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning.

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day.

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either.

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out.

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks.

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days.

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his.

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door.

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?"

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in.

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job.

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water.

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this.

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman.

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs.

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting.

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips.

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy.

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious.

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu.

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely.

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine.

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth.

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life.

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips.

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors.

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap.

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her.

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body.

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience.

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile.

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles.

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

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