Badboy Harry :) (Patreon)

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Harry feels guilty. 

Incredibly, awfully, terribly guilty. 

Was it because he punched a man square in the face? Had his nose rushing blood like a geyser then blackening his eye, scraping up his brow with the brass ring on middle finger? Because he’d knocked the guy so silly that he stumbled backward, had a drink spilled over his shoulder, and stained the white of his shirt? 

No, he didn’t feel guilty for that. The disgusting pig had kept touching a girl’s bum after she’d asked him four separate times to stop and the likes of him piss Harry right the fuck off, so he did what he deemed necessary. Stepped up to the bloke and told him to quit it, but when the guy told Harry to piss off, he responded immediately. Punched him in the face, made a bit of a scene, then got kicked out of the club with the other guy’s blood on his knuckles. Told his crew that he was fine, that they could carry on, he was planning on heading out soon anyway. 

So he heads to Y/N’s place -- that’s why he feels guilty. He’d promised her that he would stop being physically confrontational and she reminds him of it each time she knows he’s going out, which means not even three hours ago had she told him to be careful tonight. The shame weighs heavily on him, shoulders slumped, heart hammering. He’s sure his friends would get a kick out of this, seeing how soft he is for her, walking up to her door with his tail between his legs. Harry had always been a loudmouth, scrappy as can be, not afraid of anyone or anything and would dare anybody to even try and tell him what to fucking do.

But with Y/N it’s different. With Y/N he wants to be the soft, next door neighbor dream boy as best as he can be. Wants to cradle her in his arms so gently that she feels like she might be sleeping on clouds, and he wants to wrap himself so tightly around her that when he has to leave her, her scent lingers on his skin. He wants to snuggle up with her in those warm, soft lavender matching sweaters that she bought them to match for their year anniversary, light a pumpkin scented candle, and hold her during horror films because she jumps and cuddles to him closer. 

And the thought of disappointing her. . .well, it’s bad enough that when he knocks on her door he’s gnawing hard on his lip. He isn’t scratched up from it but he can’t lie to her -- he’d feel worse if he did. Coming clean would be better in the long run, so as soon as she opens the door, looking a little rumpled and soft from sleep, brows furrowed at him, mouth opening to say his name, he rushes before she gets the chance, “I punched someone,” he hurries to say, wincing at the squeakiness of his own voice, “And I’m sorry -- he was bothering this girl and he was fucking gross -- he really was -- but I promised you I wouldn’t be get physical and I did.” 

Why would he be being so dramatic about this, one may ask? The answer is simple, really; about five months ago Harry got into a pretty bad scrap with a bloke about a head taller than himself. While Harry might’ve still won (whoever gets knocked out is the loser he’d say, or the one who backs away first), that didn’t mean the guy didn’t get his licks in, and left Harry a welt on his forehead, a busted lip, a scraped up face (the guy had rings) and bruised knuckles. Y/N damn near had a heart attack when she’d seen him and it took him an hour to convince her that he didn’t need to go to the hospital. Once she had settled down and began tending to his wounds while he himself held and pack of frozen vegetables against his forehead, Y/N began sniffling, her breathing shaky. “Why’re you crying, Baby?” He asked her, “I’m okay, really. Been worse off than this before.” 

That’s when she looked up at him, gaze bleary, shaking her head, “I just -- just don’t want you to get hurt,” she hiccuped, gently wiping the blood from his knuckles, “I care about you so much, the thought of you getting hurt, hurts me. I love you Harry.”

And Harry had never felt so soft in his fucking life. Nobody had ever cared so much about him before, not even his folks half the time, so when he’d get into fights back in grade school he was only slightly reprimanded for making them look bad and the teacher scolded him and called him a problem child but otherwise that was it. Harry got used to being seen as a pain in the arse, like that’s all he ever could or would be, and he thought that he might as well be the best pain in the arse he could if that’s all he would amount to, to them. 

But there Y/N had been, on her knees before him with a wet cloth and trembling shoulders, giving shaky breaths telling him that she loved him -- that she didn’t want him to get hurt. It had filled his heart with so much love that he had no clue what to do with it, so he bent down and despite his busted lip, pushed his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss. It hurt him a bit but he had to express his feelings in someway beyond words as it all had bubbled and boiled inside of him rapidly. Sunk down from the toilet seat so that he was level with her, dragging her into his lap so that he could soothe away her tears while he petted her hair back and murmured “I love you’s” into her temple. From that spot on the plush grey rug where they sat, Harry had curled his pinky around hers and swore that he wouldn’t get into any more physical fights.

That’s why he felt like this -- all guilt-ridden and worried, searching her face for an inkling on whether or not she was mad at him, but she was in such a sleepy daze he doesn’t think she’s realized this isn’t a dream yet. Knuckling at her eyes, she shoves the door further open and nods her head, “Come in then, s’freezing out there,” she tells him, “Going to catch a cold wearing only that tank top.” 

He steps inside the warmth that is her home, enveloped in the comfort that it holds for him like he might be stepping into his own, perfect sanctuary. Where he was blacks, dark navies, and reds, Y/N was all light pinks, yellows, and blues, and when his flat might smell of cologne and his own musky undertone of whatever, her flat smells like vanilla pumpkin cupcake. It works to comfort the nerves that are frayed and sizzled as he walks further in, following her that familiar path to her kitchen waiting for her to give him a proper upbraiding. But she merely pitters about, plucks a baggie of vegetables from the freezer.  

Harry’s worried -- he feels her silence speaks volumes. How upset could she have been with him to not say anything at all? The thought of it is enough to bring tears to his own eyes, his own snuffle as she leads him to the couch and plops down, only then actually taking a look at him, brows furrowing and head tilting, “Wait, what’s wrong?” Y/N asks, “Are you okay?” 

A tear beads up at his waterline, swallowing thickly, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry, baby, I don’t want you to be mad at me and I --”

“Wait, Harry, what?” She asks him, looking proper confused, scooting closer to him and cradling his face in his hand, even thumbing  away a tear he hadn’t realized tickled down his cheek, “Hey, no, no, m’not mad! You were defending someone, I don’t fault you for that --” She scoots even nearer, sitting up on her knees and hooking one over his thighs so she straddled him, looking distraught because Harry rarely ever tears up at anything, let alone actually cries, so he realizes why this may be concerning to her, “--It’s okay, yeah? Please don’t cry -- I-I can’t stand it. Didn’t mean to worry you, I jus’ woke up like three minutes ago m’still fuzzy.” 

He nods, feeling as she continues to cradle his face very carefully like he might be made of porcelain and the role reversal is so prevalent that he’d almost make note of it aloud had he not been a borderline mess, “You’re not disappointed? You promise?” 

Leaning forward, she presses a soft kiss to his mouth, his lips still sticky from the gin he’d been sipping on prior to the altercation. He melts into it, the vegetables slipping from his hand as he reaches up to cup her face and tilt his head to the side just a little so that he could kiss her harder. Licks into her sweet as sugar mouth with a sorrowful tongue, trying to pour all of his emotions into her at once. He wants her to know how sorry he is and how grateful he is that she isn’t upset with him -- how much it means to him that she cares so deeply for him. He’s feeling a lot of things right now, and all of them serve to swell his heart about twenty times too big for his chest; it makes him want to get so close to her that not even a slip of thin newspaper would fit in between. 

Y/N draws away only when she’s breathless, a small little gasp and a nuzzle of their noses together, “Let’s go to sleep, okay? Today was my 9AM lecture and I didn’t get a nap in, so m’exhausted.” 

Harry nodded, only he doesn’t let her get up from his lap. He curls his arms around her waist and keeps a hand secure at her bum before lifting the both of them up, smiling when she squawks at the sudden movement while he carries the both of them to her bedroom. It’s warm inside of there, another comforting feeling tickles through his body and he’s suddenly so excited to tug her into his body, hold her close. Even peppers her face with tiny kisses as he sets her down on the plush mattress, running his fingers up her sides until she’s giggling and wiggling away from him, “Stop!” She huffs out through a sweet little laugh and Harry just can’t help the sudden joy bursting within his body at the fact that she wasn’t upset with him. Which was insane, really -- he couldn’t even explain it to someone else if he tried. It’s not like Y/N is ever cruel to him, or rude, or mean. . .but the mere idea of her not being happy with him just has him feeling so lowly. Made him fucking cry even. 

When Harry says he doesn’t give a shit what anyone says or thinks about him, he verily means it. 

But Y/N -- god, his Y/N -- he only cares what she thinks. 

Harry doesn’t know if its the leftover traces of gin in his system, or if it was the intensive amounts of love that was sparkling through his body, but he can’t stop staring at her. Even though she’d fallen asleep about an hour ago, he’s still up, his gaze fixed on her as he’s carefully tracing the pads of his fingers down the soft skin of her face. Runs them over her ears, playing with the lobe, memorizing the shape of the cartilage and the gentle curves and slopes. He’d begun doing this before she had fallen asleep in the first place, so he’s certain that this had lulled her to sleep somewhat and the idea of that warms him greatly. 

It wasn’t enough though, to just stare, and cuddle closer, and trace her skin. He wanted to show her his love -- wanted to pour it out of himself in anyway that he really could, and apologize for waking her up, and for breaking their promise, and maybe he felt so frantic because he’d been drinking. Maybe he had been much more tipsy than he’d originally thought, but it didn’t feel like he was drunk on anything but her. On her scent, her being, her essence -- he couldn’t pinpoint it. Whatever it may be, it keeps him awake, just soaking in her presence. Even in her sleep she has such a hold on him; it’s maddening how whipped he is for this girl, it truly is. 

Harry pauses his caresses when Y/N stirs, mouth parting slightly and he figures she’s woken up to tell him to go to bed and stop petting at her like she was a kitten. Though she doesn’t speak. . .no, instead, the sound that filters out of her mouth is a low, pretty murmured noise. Coming from deep in the bed of her chest, worming its way from her throat. He knows that sound like the back of his hand and it surely wasn’t one of complaint, not at all. 

What he’d heard was a moan. 

He gives it a minute, thinking maybe it was just a fluke. The poor thing was having a nightmare or something, trying to shoo away a spooky creature with the hum of her mouth before falling back into a blissful dream of being covered in bunnies or whatever the hell it is she dreams of. 

Then she does it again though, a little higher this time and there was no mistaking that pretty little whine. He knows it from nights of being between her thighs, fucking into her slow and deep, nudging against that special spot inside of her that drags deliciously precious little whimpers from her throat. From mushing his lips to hers in sloppy kisses, sliding his tongue against hers and swallowing down these noises to sit warm in his belly and cater to the hot white fire whipping around his abdomen like tendrils of pleasure tickling through his vessels. The sounds that make his cock twitch in his boxers merely hearing them, recounting times where he’s bringing forth these noises in real time. 

A sneaky grin pulls at his mouth as he wiggles closer to her, slipping his hand down her front (she’s lying on her back so it’s rather easy) and patting his fingers carefully over her soft cotton panties. When he feels a wet spot blooming he has to bite down hard on his lip -- what a filthy girl, he thinks. Having a naughty dream while he’s all bent out of shape in love with her. . .if anyone had told Harry a year ago that he would be the one who was all lovey dovey while the other person was having a wet dream he’d say they were fucking mad. Yet here he was. 

That doesn’t mean his cock isn’t budging to life though, as he draws back a bit so he can look at her face a little more, taking his fingers away from the wet spot only to drag the pads of them over the swollen bump of her clit. Her thighs twitch, another small moan leaving her in a breath and Harry is absolutely giddy. Then he taps against it, wondering how long she must’ve been having the dream for her already being soaked through the underwear she was. Bending his fingers upward so that he could slip beneath the fabric, his knuckles tenting the blue cotton. The pads of his fingers finally touch on her clit, lulling it in soft little circles that work more cute noises from her and it excites Harry to no end. Sweet thing, his cock twitches again in his boxers as he continues. 

Sliding his fingers down a little further, he takes his middle finger and pushes it in her slow, curling it up so the pad puts pressure on his g-spot. Her leg kicks up some, knee bent and falling to the side like she’s beckoning him in closer and Harry obliges. Where his fingers reside between her walls, she’s warm, wet, and he’s keen on the thought of tucking his cock inside of her but he interrupting her anymore. 

He glides his ring finger in besides the first, pushing in so deep that he can grind the palm of his hand against her clit, and with a wet gasp Y/N wakes up, jerking, her hips bucking up and her head snapping to the side to look at him, “Harry!” 

“Shh,shh,” he quietens her, his fingers still fucking into her, “Hush, Sweetheart, m’jus’ making you feel good. G’na have you cum all over my fingers, yeah? Then you can go right back to bed,” he leans forward, pressing a quick soft kiss to her mouth, “You were having a filthy dream, weren’t you Pet? Remember what was happening?” 

Y/N’s thighs tremble, attempting to shut but Harry just keeps moving his fingers, “You were. . .you were spanking me, ‘cos I was a brat.” 

Harry hums, sucking his bottom lip back into his mouth for a moment before letting it pop back out, “Naughty cutie,” he murmurs, fucking his finger a little quicker into her, “Getting this wet ‘cos I was swatting on your bum? Guess it can’t be a punishment if you enjoy it that much, huh?” 

He grinds his palm even firmer, feeling her pulsate and clench around his fingers, “M’g’na cum Harry,” she reaches down, grabbing at the wrist of the hand that’s making her feel good, “I -- I, please lemme…”

“You can cum, baby,” he pushes himself up a bit, dragging her t-shirt over her breasts so that he can fix his lips around her nipple, tonguing and suckling at it until it pebbles up in his mouth. This pushes her over the edge, soaking his fingers as her walls throb and her abdomen clenches and unclenches, her thighs shutting tight around his hand, restricting his movements. He’s smiling watching her come undone, her mouth fallen open around broken sounds, her finger digging into the sheets besides him her heels dipping into the mattress, eyes skewered shut. 

Once she’s finished, she’s breathless, panting, eyes blinking open slow but her lids still so heavy Harry can tell she’s mere seconds from sleep. So he leans in again, pushing a careful kiss to her temple as he withdraws his fingers from her underwear, then pushing them into his mouth to lick away her juices. For a moment he’s regretful that he didn’t eat her little peach out, and given any other situation he would fix himself between her thighs and do it right now, but he won’t. Instead he just tugs her panties down and tosses them off the side of the bed, before pulling the blankets back over the both of them and dragging her to cuddle into his side. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, “Love you.” 

Harry’s heart is beaming as he noses into the curve of her neck, “Noo, thank you Pet, for letting me touch you. I love you more.”