Harry Styles Tumblr Smut.

YOUR LIPS MY LIPS... APOCALYPSE.

Credits: I'm unable to find the original author. Credits to the original author. 
Word Count: 4.1k

CONTENT WARNING:
Fingering, Pregnant Y/N.

It's magnificent, he thinks.

It's the way the raised skin is peeking out from the bubbles, all shiny and inviting for his hands. He wants to reach out and touch the dampened bump, follow the barely-there trail of hair with his fingers down her belly only to find the rare, soft part of the bump, and rub the skin there while she laughs and tries to push his hands off of her. It looks breath taking; in fact, she looks breath taking. Her head resting on a bath pillow, eyes closed, twitching like a butterfly shivering its wings. Her skin glimmering, almost sparkling like the waves in the ocean when sunlight hits them. When his eyes fall to the bump once again, he realises the little baby growing inside and the hot air of the bathroom are to blame.

He comes closer, his gaze shifting from her face to the two large candles placed on the corner of the bathtub, eyes catching how the flames keep dancing as if they too are in awe of the glowing creature before them. Just like Harry, it's as if they can't believe she's given them the opportunity to witness something so special, so exquisite. When his bare feet reach the mat in front of the bathtub, she's already stroking her belly, delicate fingers rubbing every inch of the bump, especially the sides where there's a prominent bulging.

"Sneaking up on me?" she murmurs, eyes still closed.

Kneeling on the floor, he puts his arms on either side of the bathtub, and scrunches his nose at the sweet smell of peaches and vanilla. He turns his face towards the large window which is now letting the cool summer air enter the room. "The June moon. Burning pure champagne," he murmurs back at her, and she opens her eyes. When she doesn't reply, his smile grows. "If I were her I'd be envious of you too."

"Come close, wanna smell your breath."

He dips his index finger into the soapy water and splashes her. "Am not high."

It's dead silent for a minute, only little 'plinks' of dripping water and faint noises of cars coming and going outside can be heard. As she tries finding a better position for her head, rubbing it on the wet bath pillow, he keeps his gaze focused on her face, mostly the tiny droplets of water on her forehead as they make their way down to her flushed cheeks.

Over the last few weeks, her face had started gaining a bit more weight, her cheeks becoming fuller than usual and despite her loathing her 'chubby' cheeks, she looked ethereal. Whenever they complimented her 'pregnancy glow' though, she would pout and immediately show her swollen fingers and feet, and say 'look at my face, do my chubby cheeks scream glowy to you?'. And to Harry, they did. They screamed everything beautiful to Harry. He, as selfish as it sounds, wanted her all to himself during her pregnancy.

Of course she's always been beautiful. He's never been a shallow man but whenever he looked at her, just doing the most mundane things, like doing the laundry, making tea or shaving the peach fuzz on her face, he felt his chest tighten. He felt proud, so proud that she allowed him into her bubble everyday. He felt like she was so out of his league. Fuck what the tabloids say, fuck what Twitter says; she was way out of his league. His feelings only ended up intensifying during her pregnancy. He wanted to be the only one who saw her, who heard her voice, who got to hug and give her kisses. As absurd as it sounded, he felt like a jealous, territorial dog protecting its owner.

Now, looking at her naked form surrounded by bubbles in the tub, he feels the familiar pain in his chest, as if his rib cage has been squeezing his heart so tight that any moment now, blood would come out of his mouth. His heart feels like a quivering branch a bird has just left behind, shaking, but never empty. So full of love, adrenaline, and as warm as the first mould wine of the year.