I still get very high and very low in life. Daily. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that sensitive is just how I was made, that I don’t have to hide it and I don’t have to fix it. I’m not broken.- Glennon Doyle Melton (via wnq-anonymous)
Steal my work, I fucking dare you. I’ll come after you like a mama bear. Touch my cubs and I will find you, and I’ll backflip off of a table and sucker punch you in the twat. I’m not playing around. If you can’t be creative and come up with your own work, don’t steal someone else’s. It’s pathetic. And this mama bear doesn’t take that shit lightly. This is my therapy, and I put my blood, sweat and tears into this shit, and by some miracle it actually makes me feel better, so I’ll be damned if some person comes along and takes that away from me and credits themselves. I’ll come at you with my hands swinging, and my elbows flying and my elbows are pointy so I’m warning you now, pal.
FYI: All links that are based on my tags do not work - they just link back to my page. I’m not sure how to fix this, but I’m looking into it.
In which Harry needs a way to relax, and you have a thing for his fingers.
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He’d been in a mood all day, his eyes dark and shoulders tense as he worked. You’d tried to keep from pestering him, sweetly offering him anything you thought would make him relax. However, you didn’t think about what he really needed to relax.
“Pet,” Harry said lowly from across the table, “c'mere.” You frowned slightly as you shuffled over to him, eyes closing happily when his fingers caressed your cheek. First the pads of his fingers traced your lips, then cheeks, over your forehead before they tunneled through your hair. Next his lips found the soft skin of your throat, working their way up the column of your neck before he reached your face again. Wet kisses were left along your jaw, and you squeaked in surprise when Harry’s hand came to your lips. His fingers gently pried into your mouth, a low growl rumbling through his chest. Once you realized his goal, you obediently let your jaw drop, allowing his fingers to slide into your mouth. Wetness pooled in your core. Harry loved watching you get so turned on by him. He loved watching how your eye lashes fluttered when he slid one long finger into your mouth, loved the sigh of content and want that came from your throat as your hand went to grip his forearm. He loved how slowly you slid your tongue over the skin of his finger, loved how your cheeks hollowed to suck slightly. Most of all, he loved when you showed him exactly how you’d suck his cock. When you moaned around his fingers, when you clenched your thighs together to ease some of the ache between them. When you’d let him brush his fingers along the ribbed surface of your throat. Next to having his cock down your throat, that was his favorite sight in the world–you sucking greedily on his fingers. And maybe he’d slide his free hand into your hair, tugging your head back as a soft whimper left his mouth. He was painfully hard at this point, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans as he watched most of his knuckle disappear into the warmth of your mouth.
“Yeh like that, pet? Tha’s m'girl. Shh, shh, angel, relax, breathe.” The last part came as you gagged around his fingers when all three brushed the back of your throat, your eyes watering as you tried to pull back.
“Up, pet, c'mon. On the table.” He hoisted you onto the surface easily, his spit-slick fingers trailing over your sides as he curled them in the hem of your pants and dragged them down. A wicked smirk pulled at his lips. “No panties, love? Wanted m’ tha’ badly?” A whine came from your throat, and Harry swore as he lightly dragged his fingers over your core. “Christ, darling, who made you this wet? Bloody soaked.” Them his nose was bumping your clit as his tongue licked into you, his finger hands gripping your thighs as you bucked into his face. The sound of him licking into you fell to your ears and you moaned loudly, your hands fisting in his hair. Your toes curled as Harry moaned against your cunt, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through you. Swear beaded at your temples as Harry teased your entrance when his fingers, his green eyes locked in yours as he shallowly thrusted them into you.
“H-Harry, please. Please,” you let out a garbled moan, your face contorting in pleasure. The cool of heat in your belly tightened, and your thighs began to tremble as Harry’s tongue moved harder, quicker against your slick folds. His fingers curled inside of you, brushing a spot that had you seeing stars. Breathless whines bubbled from your throat as your orgasm loomed ahead, and you squeezed your eyes shut tightly. Harry grunted in displeasure as your thighs threatened to snap shut and disrupt his feast, but his large hands pried them apart easily.
“Cum! I’m gonna, gonna cum, Harry,” you gasped, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your boyfriend’s pink lips wrapped around your swollen clit. Before you could take another breath, your climax crashed over you, loud cries of ecstasy flooding from your lips. Harry’s tongue eagerly lapped up every drop of your release, his chin and lips shining with you as he pulled away. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he gave you a sinister smile and his fingers fell to his belt as you struggled to catch your breath.
“Oh, c'mon now, angel, don’t look so exhausted. I’ve yet to tie you up.”
By the end of the night, Harry was relaxed and loose, male satisfaction rolling off of him in waves as he told you with a smile,
“Knew yeh had a thing fo’ m'fingers.” An indignant squawk and a swift kick to his calf was your only reply.
Harry finds himself restless when you’re not around.
It’s rare that he’s at home for more than a few hours, especially when it’s light outside. He’s used to sneaking into his flat before the sun is out and long after it’s set. But, today, he’s lucky enough to have a free day to lounge at home. His flat doesn’t seem so dauntingly lonely when you’re with him, though, and he’s pouting that you’d snuck away in the middle of his third round of morning cuddles with you.
He’s a cuddler, yes, but a third round of cuddles is another rare occurrence for even him. He leans forward off the couch, messy hair sticking up every which way after being smashed against the leather and you- when you’d been next to him. He leans over to the side a bit, glancing up his stairs with narrowed eyes while he purses his lips to the side in a slight pucker. You’d run off in a hurry and he’s wondering if he’s done something wrong, something to upset you.
It’s all still very new between you two, meaning that it’s gone from being just physical to something more. A relationship, all the amenities included. It’s a recent change, and Harry thinks it’s too early to admit that he likes the idea of making you his- in every sense of the word. He likes, no, he loves pounding into you and hearing you whimper for him. He loves the way your eyes roll back into your head and the scratches you leave on his back. But, he’s come to realize that he likes the aftermath a bit more.
When you’re both breathless and spent and he turns to look at you, cuddled into his side with the sheets ruffled around you. The way you laugh when he you catch him staring at you, and the smiles that follow when he insists on kissing every bruise and mark that he’d left on you in his haste. It’s more for his benefit than yours, because he likes taking time to love on you. He likes holding onto those memories when he’s far away from home and you. He loves that you’re willing to let him be the little spoon, but he’d much rather hold you. When he’s gone, he’s not just missing home- but you too.
He leans forward and reaches for his mug of tea on the coffee table, rings clanging against it and letting out a chime like sound. He takes sip of it, his eyes flickering to the show that was playing on the tv. It’s one you had chosen, you had gone on and on about how addicting it was. He’s not very interested in it without you laying against his chest, murmuring commentary now and then. The half empty couch is bothering him, so he’s setting his mug down and getting up in the next moment.
He walks towards the stairs and grips the railing, hesitating for brief second. He can easily call for you, but he wants to touch you- have you in his arms. He’s bounding up the stairs like a child, ready to make his way down the hall to his room. But when he reaches the top of the stairs, he comes to a tittering stop. You’re not too far down it, just walking into his laundry room with an armful of clothes. He tilts his head as he walks over and peeks his head into the door of the room.
You’ve tossed the clothes into the washer and are currently trying to reach the detergent, which he keeps on the shelf above it. You’re making small grunting sounds and pushing one palm to the top of the machine, the other stretched wide and fingers wiggling towards the handle of the detergent bottle. Harry leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you with a keen smirk. He’s about to say something when he notices what you’re wearing.
The shirt is riding up your body as you arm stretches and he gets a peek of the dark purple panties he had taken off the night before. They’re nice, but he’s following the path of the familiar black silk shirt as it continues to slide up and expose more of your skin. It’s familiar, and he places it immediately. It’s the one that his last name embroidered on it. It’s not the first time you’ve worn one of his shirts, but it is the first time you’ve worn this particular one. He snaps out of his haze when your feet slip against the tile slightly, taking a step forward he presses one of his hands to your lower back covering it entirely, as he reaches up and grabs the detergent for you. The wood is cold beneath his feet and he shivers slightly.
You yelp softly and turn around to see him giving you a funny grin. Your hair is in the half up half down style you’d tossed it in after getting out of bed, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You frown at him, brows pushed together tightly, “Harry! You frightened me!”
He chuckles, setting the detergent behind you on top of the washer before he glances down. “M’sorry, love. Didn’t want yeh t’hurt yourself..” He trails off and focuses his eyes on the white font that’s boldly standing out against the dark fabric.
“Oh sod off, I almost had it.. Hey, eyes up here, Styles,” you scold, reaching over to lightly swat him on the shoulder.
He’s fast, though, impeccably so and he grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth before you have a chance to pull it away. He presses a few messy kisses to the back of it before he uses it to tug you into him, arm wrapping around your waist and lifting the fabric up slightly. “S’my shirt?”
The question has a curious tinge to it and you can see that he’s amused by the sparkling in his eyes.
You tilt your head at him, raising an eyebrow. You’re surprised he’s asking that question, really. “Maybe…” you mumble, biting your lip and meeting his eyes nervously.
He grins, a downright bashful grin that makes your heart flutter. “S’got my name on it, dunnit?” He releases your hand to lift his up to your face and press his index finger into your bottom lip softly, releasing it from your hold with a small smacking sound.
“It does…” you confirm, following his finger as he lowers it. You ping pong your eyes across his face and swallow when you’re unable to read his expression.
“M’sorry, Harry. It’s just, well you haven’t washed your clothes from the trip and I had to wash mine so I figured I’d do a load…” your gaze lowers to his now empty bag from the promo trip he’d come back from last night that’s settled in the corner of the room. “I just grabbed the first shirt I saw in your closet. I can chan-”
He cuts you off with a furious shake of his head and a squeeze around your waist, “Didn’t say I wanted yeh t’take it off, sweetheart.”
He knows why you want to wash your clothes, considering he had fucked you in your shirt last night. A rushed frenzy from the moment you two had stepped into his flat. But, the thought that you’d included his clothes warms his heart, a feeling he’s getting used to associating with you.
You snort slightly at that, “Well, that’s a first.”
“Oi!” He squawks, lowering his forehead to yours and letting out a grunt. His voice is softer when he speaks up, “S’not nice, love.”
It’s a half hearted reprimand and you laugh softly, tilting your head up to press a kiss to his chin.
He hums and grapples closer, fisting more of the fabric in his hands. He buries his face in your neck and you giggle when you feel his lips fluttering up and down the column of it. His confession is muffled against your skin but you hear it loud and clear, “Like seeing you with my last name on yeh.”
You don’t have a response to that other than a shy smile, lifting your arms to wrap around his broad shoulders and give him a squeeze. He lets out a content sigh before pulling back to press a kiss to your cheek, then the side of your nose, and then your forehead. Yes, he’s definitely into the idea of you being his and only his.
You turn your face and nuzzle your nose into his cheek, “You know, your fashion taste is quite inspiring.”
“Yeh think so?” He counters, turning his face to bump his nose into yours in a clumsy manner.
“Mhmmm, might have to borrow some more clothes..” you muse, fingers running through the messy locks at the nape of his neck.
His dimple pops when he smiles next, “Well, love, think I can help you out.”
He raises a hand from your waist, trailing it up your side and around the front. He pulls back a little to look down and then up into your eyes with a mischievous look, “If yeh wanna look like me…” his fingers run over the buttons at the top of his shirt as his voice grows huskier with the next sentence, “Gonna have t’lose a few more o’these, angel.”
He manages to pop one button before your lips are on his and he’s hitching one of your legs over his hip. Your back hits the machine and he winces, but he’ll take of that later. The laundry could wait for you, because he’s decided he no longer wants too.
It had been the night of their wedding, where they flew to Greece after the after party and wound up entangled in bed all night and through the early A.M.
Harry was the first one to wake, blinking his eyes a few times to the fuzzy, bright room around them. The Greek sunlight shone through the windows, painting the sun’s rays in funny patters along the bare hotel room walls. Her wedding dress lay messily folded in the corner, his tux jacket strewn somewhere he didn’t have the energy to look.
But most importantly, his wife lay in the nude next to him, love bites covering from her neck to her thighs. Her make up still heavily painted on as obviously the two were a little too busy for her to wash it off last night, mascara flecks down her cheeks.
Harry would never get use to waking up to his wife, as even she in the midst of her slumber was a sight for sore eyes, beautifully displaying his physical signs of love for her.
Y/N stirred, stretching her arms out above her before shuffling around and languidly popping her eyes open. They instantly met Harry, whom smiled lovingly.
“Morning my love,” He whispered, petting down pieces of frazzled hair from her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. So sore but I feel good.”
“S'what I like to hear.”
Harry shuffled closer, pulling her by her hips into the shape of his body in which they resembled cutlery. He tucked his head on her shoulder, breathing in the left over scent of her perfume the night before.
“Yesterday was like from a dream.” Y/N beamed. “Everything that could’ve gone wrong went right and it was the happiest day of my life.”
“Mine too. Happiest man on Earth, marrying you.”
They sunk back in to silence, one full of lazy movements and soft sighs. Harry was even sure he dozed off a little bit, awakening again with Y/N playing and twisting the rings on his fingers.
“You know,” Harry started with a raspy voice. “My exact thought when you were walking down the aisle was, ‘My God. I think she’s an angel. I think I’m marrying an angel sent down from Heaven, specifically made for me.’”
Y/N’s cheeks heated and she kissed his knuckle with a bashful smile. “You’re too sweet.”
“M'serious.” He murmured, spinning her around in their embrace so that they faced each other, the cream colored blankets getting twisted in their legs.
“I… I can’t say what it exactly is but you were made for me. Sent down from Heaven or sommat but I’ve never felt so lucky in my whole live as I do in this moment with you.”
Tears welled up in the back of her eyes as she felt the exact same way as Harry did. The rest of
their day was spent lying in bed, giving themselves to each other in the Greek summer over and over again.
Y/N shuffled tightly against Harry, who had her laid spread out in the backseat of his car. The air was heavy, the windows fogged from their constant breathing and panting. The car was parked in a secluded area of the neighborhood, under a tree and away from the eyes of the neighbors.
“Fuck.” Harry groaned. “I’m too tall for this I can’t — I can’t line up.”
Y/N laughed, the tops of her breasts brushing against Harry’s chest. She leaned her head sideways and watched Harry awkwardly struggle to position his hips to hers but every time he leaned back, his back would smack into the door making it cramped and uncomfortable. His legs hung squished around her legs, one knee straining to hold him up above Y/N.
“This is really funny.” Y/N giggled, linking her arms around his shoulders.
“Ya think so?” Harry rolled his eyes, lowering his hand to where her legs lay open for him and laughing back when her whole body twitched from his touch. He worked his fingers up, stroking the velvet walls he longed to be submerged in.
“Here, hold on,” Y/N gasped, taking his wrist and scooting his fingers out from inside of her. “Sit up, sit up.”
Harry complied with slight hesitation, knocking his knees into hers as she followed him up, nudging his chest to lay against the car seat as she ungracefully climbed over his legs and onto his lap.
“Fuck, you’re so smart.” He groaned, grasping the ends of her hair. Without delay he positioned his cock and knocked up, holding onto Y/N’s waist to him.
“It feels deeper this way anyways.” Y/N sighed, swiveling her hips and leaning forward to hug their sticky bodies. Each thrust caused little oh’s to fall from her lips, Harry’s grip tightening on her waist with each sound.
Y/N lifted her head from his shoulder and only then spotted the group of teens — the whole lot of them carrying oversized coffee drinks and sporting snapback hats — walking towards them, completely oblivious to Harry and Y/N just before them.
“Fuck,” Y/N gasped, tensing as Harry quickened his pace. “Harry, Harry pull out.”
“Not a chance.” He groaned low.
“Harry there are people!”
“Don’t care.”
Y/N cried out as Harry hit deep inside of her, the one spot that nobody had never touched before. She breathed heavily as Harry laid kisses and bites along her throat.
“Want me to pull out now?” He smiled into her hair, cradling her head to him as she stiffened against him, his thrusting never ceasing.
“I hate you.” She groaned.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
The group of teens, their chatting becoming louder as they neared, stopped all together as they passed the car. Y/N whined loudly as she hit her high, Harry following seconds after with his own moans.
Y/N leaned back after a minute, squishing Harry’s cheek together with her thumb and forefinger. “I hate you so much.”
Harry laughed a loud, boyish laugh and pecked her once. “I think not.”
When you arrived home after a long day of work and smelled
the roast, you knew Harry was up to something.
Either he wanted to talk over a very important decision with
you, or the tabloids were about to—if they hadn’t already—print a false or
prying story about you and he wanted to take your mind off it. However, you
still smiled as you slipped off your shoes and jacket.
It was the little things. That’s what no one told you about
marriage. Marriage wasn’t all about the Instagram posts praising each other, or
the mind-blowing sex, or the grand statements of affection. It was the foot
rubs after a long day, a roast in the oven as soon as you came home from work,
and the quick forehead kiss in the early morning when he woke before you. Those
little things kept the love alive.
