h.s. ❁ one shots

// all mine

third person pov ahh
thank you guys for 40 votes!! it may not seem like a lot but it really makes me so happy! i appreciate everyone's support so much:) you are all amazing people

includes: teasing, flirting, lots of kissing, boob play, fingering, missionary, love making, squirting, etc

WARNING: STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT

• • • • •

[3rd person pov]

"Ah, fuck." Harry grumbles from his position laid amongst the messy clothes in the laundry room, bare chest and open palms flush to the cool floor as his eyes skim below the washing machine. Feverish skin contrasting heavily with the crumb ridden floor. Dirtying his freshly washed body all to not spot his desired clothing item. The one he'd been spending the last ten minutes in search for.

He pushes himself up off the floor, fisting the white towel that lays hung loosely over his hips, it nearly dropping to his feet at his fast pace. A small plush of hair is left exposed just over the top edge of the towel, trailing an upkept and trimmed line up to just below the mark of his v line. His hips jutting out, with ink stretching and squishing over them as he walks. Small droplets of lukewarm water tickle over his flushed skin, curling over his broad shoulders and running the length of his flexing back as he pushes his locks impatiently off his forehead. Miscellaneous strands of umber curls sticking to his neck and cheeks as his bare feet pat out into the hallway.

Harry ventures into the next room down the spacious hall, pushing open the door with a rugged shove to reveal the modern, white toned guest room. A perfect hiding space for his long lost Rolling Stones tee to blend discreetly in. He wastes not a mere second to saunter around the room, kicking up the edges of a furry rug to hopefully spot the long lost shirt. Tearing the duvet up and over the edge of the bed into an unruly, crumpled pile. Tossing pillows around and opening drawers, praying the shirt may have just been misplaced somewhere in there. Except no luck is since coming his way this morning.

Frustration begins to build its wall up inside him as he plucks folded blankets from the closest to check behind them. Not caring that his girlfriend will have his head when she sees the mess he's made. Just focused on locating his precious shirt, so he won't be so terribly late to lunch. Already lagging a good ten minutes behind schedule. He would only be meeting his sister, but he has a keen pet peeve for being late. Especially unannounced and inexcusable tardiness. All in all, Gemma couldn't care less, but Harry would.

"Damnit." He growls, replacing the towels in a wrinkled heap shoved into the back of the linen closet. Slamming the thin wooden barrier closed and exiting the room with a huff. Leaving a hodgepodge of creased sheets and jumbled rugs behind him. A trail of disarrayed clutter following wherever he goes.

He takes rapid steps to his last destination. In which he could've sworn the shirt didn't reside in, but he has no other option than to check. The door to his quaint bedroom is opened with a light twist of the knob, his actions thoughtful as to tend to the sleepy girlfriend laid bare and tangled up in his sheets. She is fast asleep when he slips through the doorway, attempting to keep his mind concentrated on his vanished top but struggling at the vision of Esme's bare back. Her lengthy, midnight black hair blanketing over his pillow, white comforter curving upward at the rise incline of her hips. Leaving just a sliver of her bum visible from under the sheets.

She had been awake with Harry early this morning, making pancakes for the both of them and succeeding in not burning the batter. Wearing nothing but Harry's lilac sweater as she snuggled up into him sprawled over the couch. His boxer clad body molding perfectly with her thick frame as she sat perched on his lap, Harry running a free hand through her unruly hair. Both chomping on their breakfast and watching Family Guy with sleepy eyes and a few wandering hands. Not a care in the world as they both laughed at the same dry humor, the pitter of rain drops and scent of fresh brewed coffee seeming to cuddle up with them. Both ending up participating in their regular kissing session which consisted of unbrushed teeth and sticky syrup lips, though it barely phased them. Harry tracing the pattern of her thigh tattoo, and Esme's small hands wound into his fringe as their lips molded.