Roller rink Harry blurb (Patreon)

Hello! This is a little check in blurb for this fic I wrote! 

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“Would you read your writing to me?” 

The question had slipped out without much of Y/N’s say. Sure, she’d been thinking it ever since she’d found out Harry wrote in the first place, but had she ever thought to actually ask him to? No; she’d always believed that that part of him he should be able to keep to himself, without her budging her nosy head in any further than she had when she’d found out he was a writer in the first place. It was, in a way, to make up for the guilt she had felt for forcing the secret out of him rather than letting it unfold in it’s own time, and while it did end up working in both of their favors for blossoming a beautiful relationship, she didn’t feel any less bad about it.

But god, was she just curious. At night when she lay besides him, mindlessly fiddling on her phone as she heard either the scrawl of his pen against the thick paper of his leather bound journal, or the click of his keyboard as he develops his ideas into full fledged stories. Sometimes he’d tell her the general premises of it, or ask for her idea on something but that’s the most they really touch on it. So it left her with nothing but wonder and her imagination on what he could be writing about. Did he write with himself in mind? Had he experienced some of the more outlandish things that he wrote about first hand or did he just do really good research? She knows he prefers firsthand stuff -- it’s why he’d eaten her out that first time, all that while ago -- but sometimes trying it firsthand isn’t possible. For example, he’d asked her opinion on being fucked up against an office window where if someone looked up from the city they could see what was happening and Y/N had told him that the thought was tantalizing and a little nerve wracking (“I’d be scared that the window was gonna fall through”).Neither of them had an office job or access to one so they couldn’t exactly test it out. 

There were other things though, that her and Harry would do and she wondered if it was more so inspired by what he was writing or did the inspiring. Like the time he’d suddenly introduced a very intense vibrator, with a blush on his cheeks that extended to his neck, pinkening him right up as he told her he’d gotten it for them to try because he’d, “Heard it would feel nice for her and him.” She’d been so mushy and fond of the thought of Harry in a sex shop, or even scrolling through all of it online and picking one out. No matter how many times they have sex or she’s reminded he writes smut, he’s always the sweetest, purest little plum in her eyes that things like that make her giggly and warm. She wonders if he wrote about the night they used it -- about the way her thighs had tried to crush him when he’d pressed it to her clit or how tight she squeezed around him, dragging a groan from the depths of his chest and his unintentional buck deeper inside of her. 

Or maybe he’d written about the first time she’d gone down on him. How they both had been rattled with nerves but as soon as she sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth they’d both relaxed. Melted into each other as Y/N suckles and dips down, one hand holding onto his thigh while the other slotted against his own, squeezing every so often. She wonders if he wrote about how when he’d warned her that he was going to cum, she’d doubled her efforts, ignored how he’d tugged on her hair to pull her up and instead fixed her lips around his tip and sucked him dry. 

They’d been sat by one another while Harry was working, Y/N was watching the telly, and Daisy was sleeping, giving a snorting snore every so often in her lap. A sex scene had popped up and her thoughts had immediately dipped into if the director had made the scene in their image of what they like or what they think would be best for the film and then she’s turning towards him, words falling out of her mouth like water from a tipped glass. 

Harry’s fingers paused, hovering over the keys for a moment as he turns to face her and Y/N feels her face warm, “You want me to read you my writing?”

“You don’t have to,” she rushes to say, shaking her head, “You don’t, I was just -- I’m just curious sometimes, but I understand if you don’t want to. It was just a bad idea anyway--” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he leans forward, setting his laptop onto the coffee table before them and turning towards her, “It wasn’t a bad idea, m’just surprised, is all. Didn’t think you cared much about what I was writing.” 

Y/N tilts her head, “Course, I care dummy,” she rolls her eyes, rolling over in bed, flopping herself so that her cheek smushed against his thigh, looking up to him with a small pout, “I always wonder what you’re writing but I never wanted to push y’know? Didn’t want you to share it with me unless you wanted to.” 

Harry nods slowly, reaching his hand down and carding his fingers through her hair gently, “I see,” he purses his lips some, “I’ll share some with you, if you’d like. Wanna hear what I’m writing about right now?” 

She grins, reaching back and pulling the throw blanket from the bottom of the mattress up over her shoulder, snuggling into it and nuzzling at the meat of his thigh playfully. He chuckles low, warm, pushing his glasses up by the bridge of them and moves his laptop so that it’s tilted with one part on the thigh and one on the mattress. His fingers continue to pet at her, both her hair, and caressing the sides of her face as he likes to, “S’a ‘bout a girl -- she’s exploring kinks with an escort in this manor, and feelings may or may not be sprouting.” 

“Oooh, kinky,” she wriggles, “Sounds right up me alley.” 

It was kinky. So kinky in fact, that Y/N had no clue some of this filth was roaming around within Harry’s sweet little brain. She’d known he had some idea with a few of the obscenities that leave him when he’s tucked deep inside of her, murmuring how good she felt, how tight she was, “Wanna hear your noises baby, while your little pussy cums all over my cock.” But never had she imagined this. The words he uses are all perfect, his descriptions so vivid she could practically feel it all. All over this mixed with the soothing, honeyed voice just has her feeling a bit more prurient than she usually is. She’s got her hand warming between her mid-thigh though she’s tightening the muscles in an effort to feel some sort of pressure.

The touch of his fingers on her face and through her hair began feeling much less innocent and sweet and much more lewd. Especially when his fingers trail from the edges of her face, down her cheek, running his thumb at the corner of her mouth before slipping back to what he’d been doing before. It was too much -- all of it was far too much and her panties were getting way damn wetter than she would have liked. The last time she’d gotten this hot and bothered over words alone (especially when she has Harry around) had been a very raunchy story she’d read a while back online. 

She thought she was being inconspicuous but Harry could read her like a book, and after one sentence in particular that made her clench he pauses, “Are you alright, Button?” He asks, a knowing lilt lingering beneath his tone, “You’re looking a little. . .warm.” 

Y/N huffs, knowing she’s been found out and she tilts her face into his thigh out of embarrassment, “Don’t tease me,” she grumbles, “S’really good Harry. No wonder they’re so adamant about you posting -- I would be too.” 

“Thank you,” she can hear the smile in his voice and it only makes it worse for her, squeezing her thighs together so tightly as she rolls around so that she’s on her stomach. She lets her fingers reappear from where they’d been snug in the arm of one of his cardigans to curl into the loose fabric of his pajama pants and giving a soft tug.

“C’mon then,” she murmurs, “Want to have a taste.”

Harry’s eyes widen, brows raising, “Really?” He asks her, “You’re that worked up?” 

Her mouth waters as she watches him lift his bum up, and she takes care to drag his pants down to bunch and crumble up at his knees, “Told you it was good,” she grouses, not bothering to get in between his legs or anything -- thinks that would take up too much time. Instead she stays where she is at his side, only moving to scoot her mouth closer to where he’d been chubbing up, “Want t’a taste you, then fuck you all night -- even better than Remi did that guy.” She references his story and she looks up to see his cheeks flush pink just before she fits her mouth around the tip.

Harry inhales, quick and sharp, his thighs tensing beneath her chest as she wets the head with the broad of her tongue. She loves getting him hard -- likes putting him in her mouth and working him up till he’s stiff, pulsating, and leaky from his slit so that she could tongue the precum away. Harry’s big -- he’s very big, with a vein running down the length of him, a ruddied color that purples if hasn’t come in a particularly long while. She’s almost jealous of him, that he gets to see it, and touch it, and play with it all he wants whenever he wants because she just thinks it’s so pretty and if she could she would give it her attention all the time. 

Plus it was attached to quite possibly the sweetest boy in the world, who -- in the midst of getting a blowie says, “G’na pull your hair into a pony so it doesn’t get in your eyes, okay?” 

Only barely does she slow down for him to do so, then doubling her efforts. She’s got her hand wrapped around the base, keeping him tilted towards her mouth, and every so often when his hips buck up she moans around him. Her eyes are watering and she doesn’t know if it’s because he’s getting the back of her throat or she’s so in love with him or that she’s so damn horny -- she’d say probably a mixture of all three. He had a way about him that got her emotions all muddled constantly, even in particularly lewd moments like this. 

His pulse drums against her tongue as she strokes it up and down the shaft, stopping at the divot between where the shaft and tip meet to flicker her tongue there. Harry was the one who thought her how to give a blowie and he was a right good teacher -- he’d been slow and careful; guided her through it, let her play around, explore with him, had even literally held her hand through a majority of it. He’d made her feel safe and loved and not incompetent for having never done it before and her heart still twists at the thought. It’s what makes her give her all when she sucks him off; she thinks he only deserves the best.

“You’re g’na make me cum,” he moans, wrapping his hand around the pony and giving a small tug, “Don’t want to yet, Button, lemme take care of you too.” 

Y/N lets him pull her off, a string of spit connecting her mouth to the head, feeling a little lightheaded from the arousal and the fact she’d neglected breathing for a good chunk of it. She twists her hand down him once, watching his balls, tight and swollen, raise on her upstroke and the tip’s red head is begging for her to put him back in.

He makes her feel so insatiable -- so incredibly needy as she takes it upon herself to reach down and wiggle out of her panties, only to climb over his lap and straddle him, “Can we?” She asks him, her slit feeling slippery, dripping onto his cock and Harry’s looking down between them, his hand squeezing tight at her thigh as he nods. Y/N takes him back in her hold and slides him down to her hole, budding the tip at the opening before slowly sinking down. 

A mutual, harmonious groan leaves the both of them, Y/N immediately pulsating around him, “Christ,” Harry gives a disbelieving laugh, “Didn’t know it’d have you like this -- would’ve read to you a long while ago.”

Y/N dips her face into his throat, rocking her hips back and forth, “Sorry,” she murmurs, feeling hot all over, “Don’ mean to be greedy.” 

Shaking his head, Harry wraps his arms around her frame, making her feel small in his hold, “No, no, s’alright baby, you aren’t greedy,” his nose is pressed against her shoulder, breathing her in deep, “Feel so good -- I’ll never be able to describe how nice it is to be inside of you or to hold you like this, or how pretty those little noises you make are.” 

Y/N’s always bashful about these punched out little whines that leave her but Harry’s always quick to tell her how keen he is on them. His hands slip down to her bum, his cardigan she wore draping over his hands as he gets a good hold on her and begins to fuck up into her, working more of those sounds out, “There, we, go,” he says between each thrust in, “Wanna hear you.” 

This Harry was much different from her normal, day to day Harry. Her usual Harry is on the shy side, even if though he’s opened up so much to her in every way imaginable. He’s quiet and contemplative (albeit talkative when she’s speaking with him), gentle, calm, and rarely ever even curses without good reason to (but he assures her that he’s fine with her perpetual potty mouth). Blushy and sweet and soft -- one would think when they had sex, she would be the one running the show.

But this Harry -- god, he was unlike anything she could ever explain. He was salacious and naughty, with hands that touched everywhere, and a tongue that uttered titillating filth. He knew when to go fast and when to go slow, when to tease her and when to appease her whining, when to dip his tongue between her thighs or his cock. This Harry could read her body like a book; knew exactly what made her twitch, or squeak, or what licked goosebumps on her skin. This Harry clearly and very obviously was the more dominant of the two, and while that sweet soft boy her heart is so big for peaks out every so often in moments like these, this risque sexual deviant is the one running things.

Y/N’s curled up against him, whimpering and moaning as he fucks up into her, “You g’na cum for me?” He speaks into her skin, sponging kisses onto her bosom, “Soak me in your cum?” She cries out when his finger slips to her clit, rubbing in quick, tight little circles, “That’s it baby, cum -- want you to cum all over me.” 

It only takes a few more thrusts, for her to crumble a top of him, thighs shutting on either side of him, and Harry follows shortly after, slipping out of her, reaching down to twist over himself once before he’s coming up in between them. 

Both of their breathing is bated, chests heaving as they come back down from the dazzling warmth of their orgasms. Y/N reaches down, slipping her fingers through some of the mess that had dribbled onto his prick and brings it to her mouth, pushing it past her lips to taste. “Goodness,” Harry sighs sated, cradling the side of her face with his palm, “You’re a little sex kitten sometimes, y’know that?” Y/N giggles, rolling her eyes and slumps forward despite some of his spunk that had stained the front of their shirts, nestling back into the crook of his neck.

“You made me like this,” Y/N teases, “I blame you for my unquenchable desire for your prick.” 

He kisses the side of her head sweetly, “C’mon,” he pats her bum, “Need’a get you cleaned up, you’ve got an early shift at the rink tomorrow right?” 

And that had seemed like a really good idea -- getting a little extra money. Now, however, Y/N would much rather spend the day with Harry like they had originally planned before she had taken the shift. It was cold out and she’d much rather spend a Saturday morning warm inside with Harry and Daisy than Niall pleading with her to go get a brazilian wax with him. 

So she shakes her head instead, “Noo, m’not feeling it anymore,” she tells him, “Niall owes me a freebie since he left me on a day with two birthday parties because he wanted to fuck Carol Bender and then didn’t even do it.” She draws back to look him in the eye, “If you’ll have me, m’all yours tomorrow.” 

Harry grins. 

“Course I will. Maybe I’ll read you another story.”