Submissive Harry (Patreon)

Just Harry being soft and feeling guilty 

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Harry is a wreck. 

Less of a wreck than he started out today, but still a wreck nonetheless.

This morning, he woke up to any empty bed and a heavy heart; he and Y/N had had an argument the night before and while he tries to make a point not to go to bed angry, she refused to even sit in the same room as him. He can’t say he doesn’t blame her though -- to forget one dinner is one thing. . .sometimes he’d get caught up in work and he’d message her at least an hour before so she didn’t waste time getting ready. And while it didn’t compare to a candlelit dinner, he would bring home her favorite takeout, and they’d eat once he got home. To forget two dinners in one week and for the second dinner being missed because he’d gone out drinking? 

Well, that was inexcusable. 

It’d slipped his mind completely. Thursday’s aren’t their usual dinner dates, so he’d been fairly sure he didn’t have anything planned that night, so when Nick offered a pint while he was in town, Harry couldn’t say no. Didn’t think he had the reason to say no, but when he’d finally checked his phone after a few hours to five missed calls and a Where are you? He’d quickly realized what he’d done. 

Harry tried to call her and she’d answered within the first ring, a panicked, “Hello?” from her end that makes his heart ache, “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, yes, Love m’sorry I --” he squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head against the cool brick on the outside of the bar they’d gone to in an attempt to ground himself, feeling way too fuzzy and floaty, “We -”

“Have you been drinking?” She questioned and he looks down at his feet, submerged in a thick grubby swamp of guilt that weighs him down into its mud, “Fuck sake,” her disappointment is evident in her tone and it only makes it worse. 

“I’m so, so, sorry,” he murmurs, words garbled with the sob building in his chest, “Didn’t -- I forgot n’--” 

She cuts him off quickly, “Yeah, I figured,” she responds, voice sharp and stony, “Just get home safe.” 

The dial tone beeps in his ear and he knew he’d fucked up terribly. 

Once he’d gotten home, he found Y/N on the couch, turned facing the back of it with the throw blanket pulled loosely over her shoulders but he can tell by the tense in her shoulders that she wasn’t asleep. He dropped his keys in the petri dish and nearly fell over kicking off his shoes, dragging himself to the couch, “Baby,” he all but whimpered, lowered to his knees next to the couch, touching his cool fingers to the bare skin of her shoulder and when she flinched away from him, his heart ached even more, “Baby, please,” his voice and breathing went shaky, eyes pooled with tears -- he’s always been an emotional drunk, but it felt ten times as prevalent right then, “M’sorry, please don’t be mad.” 

He wasn’t trying to be manipulative -- even knowing when he cries she usually goes all soft, it hadn’t been his intent with tears slick down his cheeks. The bevvies had him swimming in his remorse, he couldn’t even help them if he tried. They must do the trick though, because he felt her shoulders raise with a sigh before she had turned to face him, pushing herself up on the couch, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” she murmured, not touching on her anger, or if she’d forgive him. Just silent as she raised and took his hand gently in her own to guide him to their room. She’d instructed him to undress while she stripped the covers down, fluffing out his pillow for him how he likes. Once he was down to his boxers, she stayed to tuck him in, and when she turned around to leave he grabbed for her arm. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated sadly, his face felt a sticky wet from crying and his eyes were weighing down, lidded. 

“I know,” she responded, pet one thumb over his knuckles before she slid her arm from his grasp, “Sleep now, Darling.” 

Though she wasn’t crawling into bed beside him, he found some solace in her words. If she was calling him Darling that meant she didn’t a hundred percent hate him right? 

But when he woke up that next morning, things hadn’t been better. Even when he finds she left two paracetamol and a glass of water on the bedside table, she didn’t grant him his usual good morning kisses, and she didn’t speak to him when he sat beside her on the couch, or even when she began to pull on her shoes and left without one word to him. The silent treatment was. . .well, Harry didn’t handle it very well. Especially when Y/N talks so much as is -- if she’s quiet, then she’s quiet and it’s almost eerie in their home, making him want to crawl out of his skin. 

It was an hour later that Y/N messaged him, Will be out until dinner. Just giving you the courtesy of knowing I’m fine, as her final jab to both the situation and his heart. She must’ve been so worried. . .he couldn’t even imagine what would be going through his head if they’d scheduled dinner and she wasn’t showing up nor answering the phone. He’d be an absolute mess -- probably would have called the police or summat. And if he’d gone through that emotional turmoil just to find out she was out drinking with her friends, then. . .well, he could understand why she was so pissed.

So he starts quick -- runs to the store and buys about a dozen balloons, popping by the florist for the biggest bouquet he could have them make for him, and a grocery store visit so he could make them dinner, an intricate stuffed shell recipe his mum sent him and the feta, green bean, potato salad that she’s always wanted to try but tells him she can’t be arsed to make. He cleans everything, till it sparkles in the sunlight that pours through the apartment, and he lights her favorite candles so it smells nice. Even sets up things for a bath if she might want one, and lays out her favorite sweater of his to snuggle up in. 

He did everything he could think to do and more -- all the stuff that usually puts her in a good mood. Though he’s nervous when he hears the knob twist open and even more so when he’s taking the stuffed shells from the oven as she walks through the kitchen door, to a mess balloons and eventually his pouting face. “Before anything,” he begins, dragging the pot holders from his hands, “I just want to say I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot and I forgot and that’s no excuse -- you always tell me to use the reminders on my phone, and I don’t ever listen which is dumb of me.” He takes a step towards her, seeing as her eyes soften, the guard she had put up lessening with the tense in her shoulders, “But I love you so much and it makes my heart hurt knowing that I put you through that last night. I know this might not fix it but I hoped that it might make you love me again.” The last bit was a little much and a little exaggerated, but he punctuates it with a pout at his mouth. 

Y/N rolls her eyes and opens her arms, “C’mere, you dummy,” she offers and he rushes to her, just about picking her up as he squeezes her to his chest, reveling in the little squeal she gives him. Her voice felt like music to his ears -- a symphony of mellifluous sound that soothes his stress immediately, “Never stopped loving you, yeah? Just let me know if you’re g’na be out late -- y’know how it’s been for me in the past.” 

And as if to make him feel even worse without trying to, Harry recalls that this was the one thing she’d only ever asked of him. Told him how she wasn’t some jealous partner archetype, but if he could just let her know if he’d be out late or just a message that he was okay, she’d be happy. A lot had happened in her past that made her wary of radio silence when it came to someone she loved being out, and he had promised her that he’d never put her through something like that.

He could cry all over again, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to her cheek as he murmurs further apologies into her skin, “S’fine, pet, s’fine,” she cooed, “S’not like you’re doing it all the time. One time won’t break me.” 

“Never doing this to you again,” he swears, “Promise ya’ Lovie.” 

She tiptoed and pecked a kiss to his mouth, “I believe you,” she nods, “Now, what’d you cook?” 

                                                        .                            .                            .

The night had divulged into utter filth and Harry was okay with that. 

He was still feeling guilty and a bit small because of it; their places in the relationship had always been fluid. Sometimes Y/N was more submissive, sometimes Harry was more dominant, and vice versa -- they’d never been just one thing, they were always what the other person needed in that time. And boy was Harry just feeling meek and pliant -- docile even. All he wanted was to be near her, wrapping himself around her on the couch for the remainder of the night as they watched tv. Pecking kisses all over her face like he hadn’t for weeks. Nuzzling and nestling into the crook of her throat and murmuring his love to her in soft little declarations that make her comb her fingers through her hair. 

And when Harry’s feeling like this, Y/N takes advantage of it. Will lay him down on their mattress, suckle and spit all over his cock, edge him until he’s drippy before slipping down and tonguing at the tight ring of muscle reserved for moments like this. It makes his toes curl and a gasp drag from the depths of his chest, but she holds him apart and kisses and licks at him until she finally decides to reach over for their nightstand to the Astroglide tube so she can get her fingers inside of him. 

The first time they’d done this, Harry had asked Y/N to do it. There was something so gratifying about giving someone else the reigns sometimes, letting them do what they saw fit with him and his body. It was comforting to a certain degree too -- Harry’s normally always in control in regards to almost everything -- but Y/N allows him to just. . .to just relax. Take a breather and be taken care of in a way he doesn’t normally get.

Y/N is good at it too; gentle, yet firm, soft and hard in all the right spots -- doesn’t give in to his puppy eyes and whimpers for more too quick and even if in the moment it makes him pouty, he’s grateful for this in the end. He’s thinking about how great she is with him and how tender she can be and how he thinks he’d feel much better if she just roughed him up a little bit. Make him wait, edge him until he was so stiff that it hurts, bite and nip and suckle bruises into his skin, hold him on a touch of too tight, stuff him full and rock into him deep. Make him whimper and whine and beg. . .because he deserved to. It felt like, for what he’d put her through, he deserved to wait while she played with him. 

So after they’ve brushed their teeth and Y/N’s about to crawl onto the bed, Harry kisses her needily. Pushes his wet mouth against her own soft lips as he pulls her close to him at her hips, whining a soft noise against her which was the only indication that Y/N had to know what kind of mood he was in. Tentatively, Harry feels Y/N slide her hand up to his hair, curling her fingers within it and giving a sharp tug to which he mewls, keening into her and pushing hard against her lips. 

They part with a soft noise, letting himself drop to the bed, pulling her between his thighs and pushing up her shirt only to kiss and flirt with the tip of his tongue at the bare, soft skin of her stomach, nestling his face against it and murmuring a gentle noise, “Sweetheart,” she hums, carding her fingers through his curls, her nails skimming against his scalp and sending shivers down his spine, “Wha’s goin’ on with you, hmm?” 

“Just wanna make you feel good, s’all,” he murmured, still leaving wet, open mouth kisses against her, his hands sliding up her back, “Love you.” 

He feels Y/N giggle, continuing to pet at him, “Love you too,” she hums, “But I think you jus’ want me in your cute lil’ bum.” 

A little whimper crawls from his throat, digging the pads of his fingers to little dents in her back, drawing back from where he’d tucked his head and looking up to her. His eyes say it all, he’s pretty sure of it because he doesn’t have to speak any words for her to carefully unwravel him from around her. She presses him back with the tips of her fingers to his shoulder and he goes easily, sinking into the cotton filled mattress as she crawls over top of him, straddling his hips. Her crotch settles right atop of the stiff bulge forming in his trousers, rocking against it subtly -- not enough for it to be gratifying but just the right amount of pressure that he tenses up, encouraging more blood to flood to his cock. 

His hands go to her hips, setting on them and holding on tightly, “Baby,” he whimpers, “Use me please.” 

Y/N’s face went soft, “Well how could I say no to that?” 

                                                       .                                .                          .

Use him she did. 

First she had stripped down completely bare, so his cock was showing in all of it’s aching glory, before she got naked herself. Told him if he was a good boy then she’d get in his little bum like he wanted her to, but first he had to prove that he deserved it.  So she moved up towards his face, swung her leg around one side of his head, and hovered her pussy over his mouth. “Go on then,” she’d nodded and he craned his neck up to reach her, stretched out his wet tongue, and split her folds around the muscle. The feeling of it had made her sink down a little, which allowed him to rest his head down, and to make it better she even stuffs a pillow under his head, to which her murmured, “Thank you,” while he rubbed the whole bottom half of his face against her. 

The vibrations of it had gotten her to moan around a giggle, rocking her hips against his tongue, “Such a Sweetheart,” she’d uttered beneath her breath as she leaned back, watching him eat her fervently. With his own lidded eyes, he’d set his gaze on her, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky to have her all to himself. She’s just so amazing to him -- was the best at post-bad day cuddles, always made sure he was well taken care of and happy, always listened to him when he prattled on and on about shite that didn’t matter, and even would mention things from those long, late night rambles proving that she was always paying attention. Of course Harry does all the same for her, and anything else that he can do, but never does he feel like he’ll ever be able to repay her for all the love that he feels when she’s around. For the warmth and the happiness that envelopes him when he’s around her, and that retains him within it’s loving grasp when they have to be away from one another. 

It made him work a little harder, move his tongue quicker, he made iit wetter, sloppier, moaned more, louder and frequent as his arms slipped around her thighs and held her closer to him. She squeezed him some around his head, fingers slipped through his hair again, combing through it gently, “Hey, hey,” she shushed him, “Slow down, Lovie. Not goin’ anywhere.” 

Harry nodded, relaxed some, losing himself in her scent and her taste. She’s both heady and sweet, soaked him in her essence makes his eyes flutter close, slid his tongue inside of her just as much as he could, before slipping up and suckling at the swollen bud of her clit. When she shivers he smiles against her, his nose pushed against her mound, feeling his cock throb and dribble when the first breath of an orgasm is her fluttering around his tongue. 

Though instead of letting him indulge in her soaking his face, she lifts off of him, and ignores when he groans a disgruntled noise as his eyes pop open, “Oi, lemme --” 

“Hush now, Pet,” she’d tutted, “Why don’t you flip around for me, and lift your bum up, yeah?” 

That’s how they’d ended up with Harry’s bum raised, clutching onto a pillow, toes curling up into the air towards the sole of his feet. Y/N was three fingers deep, down to her knuckle, petting at that special spot inside of him that had his hole fluttering around her. His cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, bowing with each movement, leaking precum down to the sheets to a little damp spot on the bed. The feather filled pillow has a bite mark denting it, his moans muffled against it but she slaps at his thighs sharply when he does. 

“Don’t hide your moans from me,” she had warned, “I want to hear every pretty noise you have for me.” 

So he turned his cheek to the pillow, and let every moan and groan and whimper and whine out. His thighs tremble, squeezing around her fingers, and she strokes the insides of them gently, hushing him, “Tha’s a good boy,” she cooed at him, “So good for me, aren’t you?” 

“Mhm,” he pushed back down onto her fingers, “Please let me cum -- please, please, please lemme cum,” he’s throbbing, and she just keeps pressing and pushing on that spot in him, like she was beckoning his orgasm out of him one little stroke at a time. 

“How d’ya wanna cum, baby?” She asks him, “Want me to make ya cum on my fingers?” 

And Harry was tempted to say yes, he really had been, but he remembers that Y/N didn’t have an orgasm earlier. From what he can see of her, so flawlessly naked and soft, he can see how wet she still is when he cranes his neck some, and how she’s still pulsating and needy. As needy as Harry is himself, he decides then that he wants to get her off more than anything. 

“Want you on me,” Harry mewlss, “Please? Want to cum with you on me.” 

So she withdraws her fingers, she flips him over, and appears more than happy to fulfill his request. Take Harry by the base and guides the head towards her hole, and when he feels the drippiness of her -- the soaking wet channel that Y/N sinks down onto him -- he thinks he’s going to cum right then. But he bites down hard on his bottom lip and wards it away, because Y/N has to cum first. This isn’t for him, this is for her -- his sweet, soft, lovely girl that makes him so happy. 

And he holds out as Y/N rocks her hips, squeezing, and pulsing around him until she’s finally cumming. She looks so pretty above him, and he even reaches up to her breasts to squeeze, tweaking and twisting at her nipples until she’s finally shaking and shuddering above him. 

It’s when she cums that he finally allows himself the pleasure, grabbing her hips and bucking up and ramming his stiff prick into her once. . .twice. . .just three times more -- the orgasm built up and up, like a warm, hot balloon in his abdomen that swells to a pop. She slips off of him in just enough time for him to cum, spurting up high enough to hit her in the chin and her eyes go wide, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, twisting and pulling at him as he continues. Hot, thick, and white, “Gosh,” she gasps, a smile at her mouth, “That’s a lot, huh? All of this for me?” 

“Yes,” he breathes, “Yes, yes, love you -- love you so much!” 

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” she giggles, working him through the rest of it, leaving his softening cock onto this thigh before flopping over him with a puff of air leaving her, “I dunno ‘bout you, but m’exhausted.” 

Harry doesn’t mind being sticky, or sweaty, or the fact that she’s both of those things too. He slips his arms around her body and holds her close, dipping his face into her throat, breathing in deep. He loves her so much sometimes he has no idea how to express it, especially in moments like this, so he just holds her even tighter. 

He kisses her where his lips lie, “I do forgive you,” she murmurs quietly, “Honest mistake and you’ve more than made up for it. You’ve been so busy lately, I understand.” 

“Never too busy for you -- m’just a dummy,” he helps her shuffle to his side, sliding his arms around her and sighing sleepily, “You’re stuck with me for the next week until ya finally kick me out.” 

“Fine by me,” she slots their fingers together, holding it over her chest, “But that means you gotta help me clean up this sticky mess.”