1d-one-direction

I just want to say a humongous THANK YOU to Mica @pass-the-pencil for this gorgeous drawing of Liam and Flareon to add to the collection! (There’s also Niall and Umbreon.) Things have been pretty damn hard lately, but I always know that Mica will be there to listen and offer advice when I need it, so thank you very much, Mica. You’re definitely a blessing, and so is this picture💕 I can’t wait for the next one in the series 😉 Maybe we should let people vote who they want to see next? Louis, Zayn, or Harry! If you guys want to vote just leave a comment💖

This Town

[x]

Niall wakes up, doing the familiar motion of rolling over to give you a good morning kiss… But nobody was there. He sighs and rolls back over, staring at the ceiling. It had been up to a year since you left him. But the smell of your perfume was still stuck in the air… It’s hard.

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anonymous asked:

Hey Emily! Could you maybe do a blurb about Persephone telling Harry and his missus that shes pregnant? Thanks!

This is probably a whole mess of shambles because my mind has been all over the place recently, but, here we go. x

September 16, 2043.

The house was warm and cosy, smelling strongly of freshly brewed tea and sweet treats that littered the kitchen counters, varying from red velvet cupcakes to chocolate cupcakes and brownies to a typical dusted Victoria Sponge that had been passed through generations in the Styles family - starting with Harry’s great grandmother, passing on to his grandmother then to his mother and then to him and Gemma to pass on to their children to keep running in the family.

It was decorated perfectly with the similar colour scheme running through the rooms. A teal colour paired with grey and white seemed to be a consistent theme and it made the house feel homely and looked after and Harry knew it was a well-looked after house with a creative mind behind the layout. 

The living room had grey sofas and teal cushions accessorising the dull colour, teal curtains hung from a curtain rail and covered the windows through the night to block out any wandering eyes, and the walls were papered with a sweet variety of grey and white stripes running vertically down towards the skirting board. There were sweet little trinkets from her first home placed around the mantelpiece and on the cupboard tops stood photos and sweet memories - photos of Persephone and her siblings, Persephone and her father on her wedding day just a few short weeks ago, and there were photos of Jack and his parents as well as the two of them together ranging from their first few months together to where they were now.

The kitchen had black and white tiles placed eloquently and neatly in patterns that brought a sense of excitement into the room, and their cupboards were a light brown oak with glass doors to show what was inside, their furniture matching the same coloured wood. A marble counter top was perched on top of the breakfast island, a tap and a draining board included with stools and place mats set to eat dinner on when there wasn’t any energy to make up the dining room table into a table fit for date night.

Their bedroom - the master bedroom which was larger and much more used than the others and it gave of a much more homely vibe - had the grey and white theme running throughout and the oak wood was a theme piece that seemed to fit with the rooms interior. On both bedside tables stood two photos that were both milestones in their life as a couple - a personal favourite from the wedding sitting on Jack’s bedside table and a personal favourite from their first month of dating sitting on Persephone’s bedside table, beside a book with her glasses resting upon. And above the bed was a blown-up version of both families together on their wedding day; both families together and smiling widely to show their true emotions towards the day - laughter snapshot in one perfect capture, crinkled eyes on their faces and a tight squeeze of the bride to Harry’s side.

It was the home they had both brought together, after falling in love with it as soon as they’d stepped foot through the threshold on a viewing tour with their estate agent, and it had exactly what both Persephone and Jack were after as a home to create their life in.

It was set between both her parents’ house in London and Jack’s parents’ home in Southampton. Located just on the outskirts of London and nearing the Surrey countryside.

To the modern day in September, the hallway of the Surrey home was sporting the new addition of large and brown suede boots belonging to Harry as well as a pair of pink and open-toed slip-ons that belonged to you, thick coats hanging on the coat racks and a set of car keys set on the table that already held a bowl of wicker balls coloured black and white and silver; something that Persephone had seen on a shopping trip to the furniture stores and had immediately pictured them somewhere in the new home.

A fresh waft of tea filled the lower level of the home as the four of you settled around the coffee table; Persephone and Jack settled on the large grey sofa and wrapped up in one another’s arms whilst you and Harry stayed separate in the arm chairs facing one another, either side of the room. The fire was warm against exposed skin and the crackling filled the silence. Bellies were full of a roast dinner that Jack had taken time to make that afternoon, including the apple pie made specifically with the recipe Harry had passed over to him the night they met - when the taste of apple was still on his tongue, his hand taking a tight hold of the scribbled recipe in his hand as he gave Harry a worded and hushed promise of making it for his girlfriend when she felt homesick and needed a hint of home comfort, and even more so when she needed cheering up from the stacks of University work and the stresses of exam season around the corner.

“I have to say, Jack,” Harry started, gulping down the sip of cold tea he’d taken and pulled the mug from his lips, “you made that apple pie better than anybody who has ever tried too. A little better than myself, should I say, and that’s my own adapted recipe. In my old age and with my bad back, it’s getting a bit difficult to get in the kitchen and put my bakery skills to some good use so it’s lovely to know my little girl has someone to make her sweet treats when she needs it,” he chuckled.

“Pops, god. You make me sound like a pig,” Persephone grinned, her nose nudging against Jack’s cheek as she kept her hold on the glass of water in her hand, the bottom resting upon the knee she’d swung across Jack’s lap. “I don’t eat that many sweet treats, okay? It’s your fault that I have a hankering for them because you always made some delicious things.”

A deep chuckle left Harry’s mouth as his eyebrows raised for just a second and his eyes widened before he sent her a wink. 

He had made some delicious sweet treats in the past, when Persephone was a young girl, varying from lemon drizzle cake to red velvet cupcakes to raspberry and white chocolate muffins to jam tarts - both muffins and tarts were what you’d craved throughout every single one of your pregnancies with your children. 

Persephone was always his ‘deputy baker’ when she was old enough to understand what he was doing; she was 5 when she first began to join him at the counter, with an apron tied around her body before her dominant persona begged and pleaded to take over the rolling of the pastry for jam tarts or whisking the cake and muffin mix whilst he supervised with a close eye and a strong hand covering her tiny fingers to make sure she didn’t go too overboard and mess up the kitchen as well as her apron covered figure. He’d always allow her to have dip one finger in and have one lick of the mixture that was set to rise in the oven, and his heart would swell when she’d look to him with wide green eyes and whisper “these will taste really good, daddy” as he peppered kisses to her head.

He always trusted her 5-year old judgement on the mix in the glass bowl and she was never wrong with her statements. She never held back. 

He’d always known she was going to incorporate baking into her life one way or another - whether she became a baker and owned her own bakery as her profession, after realising Science was too tough and she wanted something that kept her stress-free, or, whether she became the typical mother as well (as a woman of work) of the household and made sweet treats and the pastries for her own children and her husband to snack on through traditions in the future. 

When she’d come home one afternoon, a summer break from University if you will, her boyfriend on her arm and a red velvet cake tucked under his arm, she’d gushed over how amazing he was at baking. Insisting that you all needed to try a slice of his cake because she swore it was like sitting on cloud nine. 

However,  she held back on whether or not if her boyfriend was a better baker than her father - because her father would always take the top position and she couldn’t offer any other man that place. When she picked up a spoon, she was instantly reminded of spooning mixture into the cake holders. When she picked up a a whisk, she was instantly reminded of the day Harry had turned his back for just one second, resulting in splatters of mixture coating the cupboards and dripping from the counter, her hair matted and her cheeks painted with the beige goop. 

“I had some help from P before I made that apple pie today. Just to make sure I impressed you with it. I’d been through a lot of ingredients and different ones being made to make it perfect so, Persephone had insisted that the one we ate today was almost like you’d made it from scratch,” Jack stated with a smile, a soft giggle leaving Persephone’s mouth as she pressed her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, “she has definitely got your baking skills, Harry.”

“She grew up and spent the majority of her childhood in the kitchen with her dad. She was the only one out of her and her siblings who would sit in the kitchen and watch as Harry made sweet treats and cupcakes for her to munch on,” you explained, adjusting yourself in the chair and sitting up a bit more comfier upon the cushions, “she loved sitting with him and stirring the mix and dipping her finger in and pushing it to his cheek and giggling.”

“He made such great cakes though,” Persephone sighed, lifting her head from Jack’s shoulder and sending her father a loving smile, “which reminds me, we have your cake to eat. Do you want some more tea? We can go and make some more and cut some slices of the cake and bring it in. I’m pretty sure there’s a new episode of Antiques Roadshow showing as well, and I know you love watching that, Pops,” she suggested with a hint of teasing in her words, looking between you and Harry, a devilish smirk on her lips as Jack removed his arms from around her.

“I’d love some cake, poppet. I’m getting a bit peckish,” Harry smiled, picking up his half empty cup of cold tea and shuffling on the arm chair cushion he was sat up, reaching forward to grab your mug and hooking the handle around his forefinger, “I’ll come and give you a hand, yeah? I’ve missed spending some time with you in a kitchen.”

At 50-years old and well into his life with you and his children he feared his children would leave and he wouldn’t see them as regularly as he had done, and it gave Harry a sense of relief - she was only 40 minutes away and he could always hop in his car and drive down if she was ever in an emergency and in need of someone to help her - that she agreed to living in a house that was close to her first home. If she needed him to comfort her or to give her a hug that brought her to a safe haven, all she had to do was drive back home down the motorway and use her house key to let herself in. The excitement of being back with her father giving her the determination to get there, no matter the emotion running through her body.  

And vice versa. 

If Harry felt like he was in need of seeing his daughter after a long while of not seeing her, and, he felt like conversing with her over a mug of tea and some biscuits brought from the store on his way down to Surrey from London, he was always welcomed to pull up into her driveway and proceed to let himself in with the key she’d have made for him and for you in case emergencies happened. And, he wasn’t a stranger to the key sitting in his jean pocket, hanging on a keyring along with his house keys and stuffed into his pocket with , and he wasn’t going to let it become an unused waste.

“No, no. You’re okay, Pops. Stay there. We’ll be back shortly,” Persephone said with a smile, standing to her socked feet and stretching her hands forward and wiggling her fingers, the sleeves of her shirt rolling up her arms as she took the cups from her father and followed Jack into the kitchen, an audible sigh leaving her lips as she disappeared around the doorframe. 

The sounds of the kettle boiling began to fill the silent house and the taps running to wash the cold tea down the sink could be heard over the whistling and the bubbling, an incoherent conversation happening in the kitchen between Jack and Persephone as yourself and Harry stayed within the warmth of the fire-lit living room. 

“We can’t stay for much longer, okay, Peaches?” You warned Harry, his tired and hooded eyes focused on the TV as he watched an advert about a supermarket roll across the screen. His face turning to yours after some time with a frown on his lips. “I know you don’t want to go back home without her but we have an early start tomorrow with taking Darcy to Freshers Week for university. You don’t want to be tired for that.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled, his hands turning into fists as he rubbed his tired eyes and let out a soft yawn, “m’gettin’ old, aren’t I? Tired at 8 in the evening,” he chuckled, his laugh deep and raspy and coming out almost breath-like as he groaned heavily and sat up comfier, crossing a leg over, his socked foot swinging gently. 

“You’re still that sweet 20 year old I met in the coffee shop,” you cooed, standing to your feet with a a smile and manoeuvring around the coffee table set in front of the fire, perching yourself down on the arm of the chair he was sat in and wrapping an arm around his neck, “30 years and 4 kids later, we’re still as in love with one another as we were in our twenties.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, eyes closed and a smile on his lips.

“Still think you’re the fittest bird I’ve been with, you know? I’m glad I married you,” you heard him whisper softly, happiness lacing his words as they rolled from his tongue, his eyes closed in contentment as your finger brushed down his arm, drawing patterns on his skin. “Glad you stuck around, as well. Wouldn’t be here, in our daughters home, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, stop. You’re getting sappier in your old age, Peaches.”

“30 years and 4 kids later, you’re still calling me Peaches,” he mocked, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Within the heat of the conversation and with the snuggle happening in the armchair, the both of you were oblivious to the two twenty-six year olds standing in the doorway, a tray of four steaming mugs of tea in Persephone’s hands and a tray of four thick pieces of Victoria Sponge cake sitting on blue and white spiral-printed ceramic plates. Four forks tinkling as the metal prongs knocked against each other. 

“I want that,” Persephone whispered, her head tilting up towards Jack as he looked down at her with adoration in his eyes, “I want what my parents have. They’re 50 years old, and, they look so great for their age, and they’ve never fallen out of love of anything. I want that with you, Jack,” she cooed.

She wanted that in 30 years.

When they had their own children and they were huddled around in their living room, drinking tea and eating home made cake as they sat in front of the fure . Conversing with their own children as they caught up with their lives now that they had left home and started a journey of their own.

She wanted the love her father and mother had. 

She’d lived in a house for 18 years, seeing so much love exchanged and so many sweet and adoring gestures being witnessed. 

She’d seen her father give her mother kisses in the morning over eggs and bacon, orange juice coated lips and aprons around their bodies. Soft ‘I love you’s leaving their mouths as they dished up the delicious smelling breakfast onto plates, ordering them nicely on the breakfast bar before calling the rest of the children down to help themselves to the towering plates of food.

She’d seen her mother give her father back massages when he’d have an ache at the small of his back. A wince leaving his mouth when he’d duck down and tug off his boots upon his arrival home from work or from a busy day out, and, it would be like her instincts turn up a notch. Whatever was in her hand would be dropped and her attention would be swiftly changed to his hunching finger and his crumpled face as his palm stayed flat upon the aching small of his back.

And, she’d seen them both run each other baths and decorate the bathroom with candles and sweet-smelling bath-bombs that fizzed in the water and created intricate patterns on the surface and died the water whatever the bath-bombs colour was initially. Sweet cuddles and passionate kisses being given to the other with their bodies beneath the water as they took the chance of a silent household to be as intimate as they could.

She’d grown up in a household that was filled to the brim with love and all she wanted was a household like that in the future. With her own children. With her own husband. In a house of her own.

“And we will have that, Pea. I promise,” Jack cooed, “now, let’s go and tell them, hm?”

“I’m so nervous, Jack,” Persephone gruntled, looking down at the newly opened ceramic mugs and gulping nervously. “What if they hate this idea? What if the-”

“Shush. This isn’t good for you, okay?” Jack cooed, pressing his puckered lips to her forehead and smiling down at her. “Whatever happens, I’ve got you. We’re married. This is great news for them.”

“I suppose so,” she whispered, catching his eye contact and shuffling the tray in her now visibly shaking hands, “let’s do it.”

With a heavy breath in and out, and a three second moment to herself, Persephone followed Jack’s consistent and soft footsteps towards the sofa. Her nerves filling her belly and butterflies flitting around inside of her, her cheeks paling and her head ducked to her chest as she set down tray down on the table, ensuring the words painted across the white ceramic was hidden from her parents’ wandering eyes.

This was happening. Her life was about to change and she was about to become something that she’d wanted ever since she was a little girl - a mother.

She was pregnant. A little under four weeks but already showing symptoms. 

With a baby of her own; a mixture of her and Jack.

A pregnancy test was sitting in the drawer of the coffee table in front of her, resting in toilet paper upon a pile of chat-magazines that fit snugly in the wood, corners turned to remind Persephone of where she had gotten too in her mid-morning reading with a cup of hot chocolate to wake her up from her drowsy state. 

“Tea and cakes,” Jack grinned, lifting up two plates of Victoria Sponge cake and holding them out in an accessible reach for you both to take, “thank you for making the sponge cake, Harry. It’s a pleasure to eat it.”

“You’re welcome, lad,” Harry grinned, tapping your hip and shuffling beneath your weight as you hoisted yourself up onto the arm and stood to your feet. Reaching for a fork for yourself and Harry, you manoeuvred back to the empty arm chair and settled back comfortably in the seat. “I’d be happy to make more cakes or sweet treats if you ever want some or want to have some snacks for a tradition of party. I’m good with taking the 40 minutes drive down here.”

“We couldn’t ask you to do that yet, Harry,” Jack reasoned, holding a forkful of cake to his mouth and wrapping his lips around the fluffy and moist sponge, a grin on his lips as he chewed and swallowed the tasteless yet delicious mouthful, “I know you’d much rather make cakes for your wife and spend time with her. It’s 40 minutes here and 40 minutes back. It’s alright.”

“Nonsense. I’d do anything for you both,” Harry admitted through a mouthful of cake, crumbs sticking to the corner of his lips as his upper lip was coated with a dash of of the dusting and the icing holding the two layers together, “Persephone knows that we’ll always make the long winded drive to come and see you both.”

“Well, we always love having you, Pops,” his eldest daughter grinned softly, looking up from her cake and staring at the all too familiar green eyes. 

Silence engulfed the four of you, and as the time went on, Persephone felt suffocated with her thoughts.

She was moments away from telling her family that she was pregnant. Moments away from telling them that she was about to grow and pop out another healthy member to the Styles-Hudson family into the world. She was going to endure morning sickness and hormones, and, she was going to go through cravings and even more hormones, and, she was going to watch as her body accustomed to her growing baby and she’d have swollen feet and aching ankles and a back that would need extra attention when being loved on.

She was going to have a baby bump between her hips that would force her to change from regular clothing to maternity wear; the material needing to be comfortable around her pregnant body as she went about her daily activities. A baby bump that would be touched from loved ones and looked at in the streets by strangers and she knows that, deep down, she’d be asked more about the baby then she would about herself. No one would be interested in how she was feeling or how she was coping about the baby; they would be much more interested in the interesting facts of the baby - they’d be curious to know the size of the baby at a specific day of the pregnancy, they’d want to know how far along you were, and they’d want to know if the gender was going to be found out or whether they were keeping it  secret.

This one step of telling everyone had her nervous.

And she’d never felt this nervous in her life - she had a father who was born confident, and, people close to Harry as a child were never short of reminding her that she was exactly how her father was when he was a young one.

She felt her heart in her throat when Harry reached for a mug, before retracting back and swallowing down the last of his cake, setting the fork on the china and setting it upon the empty tray.

“Sweetheart, you’re looking a bit pale,” you pointed out matter of factly, worry coursing through your body as you sat on the edge of your seat and reached across for her head, “and you haven’t eaten anything of your dad’s cake. What’s the matter? You love his Victoria Sponge.”

“Jus’ feeling a bit off,” was her reply. 

Soft and nervous and shaky, and it stayed unsettled on your conscience.

“Persephone? What’s the ma-”

I’m pregnant.

A heavy gasp coming from Harry, his green eyes wide as his arm stretched forward and squeezed her knee reassuringly, being careful of the cake sitting on her thighs. 

You’d felt like the wind had been knocked out of you as you let the happy news settle on your mind. You’d been waiting for the day your children came home and announced the happy news of a pregnancy, and, at 50 years old, you’d felt your life had been complete.

You’d been a girlfriend.

You’d been a fiancée.

You’d been a bride and you wed to be a wife.

You’d been a pregnant wife and grew 4 healthy babies in your belly before enduring almost 24 hour births.

You’d been a mother for 26 years.

And now you were nine months away from being a grandmother.

Your eldest baby was about to have a baby herself, and she was about to become a mother to her own child and raise a baby in a way you’d done. And, you couldn’t begin to express your pride towards her. 

“Poppet, hey,” Harry cooed, “that’s fantastic news!”

He was on his feet in seconds, his arms open wide as Jack removed the plate from Persephone’s lap. 

“C’mon, poppet. Come give your old man a hug,” Harry chuckled, lacing his fingers into Persephone’s and pulling her to her feet, “this is brilliant. You’re going to be a mother. You’re having a baby.”

Knowingly enough, being in her fathers arms seemed to calm her down and she felt better and less-nervous about being pregnant and having a changing body and a gruelling birth that would end in something precious. With Harry’s arms tight around her, she felt like nothing could get in her way, and with a supportive husband by her side, she felt she could conquer anything. Give or take, she was going to grab the bull by the horns and go about her life as it comes.

She was ready.

“We have the pregnancy test here, actually,” Jack pointed out, crouching down beside Harry’s legs and pulling open the drawer, his fingers curling around the test as he pulled it out and shut the door with his knee, “our first pregnancy test that came back positive. We had a doctors appointment about a week ago and they confirmed it properly. We’re nearing 4 weeks, I suppose.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic news, darling,” you cooed, tapping his shoulders and pulling him to your petite body, his arms instantly wrapping around your waist as he pressed his lips to your cheek, “you deserve this. This is such fantastic news, really. We’ve been wondering when we’re going to be grandparents,” you teased.

Her mother was happy. Her father was ecstatic. And her husband was as over-the-moon as any new father could be.

A smile lifted up her cheeks.

She was happy and ecstatic and over-the-moon, too.

And, she was definitely ready for this new journey.

Stay the Night

By the time Harry’s cars rolls onto my driveway, it’s just after midnight. The headlights are off, but I can see him perfectly. His presence lights up the dark night and I feel the pull, that magnetic, irresistible pull I always feel whenever Harry is mere feet from me. My quiet footsteps go unnoticed amidst the chirp of the crickets. If anyone were to see me now, if there was any noisy neighbour peering through the window, they probably wouldn’t recognize the girl they saw. I’m leaving in the middle of the night and climbing into a large black vehicle, but it’s the most I’ve ever felt like myself in my entire life.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I pull open the car door and slide into the passenger seat. Harry looks at me and I look at him. His light blue hood is covering his hair and both hands are on the steering wheel. He tells me hey and kisses me swiftly on the cheek. The butterflies dance now. I place my small bag on the floor in front of me. It doesn’t contain much. Everything I want and need is in the seat beside me.

Harry’s fingers trace delicate patterns into the back of my neck as we drive. There’s silence. We’re nervous but we’re sure. It’s a big step we’re about to take. My bed will be empty tonight and Harry’s will be filled with twice the number of bodies as usual. We won’t just be on each other’s minds tonight; we’ll be in each other’s arms. Harry’s eyes keep darting to me whenever he stops at a red, a small smile on his lips. It’s like he knows exactly what I’m thinking and agrees.

The soft purr of the engine cuts and Harry removes the keys from the ignition. He opens my door, grabs my bag and leads me by the hand up the stairs to his home. I’m thankful for his guidance. I feel like I’m about to venture into unfamiliar territory, despite being in this house before. It was during the day then, or evening at the latest. But now, I’m staying the night.

Harry’s hand is outstretched and I look at him, confused. Then I notice we’re in his hallway and he’s asking for my coat. I peel the thin jacket off and hand it to Harry, who places it on the rack. I shudder, wondering what else I’m going to take off tonight. Harry is silent as we walk up the staircase to his bedroom. He’s either thinking or nervous, or both. He’s probably thinking about why I’m so nervous.

The door to his bedroom clicks shut, and it’s just me, Harry and his bed. He wraps his tattooed arms around my body and pulls me into him. He smells like home. His lips press into my forehead before they find my lips. He’s kissing me now and I get lost in the feeling. My hands go to his hair and my tongue plunges deeper into his mouth. We walk backwards until we collapse onto his mattress, a heap of hormones and love.

But then I pull away. Because if I don’t, we might take another big step, one I’m not ready for.

Harry pulls his hands away and places them on his knees. I don’t meet his eyes. I look around his bedroom. The light seeping in from the window seems to illuminate the box sitting on his night stand. I know Harry hears my sharp intake of breath.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I don’t expect anything. But they’re there because in the event we do make love, I want you to be protected.”

Oh. My heart flips with his kindness. I nod and sit up, running my hand along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed.

“I know you’re sleepy,” I tell him.

I watch Harry as he removes his clothes, every last bit of them until he’s covered in only his boxers. His gold chain necklace is around his neck. I wonder how comfortable it is to sleep in, but am too distracted by how good it looks to ask.

Harry watches me as I remove my clothes. His eyes are steady, encouraging me as I remove my jeans and sweater, but they bulge noticeably when I remove my bra. I slip my pajamas on. Harry is still watching me.

“Lie with me, yeah?” Harry asks. It sounds like a beg.

My head is on his chest and his hand is caressing my hair as we tell each other the things people only feel comfortable enough to say in the dark. Every fear, every doubt, every insecurity is shared. They are dissolved as we take shelter in our secure embrace. When everything has been said, we drift to sleep.

But I don’t stay asleep for long.

It seems like minutes later I’m awake. Being beside Harry is energizing. There’s an electric current flowing through my body, preventing me from relaxing. I shift, trying to make the ache go away, but I can’t do it on my own. I can tell my panties are already damp.

When I look over at Harry, his open eyes are on me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I tell him.

“S’okay,” he says sleepily. “What’s keeping you up? Something the matter?”

I nod and Harry sits up, suddenly alert. “What? What hurts?”

I don’t answer him with words. Instead I muster all the courage I possibly can and bring his hand down to in between my thighs. His body is frozen, unresponsive, until I give him the nod. He applies a light pressure as he strokes the area, paying careful attention to the most sensitive parts. He’s patient and loving and probably thinks this is all I want.

But I don’t. I want more. I want it all.

“I’m ready, Harry,” I say.

His eyes widen. His fingers stop moving, but they’re still touching me. “Are you sure? You need to be ready, all the way ready.”

I am. Somehow I know.

Harry looks deep into my eyes and with my steady stare I try to convince him. It works. The wrapper is torn between his teeth and the contents become the only barrier between us. The little clothing we had on is on the floor beside the bed. The lights are off per my request and Harry’s arms rest on either side of my face. I can make out the straining veins in his neck.

I’m ready, but I’m still nervous as I feel him at my entrance.

“Relax your entire body, Y/N, that’ll make this so much easier for you,” Harry whispers in my ear.

I do my best to make my body go limp, but the anticipation is hard to contain. He’s slow as he enters me and the sensation is overwhelming. I feel stretched but I know the worst is yet to come. Harry’s eyes are pinched shut and he pushes his body through my walls. I gasp. It hurts. His eyes are still closed, as if he can’t bear to see me in pain.

“I swear, Y/N, this is the only time I will ever hurt you,” Harry says.

I nod and touch my fingers to his face to tell him I understand. He’s barely moving, just supporting his lean frame above me. I can tell he’s trying his hardest to control himself and I love him for it. But this isn’t just about me.

“Make love to me, Harry,” I whisper.

Harry nuzzles his face into my neck and his lips get acquainted with the sensitive skin as I feel his lower body thrust into mine. Already the pain has disappeared and I’m left with the most pleasure I’ve ever felt. My hands are grabby against the sweat covered skin of Harry’s back. I want to stay this way forever. I always want to be one with this man.

He swivels his hips and he finds a spot that has me seeing stars. I don’t last for much longer and within seconds my body gives in and the fireworks erupt. Somewhere within my high I feel Harry’s body tense. The filled latex is removed and Harry’s body crashes against mine. Our chests move up and down rapidly as we look at each other. We say we love each other, because we do. Harry pulls the blanket over our naked bodies and my eyes flutter closed as Harry’s lips press into my forehead.

It’s already morning by the time we fall asleep, but I’m okay with that. There was no other way I’d rather spend the night.

anonymous asked:

Harry's missus messaging the other boys on a group chat asking for advice on a present to get H to congratulate him on wrapping up Dunkirk and the magazines. Maybe giving some cheeky answers as well as good ones.

Missus. Louis. Liam. Niall.

I need help.

This must be something weird if you can’t message Harry about it. 

Louis, seriously.

What’s the matter?

What’s up, love?

You can tell us anything.

Wait.

Harry isn’t in this chat.

Are you and him having problems?

No. No!

We’re perfect. No problems.

For a moment there, I though you said we’re pregnant.

Shut up, Louis.

What’s the matter?

Okay, so, you know how Harry has just finished filming his first movie? And his photoshoot has finally been printed and sold as magazines?

Yeah. What about it?

They’re pretty great photos, love.

You’re a lucky lady.

Well, I need some idea in congratulating him.

And smooching, fucking and sucking him isn’t enough?

Louis!

Hahahahahahaha!

I need your help on ideas.

You spend time with him the longest. Maybe you can help me with something.

He’s always saying he loves your cooking and baking.

Maybe make him a cake?

Or some of those cookies that you’ve made for us before?

I heard him say to Lou one morning before an interview that he felt like a pregnant woman because he was craving your cookies so much.

Oh my god.

He’s an idiot, your boyfriend.

I know.

But, I love him so much.

And it’s why I need your help. I need to show him how much I love him and how proud I am of him that he’s doing this on his own.

Surprise him with a trip home.

Take him back to Cheshire, maybe?

I know he’s been missing his mum and stuff.

Oh, that’s good.

He loves his mum’s Sunday roasts - take him back on the Saturday, stay over and then eat Sunday dinner and drink wine and take an afternoon walk in the woods or something.

We used to do that all the time back home in Wolves.

It’s lovely. Especially when it’s cold and you can huddle up in coats and scarves and cuddle up and take autumn-y photos. That generic bugger can stick them on his Instagram then. 

“Leaf.”

Oh! “Leaf me alone.”

I’m glad you find humour in taking the piss out of my boyfriend.

But, he would do that.

You could even treat him to a day out.

Really? Like what?

Take him out to relax. He’s been busy on set and doing stunts and his back has probably been playing up. Take him to a spa and relax together.

He doesn’t really like spas. He hates when they touch his nails or his feet or massage his muscles because they’re foreign hands to him and they feel weird - plus, he doesn’t like the idea of a strange woman touching him up.

Typical, Harry.

That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard about that man. Honestly.

Do a home spa for him then.

Get all the massage oils and stuff.

You think it’ll work?

Of course.

If it helps, he won’t let the masseuse on tour touch him much either. She’ll massage his calves and maybe his forearms and his lower back but she’s not allowed to touch his shoulders or anything.

Plus, he hates it when people touch his feet.

You’re so lucky to be able to massage his feet and not get a kick in the face.

Well, according to him, I have magic hands.

Woah!

Woah, girl. Stop right there.

Not like that, you wankers. 

He’ll just strip naked and beg for a massage whenever he feels like it.

Hey, here’s a thought.

Maybe you could get cheeky.

Cheeky?

Yeah.

I saw some of the photos in his magazine shoot and honestly, the collar could do some work for you.

Oh, god. He really did that, didn’t he?

He really did.

And that collar could be incorporated into a night of sex.

Bondage sex, you get what I mean?

Jesus, mate.

You’ve been watching porn again, haven’t you?

Maybe.

But, come on.

That’s the best way to show him you love him - sacrificing your body to him.

I don’t know, Louis.

Come on.

We all know he’s a kinky bastard.

Really?

He wouldn’t have worn a leather collar and matching cuffs if he wasn’t.

Oh, Jesus.

Do it.

We’ve never gone that far in the bedroom.

Ooo-aye.

Getting some details now.

No. 

No, you aren’t.

Damn it.

You guys think that would work?

Of course.

Then again, anything you do, he’ll love.

He’s Harry. He loves you. We know he does, and you know he does.

I suppose so.

Just, go for it.

Do everything we suggested. 

He’ll love it.

Okay.

Thank you, boys. 

Lifesavers. xx