Harry Styles X Reader

Take em off

"Babe, have you seen my Stones shirt?" Harry shouts, elbow deep in the suitcase sitting on the chair. He coulda sworn that it was right at the top amid all of the other crumpled prints and thousand dollar silks that he just couldn't be bothered to unpack when he got home. But after scavenging to the very last crevice or pocket, he concludes that perhaps y/n threw it in the closet. Harry moves toward the door while readjusting the frilly towel at his waist. The beads of water speckle him and run together-a few droplets clinging to the ends of his dry hair, pulled up in an ever so manly man-bun. "Y/n!" he calls again. "What?" she responds from somewhere downstairs...maybe the kitchen? "Do you know where my Stones shirt is?" "Wait, say that again?" Harry sighs and dives his head into the closet. His repeated question is muffled into the mixture of their clothes; absorbed by the material of her pretty little sundresses now put away for the winter. After another minute or two of searching, he hears y/n enter the bedroom with the soft pad of her foot. "Sorry!" she says in a huffy breath as if just running up the stairs. "Was eating chips 'n' couldn't hear you over the crunch." "Couldn't hear me over the crunch?" Harry chuckles, dislodging half of his body from the cave of clothes. "They were kettle-cooked, to be fair. Anyway, what's up?" Harry straightens up and starts to turn. "Was just asking if you'd-HEY!" he exclaims, pointing toward her. "I've been looking for that shirt!" There she was, standing in the doorway wearing his favorite t-shirt: a Rolling Stones Steel Wheels Tour colorful eye-feast. He'd damn near worn the shirt down to a thread over the years. Harry likes to think that the gaping holes acquired give it character, like a lumpy face scar and the owner's story attached to it. He'd actually taken to safety pinning the fraying pieces of a hole at his ribcage to prevent further tearing. He couldn't bring himself to throw it out. The memories he had associated with this garment are too precious and the shirt, though falling apart, is kept in his best and most prized care. And she just went about stealing it. "What? This shirt?" she plays dumb and glances down at herself while Harry follows her eyes. He had to admit, she did look damn cute in it. It was much too endearingly big, so the holes are all folded in. She pulls at the ends of the baggy shirt and quirks a cheek at him. Harry takes an involuntary step closer. "Yes, that shirt." He says with an even voice. When she lets go, it flows back on her body, and though she is drowning in the material, it gives just the hint of enticing curve. Despite this teasing image or the overall cuteness overload or the way her saucer-like eyes shine toward him...he's a heartless bastard and wants his shirt back. "Give it here." Harry demands. "No!" she says and takes a step back. "No?" he questions. Y/n hugs the shirt closer. "It's so comfy." She pouts with a slight slick to her bottom lip that Harry'd just like to suckle at. "I don't wanna." Really, this isn't anything particularly new. Y/n always stole his shirts. Just like Harry always stole her jackets...Or really anything of y/n's that Harry could fit his big clunky body into. They always shared everything, from necklaces and rings down to socks and underwear (his underwear, mind you. He'd much rather see y/n's panties on the floor than try to squeeze into them). To y/n's horror, Harry can even sometimes fit in her white jeans-of which he likes to believe he wears better than her. Meanwhile, Harry gets a bit perturbed when he has a shortage of shirts while on the road, but altogether is delighted when he retrieves them again with her smell clinging to the threads. Makes him think of her and remember her at the saddest times; makes it feel like she is there with him. Or perhaps another trinket of remembrance? Like when y/n keeps his ring in her care with a promise that he'd always come back to her to get it... They always shared things; kept things of each other as reminders. But now that Harry was here and present, he wanted his fucking shirt back. "C'mon take it off." He says, jerking his chin up. "But-but I'm only wearing this baggy shirt to keep myself warm since you stole my sweater!" "Your jumpers' right there in the suitcase." "Okay, but I'm already wearing this so-" She gives a slight shrug while nibbling on her bottom lip. Really, Harry has tons of other shirts that he can wear, but he likes to give her trouble, simply because he knows he can. "I won't shave for a week unless you take it off." "What?-No!" her eyes pop for a second. "I swear." Harry lifts a cheek. "No, Harry, please. I hate your dirty pubescent mustache." She whimpers and Harry can't help but laugh at her assessment of his "mustache" (that he has been trying to grow for 21 years now, to be fair). "Take it off, then, sweetheart." He says in between light laughs. She rolls her eyes, giving in, knowing that he'd actually do it just to piss her off. She pulls up from the bottom and over her head. Harry is disheartened to find her wearing an undershirt... albeit a very thin undershirt that he can just make out her nipples poking through in the drafty room. "Hey Miss Perky Nips." He teases. "You look like Jennifer Aniston from the first three seasons of Friends." "Fuck off." She mutters and throws the shirt at his face. "Thanks, babe." Harry's right cheek tugs up while she covers her chest. Her eyes turn to slits while he looks her up and down. "I think those sweatpants are mine too." He winks. "I said, fuck off." A small shiver runs the length of her body while she drums her fingers on her arm. The dropping temperature outside gave Harry a perfect opportunity to suggest a day of snuggling on the couch, watching movies or eating apple slices dipped in caramel... All that shit girls like to do in the fall. But with the way she continues to glower at him, Harry thinks he may've just fucked it up royally. Worth it, though, as he squeezes the shirt slung over his shoulder. "While we're talking about stealing things," she says through clenched teeth. "You keep stealing my hairbands. I'm down to my last two, one of which is in your hair right now." Harry blinks, unsuspecting. "You want me to give you your hairband back?" "Fair's fair. You made me give your shirt back, so I want my hairband... or I might just claw it out." "Them's fightin' words." Harry begins circling her. "You're being a sassy little thing today, muppet. I like it." "Well I'm freezing and someone keeps trying to stare at my tits." "True." His eyes flicker down for a second and back up. "What are you gonna do if I don't give it back though." "I won't shave for a week." She threatens. "Honestly..." Harry waves off, because really he doesn't care about pricklies in the slightest. He licks his lips waiting for her to up the ante. "Okay, I won't suck your dick for a week." There it was. Harry wears the same mask of disbelief. "C'mon...really?" "Yep," she smiles, knowing she'd won. Without hesitation, Harry pulls out the rubberband, not even caring if he ripped out a few curly hairs in the haste. After Harry hands the circle over, Y/n holds it in her hand in triumph. "Okay, then. You wanna play dirty huh?" Harry sticks his tongue in his cheek. "Take off my rings." Y/n looks down at Harry's rings on her thumb and middle finger. Silver, minimalist bands. "Peace" ironically etched into one of them. She clutches her hand to her chest. "Your rings?" she asks. "Yep." "No." "Dirty 'stache." Harry reminds her. Y/n frowns and heaves a long sigh. She wiggles them slowly off her fingers. "Also," Harry cups his hand for her to drop them in. "That's my necklace." He says. "No, it's mine." She gets defensive and shields it as if he were going to rip it off her throat. The way her eyebrows pucker just now gives Harry an overwhelming urge to drop everything and run his thumb along the line. Smooth it out or smooth it all away with a kiss. Looking at her could catch him offguard sometimes and he has to shoulder it away to keep on a normal conversation. Christ, if she knew how often that happened... "No." Harry says, loosening himself out of the daze. "No, it's mine. You've just been wearing it for so long that you thought it was yours." She eyes the blue and silver coin for a long second. Truthfully, she can't remember whose it was. They had been sharing things for so long that they didn't know what belonged to whom sometimes. Y/n chews the inside of her cheek before closing her eyes in defeat. Pulling it off, her hair falls back down and she flicks a strand away from her eye before tossing-or more throwing-the necklace at Harry. "Take it." She grumbles. "m just kidding, pet." His teeth glint wickedly. "This was yours, but I wanted to wear it." He fits it over his head and it lands at the middle of his chest. "Oldest trick in the book. Thanks, anyway." He simpers. A tick occurs in his brow, and he stands waiting for the worst to come. "Asshole." She mutters and he was lucky that she didn't rake her nails down his face. "You knew that already, though." He unapologetically shrugs. "Well, okay my turn. What do you have that's mine?" She pulls back to look at him. "I'm in a towel. I'm basically naked. There's nothing to-" "Yea, speaking of. Quit using my nice frilly towels to dry off your junk." Harry looks down at himself. The dots of water are now dried into the hair on his legs. He wiggles his toes while observing the white lacy towel-probably meant for guests- hanging low on his hips. Harry couldn't be bothered with finding his normal bath towel, so he took one of the nice ones, sure. He lifts his head with a devilish turn of his cheeks. "So what you're saying is that this is your nice frilly towel and you want it back?" he asks. "I didn't say that." She defends, already perceiving his end game and so utterly tired of his shit. "No, you want your towel back." "No, really, you can keep it, Harry." She backs away. "I don't-" "Too late." He unhooks it from around his waist and it falls to the floor. The air in the room hits his pieces and Harry always feels a relief wash through him when he is nude. He doesn't know why. Always confident in his body, he is...and y/n was no stranger, either. But still, she purposely looks away. "Jesus, Harry!" she says, more exasperated than anything else. She turns her gaze to him again, and honestly, she really couldn't hide the twitching of her cheeks. "But...what? That quick?" she laughs. "No striptease?" "D'you want me to have a go again?" Harry bends down to retrieve towel, fully intent on using it s a prop in a full-out mating call dance. "No, put it back on." It looks as if she is straining her eyes to stay up. She's never been good handling Harry's forwardness. Quite cute, he thinks, when she buries her face in her hands or squeals out. He always like to push her buttons. Or rather, Harry likes to push her buttons to get her to loosen them up. "Please, I can't quite carry on a conversation with your one-eyed monster staring me down." She pleads. "It's intimidating." "No, no! Fair's fair, like you said. Here is YOUR towel back." Harry holds it out for y/n, who steps closer to retrieve it with an eye roll. Taking the opportunity of her proximity, Harry cinches her wrist and pulls her toward him. "But now it's my turn, darling." He looks down his nose at her and bites his lip while searching; reigning her in, all wispy hair and stiff nipples and peaking skin....particularly at her hips, which is when he notices something. "Hey, those sweatpants ARE mine." He accuses and ticks his fingers toward them. "They are not!" y/n wrestles away. "Yes, they are." "Shut up. Get away from me." "Then how come they're rolled three times, huh?" he taunts. That's something that she has to do when wearing his sweatpants lest she be slipping and sliding about the house. One time, Harry swears to God, she tripped on the extra material when coming off the stairs-a story that Harry never gets tired of bringing up. Y/n lifts a chin regally. "Fine. So what if they are yours, then?" "Well, take 'em off." Harry demands. "No." "Pardon me?" He blinks before taking a step closer to her. She backs up, but never unsqueezes her jaw, eyes shining hot. "You-" she stops when her back hits the wall, flickering behind her then back up again at Harry's encroaching stature. "You, uh, you heard me." y/n falters only a little when Harry puts his arms up, hands pressed; encasing her beneath his towering height. "I thought that's what you said." Harry scoffs. He about skims his nose at the top of her head. She smells nice and citrusy, like a winter clementine she must've indulged in earlier. His mouth moves lower to brush his lips at her temple, but y/n puts a hand to his chest before he keeps getting closer, cock almost poking at her lower belly. His head tilts at her while slicking his bottom lip. "Fair's fair." He purrs. "Take 'em off, darling." He was wearing far too few clothing in comparison and he wanted to even up. However, she is a force to be reckoned with-despite his imposing mass-and it might not be that easy. One of the things he loved about her. They stare at each other square on before y/n ticks a cocky brow. "Make me." She challenges. Harry rears back a bit with hands detaching from the wall. Y/n defiantly eyes him from below; a small purse in her lips, Harry'd just like to bite. "Make you?" he asks, moving closer again, slowly lacing a finger around the sweatpants string. "Oh, but you see, my pet..." he continues to play his fingers light as a feather at her waist while she holds still, chest hardly moving at all. "I don't have to make you." He murmurs low into her ear before grinding his teeth at the lobe. Her head dips to expose a tense column, pulsing and ripe for his mouth. "Because you want me to take off your pants." He wiggles a few fingers into the elastic at the waistband. "Don't you?" "Harry..." she breathes, air finally catching up to her as she heaves to make up for it. "Don't you?" He asks, wiggling down only a teasing smidge. She grabs his wrist and looks into his eyes. "Please-" The lash-lined white begs him. "Of course." Harry complies and-guided by her hand-he plunges down deeper. He expects to find another obstacle in his way, but only connects with her wet core. "Well," he hums while burying his middle finger in between her folds and running it along the slit. "You're not wearing underwear, I see." She moans out generously while he begins to smear the moisture at her entrance. The tip of his digit is slick in seconds and he wants to catch a taste before continuing. "I know why you do that." He brings his finger up to his mouth to suck off her essence. The taste is enchanting-as always-and it blows out his pupils and almost makes him groan. "Mm, darling-I know why you wear my sweats without any underwear on." He bores down into her half-lidded eyes the entire time he sucks. She waits for him to explain, but he lavishes the taste on his tongue first. "Harr-" she's about to question, but he hastens his hand back between her legs, choking off her words. He easily finds her clit again and strokes it with rough pads. Her head falls back into the wall as she sighs. "It's because-" he circles around the little button that is rapidly engorging under his touch. "You want to drive me mental with your smell all day, is that it?" He presses his nose into her temple and feels her hot breath fan under his chin. "You want to get me all bothered so that I'll come home and fuck you, yeah?" Very true... he'll catch a whiff of y/n and an involuntary twitch will occur, and then he can't wait to get home to fuck her brains out. Or, at the worst of times-when he is lonely and on the road-he'll need to excuse himself to the bathroom and stroke one out. Hand tugging hard, up and down his cock, the smell of her pussy lingering in his thoughts as he blows a load up onto his butterfly tattoo... She does it on purpose. He knows she does it on purpose because she gets to reap the benefits (not that it bothers Harry, none). He comes home, finds y/n in one of his t-shirts like normal and then throws her on the bed to go down on her. Quite frankly, burying his face directly into the smell, to where all he breathes for the next hour is y/n and fuck...he loves it. His cheek pulls up, intoxicated by the sounds she makes and-of course-the heavy smell of y/n's sex in the air. Harry slips a finger inside of her walls. "Isn't that why you do it?" he digs into her heat, slow at first so that she can feel every last wrinkle on his finger. "Tell me." He grunts into the shell of her ear. "Fuck-" she curses and flicks her head; about all she can do to confirm Harry's words. "S'what I thought." He says and starts to speed up, the metal of his ring kissing her slick folds every time he pushes in as far as he can reach. Her eyes are pinched shut to the point of pain, and she clutches onto his hand while she starts to shake. He knows it wouldn't take much more. Harry pulls out his finger and gets down on his knees. "C'mere" he says, and she nods frantically, almost begging Harry for his mouth on her clit, to finish her in wild fashion; hands tugging on his hair and legs clamping harshly around his head. She was ready. On his knees, Harry hooks into the elastic of the sweatpants and pulls down so that she may step out of them. Y/n throws her head back waiting for his tongue; she feels his breath, hot on her exposed thighs. However... "Well," is all that's spoken a few moments later. Y/n hears Harry standing up before she actually sees it. Her eyes open to find him level with her. "Now that I got my sweatpants back..." Her glazed eyes blink up at him while Harry smirks. "Thanks." He kisses her on the cheek and throws the sweatpants over his shoulder with a chuckle. Her once heavy-lidded eyes now turn to slits looking at him. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" Harry chides with a tongue in his cheek. He always liked the way her eyes still looked pretty, even when they are throwing daggers at him. "You-" she huffs. "You fucking prick!" she shoves at his shoulder with tiny bunny paws that she calls her "hands." "Hey, now that's not very nice." He laughs while blocking her swatting blows. "Fuck you." "Hey!" he catches her flying hands and pushes her up against the wall. She tries to break his grip, but he easily holds both of her wrists in one hand above her head. "You're a feisty little thing today." Harry laughs. "And you're an asshole like everyday." She says while trying to catch her breath. "Let go of me." She squirms, but he only presses his body harder into her. "No. You're being mean." "Talk about being mean." She says and lowers her eyes at him. "Now, you see, I was about to throw you on the bed over there and go down on you until you came so hard, you pass out from exhaustion while I go to bed, happy as a clam." He chirps, adjusting his fingers around her wrists for a firmer hold. "But now-" he reaches down with his free hand and grips his neglected cock. "-I think I will just fuck you against this wall." She stops moving and looks down at the hand that begins to stroke his cock. The tip-that appears and disappears with each movement-is already moist with precome. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and can't help but stare. "You like that?" Harry murmurs through puffy lips. "You like watching me?" Y/n nods, innocent eyes flicking up to his. She tries to loosen his grip in order to sink down and suck him off or in the very least touch him with twitching, eager hands. She wiggles, but he only tightens harder. "No." Harry shakes his head unwittingly hard, because the tinglies are starting to climb up his spine and dull his control. "Not yet." He grunts, tugging on his cock, now fully stiff with thick veins twisting 'round. y/n leans forward to kiss him, but Harry pulls away from that, as well. "Did I say you could do that?" She pouts and he fights to do a signature smirk, but it soon turns to a rigid smile as he clenches his teeth in a tingling wave. It feels so damn good to have her right here with him, standing naked only a few inches away, but not to touch. Her eyes pleading with him, saying things she is too proud to say out loud. His stickiness dabs at her thigh, which she has subconsciously moved closer so that she may touch him in any way she can. Her breath pants onto his chest, as he squeezes and flicks his hand at the head, a groan escaping not just his lips, but hers. "Please, Harry." She says, finally swallowing her pride and hastening her wrists. Harry slows his hand. "Oh, you want me to fuck you now?" he asks with a sweaty brow. "Yes," she says, but grits her teeth in annoyance. At that, he moves to line up with her slit. "Without the attitude please." He says and puts his tip on her clit, applying teasing pressure. She heaves at the stimulation-so close, but not what she was needing. He starts to to rub his tip hard and slow on the bundle of nerves, till her head is thrashing and arms try to violently tug out of his hold. "Please, Harry!" she all but shouts. "Will you be nice?" he asks. "Yes, just fuck me, you asshole." "Okay, I'll let that insult slide, I guess." He rolls his eye, before fastening his head into her entrance. Knowing that y/n wasn't keen on Harry's playful preamble, he wastes no time in pushing himself all the way. She cries out as her legs wobble, fists balling up above her head. Harry hitches a leg up around his waist so that he can reach deeper. He pulls out and drives back in again before setting a rhythm, rolling his hips up into her. "Fuck, you're so tight." He groans at the feeling of her warmth enveloping his length. His lower body swivels, and she is practically dripping around him. He buries his face into her neck and, there, he can smell her again. A different kind of smell, this is...raw and sweaty but always aromatic-perfectly and beautifully her. Harry sucks a purple splotch into the skin. She left her mark on his belongings so he might as well leave a mark on her. "Shit." She mashes her teeth at the slight sting of it, but Harry doesn't give a fuck. She is pulsing around him and he knows she is close, but for whatever reason, he doesn't want her to come just yet. Instead, he keeps the same pace of slow, hard grinding. In fact, he measures each thrust: hard, but not too fast... almost like he is blowing up a balloon and one thrust too many could cause her to "pop" ...no, he wanted her to feel every bit of it. He keeps hard eye contact with her the entire fucking time. "Please," she finally mewls after an antagonizing few minutes. Her mouth is open and her chest is slick with sweat. The hands that are still in his grip above her head, are weak and not fighting anymore. She looks totally tortured and Harry is quite satisfied. "I'll let go now." He says and loosens his hold on her wrists. Her arms bear down onto his shoulders and she flexes her fingers. Despite it all, she grabs the side of his face to pull in for a firm kiss, all salty lips and a bit of tooth. He is caught off-guard and has to break it off to swallow around a lump in his throat that she causes daily. "Alright," he says and heaves her off the ground, wrapping both of her legs around his waist. "Now be nice and I'll let you come." She nods enthusiastically as he presses her back to the wall and starts rocking. With the new position, he reaches hardly-touched places that make her moan out. And Harry is right there with her in abandon; he feels the tightness in his lower belly about to explode. "Fuck-fuck," he says through gritted teeth, putting a forehead to her chest and picking up the pace. His fingers dig into her backside while her core is so tight and fluttering even tighter as she climbs to her orgasm. He puts a hand to the wall and uses it as purchase to rut harder and deeper. She rakes her nails down his back and clamps her legs harshly around his waist, pushing him to go even deeper. "Fuck, you are squeezing the shit out of my cock." He pinches his eyes, and if she keeps doing that, he might be coming faster than she does and that would be embarrassing. Still propelling his cock in and out of her the best he can-trying his best to think of something else before he focuses too long on the incredible tingling in his balls- he brings his hand up to rub circles into her clit. He looks down to where they are connected and is about driven over the edge at seeing his lower belly hair all wet and sticky with her juices. His attention is brought back to her: first with the high-pitched sound she makes in his ear, and then... he feels it. Lord, does he feel it... She comes hard around his cock. Perhaps harder than she has ever come before, even with him. Her hips spasm, looking for further relief, while the pulsing of her walls quite literally massage every bit of him and he couldn't possibly hold it back if he tried. And he's coming too. His balls constrict as he twitches into the space. Warm and heavy, pooling inside her, a winded groan is drawn out through a tense jaw. It was a long few moments of the both of them emptying out the last of their fluids, positively mixing together in the tucked away bits and heat. He puts his forehead to hers and tries to catch his breath. She swallows him up in another kiss. They enjoy those few seconds of post-high bliss. However, he extracts himself before it becomes too uncomfortable, and his cock drips out. She stands there, jelly-limbed and looks to him to keep her balance. Harry holds out a hand to her. "Come on, then." He smiles. "Let's get you cleaned up." She takes it, but stops for a second. "Wait, can I have your rings back, now?" "Of course, muppet." He says, sliding them off in a jiff. "Oh, and give me back the necklace, you fuckin asshole."