*this is a 70s!rockstar!Harry Styles au fanfic... i mean... he just radiates 70s!rockstar*
The 70s. A time of free love and music. And that's exactly what reader gets into when meeting the newly famous rockstar Harry Styles: love and music.
Along w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Summary: A reuniting (blissful) night spent with reader leads to a reckless performance by Harry.
Note: grammar and spelling errors. more angst... and more of harry's pov (: harry really is a sad puppy in this chapter poor baby—
Don't be shy to leave a vote, comment, private message, any type of interaction about what you thought! I love responding to asks and interacting with my readers. Feedback, theories, questions, and comments are always great to read! I enjoy hearing from you guys, I appreciate it! It's a motivator!!! And fanart is always welcome (:
Warning: language, smut
Words: 4.3k+
***November 5, 1976***
To say you missed being touched by Harry was an understatement.
Not the little finger touches. The soft skimming.
No.
You missed the nights tangled in bed. Completely bare. Clinging onto one another so tightly there would be prints the next morning on your skin. Kisses so long, you had to gasp for air. Skin soaked in sweat. The repeated tickles of Harry's stubbly chin tickling your inner thighs.
England gave that back to you.
Soft pants and loud whines escaped your swollen lips as your fingernails dug into the white sheets of Harry's bed, your palms soaked into a clammy sweat. Your knees bending up and down, heels digging into the bed. The arch of your back.
Your entire body reacting to the intimate touch of Harry between your legs. His long locks of hair decorating his shoulders. His lips hidden between your legs, his tongue ravishing the taste of your bud, his forehead dipping deeper into your stomach.
On his knees, at your mercy.
Thankful to be with you like this once more, because he truly thought the day you left him was the last day he'd see you.
But there he was. His thick middle and ring finger pumping in and out of you with ease, as deep as he could. As soaked as he could get you. As loud as he could get you. To say his name.
Because to say his name, meant you acknowledged him. Saw him. Despite what he had done to you.
"Harry," you softly panted, your fingers molding into his hair to bring him in closer.
Harry slowly pulled out his two fingers from your heat, instead placing them onto your inner thigh as he kissed your skin all over. Running his bottom lip against it.
"H," you softly whispered, your palm caressing his jawline. His jaw clenched at your touch, his eyes connecting to your eyes.
Harry moved his body to hover above you, his lips pampering your neck as he shoved his hand between your legs to part them once more. Swiftly inserting the same two fingers into your heat, continuing the slow, aching pumps.
