Some more soft boyfriend Harry (Patreon)

I'm sorry for all this mushy gushy stuff! I'm just feeling extra soft as of late and we all love a bit of boyfriend harry don't we?

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To Harry, there were two types of tired. 

There was sleepy, which was rather cutesy. It’s where he’s finally gotten home after a long but good day, when he made himself something nice to eat for dinner, wriggle out of his clothes, and take a warm soak in his tub filled with lavender bubbles. He’d dry off in a nice, fluffy towels, pull on something comfortable to sleep in (perhaps give his therapeutic slippers), and if she isn’t already there with him, call up Y/N to chat with on the phone for a little while until he falls asleep. When he feels soft and happy; content with the world and all the things that inhabit it. 

And then there was exhausted, which belonged in the very pits of hell. Where he trudges through the door after a long, treacherous day he kicks off his shoes, slaps the greasy bag of food on his coffee table and shoves it in his gob, tears of his clothes and takes a scalding hot shower. He would loosely towel off, tug on his boxers, and -- if she isn’t already with him -- call up Y/N, whine about his day, and let her baby him until he felt better. 

Today, he was the second type. He was fucking knackered, his shoulders were tense, his back ached like burning fire, he wanted nothing more all day than to crawl into his bed, so when he finally laid down to sleep cuddled into Y/N, he was happy to be there. 

Yet his girl -- his sweet, soft Y/N, who rubbed his back until he fell asleep and woke him the following morning with sweet, gentle kisses to his pouted mouth -- his girl had either sleepy or awake. She was either cutesy, warm soak bubble bath and soft pajama kind of tired or she was so wired from a long day that she was unable to sleep. Harry was always up for some rest so he never really had that second problem until he was with Y/N. 

Because when she’s up. . .well, now he’s up. 

It’s not on purpose, because he really knows she doesn’t mean to when it happens. She’ll get ready and go to bed at the same time as him, lay down beside him and coax him to sleep no matter the energy that is still aflame through her. But she is restless, moving every five or so minutes, and she gets on her phone and puts it down about ten times, and if Harry is still awake, he’ll hold his arm out for her so that she can cuddle into him. Then she’ll do his favorite of her restless tasks, which is hold him tighter, and places kisses to the spots her lips can reach. Which, while he’s sure that could soothe him to sleep as well if he would allow it, he won’t because he can’t rest easy knowing that she is still up. 

Normally he just cracks his eyes open, no matter how tired he may feel, and talks to her until he can see her eyes grow heavy, every blink slowing, until her replies have reduced to soft hums and murmurs that are just barely there. Then he’ll allow himself to fall asleep as well. He feels better that way, knowing that she’s not tossing and turning all night. 

But tonight, chatting her up wasn’t working as well as it normally does.

After they’d stopped talking because she’d shushed him with a kiss and told him that it was okay to get to sleep, that she would be close behind him -- he tried, for all about thirty minutes. Then he felt her reaching for her phone for the fifth time, and he realized that she definitely wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. Which in any other case would be fine, but considering they both needed to be up early tomorrow for a breakfast with one of the men from his label that he’d agreed to, and the man had invited Y/N to come along as well. 

So he brought out the big guns, because if even the rain that batters against the windows isn’t enough to lull her to sleep, then he knows she won’t without a little more help. 

Harry flopped the covers off of him, rolling out of bed with a grunted, “C’mon, baby,” he huffs out, immediately wrapping his arms around himself to shield from the cool air whipping from the fan blades above them. 

“Huh?” She questions, looking up from her phone, “Where are we going?” 

He nods towards the kitchen, “We’re going to make you sleepy,” he murmurs, and before she can say anything he continues, “And get your mind out of the gutter.” 

That’s how they ended up here, with Y/N sat up on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth while Harry heated up some milk and planned on adding vanilla, honey and cinnamon while two waffles toasted. If there’s one thing he knows could knock even the most energetic person out, it was a nice full tummy. He remembers very distantly from a science course back in high school that the reasoning is because the body’s blood and energy focuses on digesting, leaving one rather sleepy. Harry thinks on what Y/N is like after Thanksgiving the previous year when they went to visit, all full, laying on her side with her face smushed up against his mum’s couch pillow. Remembers how comfortable it was to crawl up beside her, wrapping her up in his arms and focusing on the crackling noise of the fire accompanied with his family’s idle post dinner chatter as he faded in and out of consciousness. 

After his mum gave him a small shake and told him to get up to bed, he carried Y/N to some endeared coos from the people still in the room. 

(She’d also woke up an hour or so later and coaxed him awake with her mouth on his cock, but he tries not to let that taint the innocence of their couch cuddles.) 

Y/N sniffles, knuckling at her eye while her heel collides with the counter drawers in small taps, “I don’t much like milk though,” she reminds him and he shakes his head, pulling out a straw from the drawers, “So don’ be mad at me if I don’t finish it.” 

“You’ll finish it,” he hums, smiling when her shoulders jumped at the sound of the toaster popping, “S’special milk Babes.” 

Her nose scrunches, “Did you cum in it?” 

He rolls his eyes, though the smile never leaves his mouth as he slathers a scoop of peanut butter over the crispy golden flakes of waffle, huffing through his nose, “Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you?” He teases, considering not even five hours ago she had been begging him to nut off in her mouth, using her own hand to place his in her hair, encouraging him to fuck himself between her lips. Had swallowed the mouthful and smiled up at him with such a starry eyed gaze as he thumbed away the little that had dribbled down her chin, feeding it back into her mouth. No matter how much she likes to pretend she isn’t, Y/N is quite the little cum whore (she agrees with him when he’s balls deep inside of her and she’s purposefully clenching around him, wriggling her bum and pleading for him to fill her up). 

“I’m putting vanilla, honey, and cinnamon in it,” he murmurs, letting it sit in the mug sit in the microwave for a minute, the waffles sat on a plate while he slips over to her and nestles himself between her thighs, letting his hands slide up to frame her face, “And you’ll drink it, or Daddy’ll be angry won’t he?” 

The big guns. If he made her feel small -- took away that part of her that had other things to worry about other than what was happening right there between them -- he figures she’ll be more inclined to sleep as well. He leans in, pushing a soft yet dominant kiss to her plushy mouth and suppressing a giggle when he smushes her cheeks together, “Yeah,” she murmurs softly, squinting her eyes up when he leans up to push a kiss at her brow, “I’ll drink it.” 

That’s how he knows she ought to be sleepy at the very least, just unable to succumb to the clutches of it. Y/N is a brat. . .a whiny, whimpery, crude little brat when she wants to be and unless she’s in a particularly subservient mood, she’ll put up a bit of a fight to get her to submit. The only times she so easily lets him get on her and does as he says is when she’s a tired little thing. 

“That’s a good girl,” he pats her cheek lightly, kissing his teeth when she nips at the finger nearest her mouth as he draws away. He reaches up, sliding his fingers around the microwave handle and gives a tug, the unlatching click sounds through the kitchen at the same time thunder cracks through the sky in a low rumble. He removes the steamy mug, looking down at the frothy bubbles and works on adding the vanilla, honey, and sprinkling cinnamon on the top of it and stirs it in slow circles with the straw in one hand, while sandwiching the waffles together with the other. 

Harry places the plate at her side on the counter, and takes the mug by the handle, tilting the straw down towards her lips and watching as she curves them around the tip. She takes one slow, experimental sip and her eyes go wide, swallowing, “Tha’s good,” she murmurs around the straw, recurling her lips around it and taking another drink and Harry smiles triumphantly. 

“Knew it would be,” he murmured, leaning in and pushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “‘cos I know my girl, don’ I?” He cradles the side of her head, skimming his finger against her temple as she drinks it, reaching over to grab the peanut buttered waffles. Y/N nods, taking a bite of the waffles.

“Yeah,” she responds, looping her legs around his thighs and locking her ankles so he couldn’t move, “It’s good. Thank you.” 

He thumbs away some peanut butter from her knuckle and wipes it on her bottom lip, “Messy,” he murmurs, reaching around and patting at her hips, “Take your time.”

Y/N does take her time, chewing thoughtfully, drinking the milk in these long swallows as they both listen to the thunder bumbling through the sky like a clumsy bear. The kitchen brightens more than the above oven light with each crack of lightning. The ebb and flow of rain battering the windows, crescendoing, receding, hard pitters and patters. They keep their conversation light, in soft whispers almost as if they’re making sure they don’t wake anyone though there’s nobody else in the house. 

And as they wait, Y/N’s eyes begin to flutter, growing so heavy that he can tell she’s very well struggling to keep them open. He hides his smile, taking the mug and the little bit of waffle she had left, and setting them to the side before placing his hands at her hips and pulls her towards him off the counter. “Arms around me,” he tells her and she does, dipping her face into his throat and he turns his head to press a kiss into the side of her head, “Sleepy thing.” 

“You work magic,” she murmured, as he walks through their bedroom door, rounding the bed to her side and dragging back the covers and slowly coaxing her into it, “Like some. . .some sleep demon, or something.” 

“Mm,” he hums, “Creative.” 

Y/N can’t even open her eyes glare at him, so she furrows her brows instead, “Fuck off,” she grumbles, and Harry laughs, crawling into bed on his side and scooting up closer to her, dragging her in by the waist and cuddling her close, “Love you.” She sighs and Harry lets his eyes shut too, finally able to relax.  

“Bet you do.” He teases, snickering when she weakly slaps him, “I love you more.”