#alienrry: 🎶 I just flipped a switch 🎶
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What does alien an Harry think of Valentine’s Day?
He spends a whole day researching Valentine’s Day and when Y/N gets home, she’s fiddling with the keys to open the door when it suddenly unlocks and swings open on its own. Harry’s standing there, a bouquet of flowers tagged with a handwritten note in one hand, a huge tray of her favorite chocolates in the other, holding the gifts out like trophies as he smiles at her excitedly, though she can see nerves flicker across his face for a split second.
“Happy Day of Saint Valentine!”
She presses her lips together to suppress laughter, correcting him gently as she steps inside their apartment and shuts the door behind her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Right. Sorry.” His gaze darts between the presents he’d gotten her, suddenly more self-conscious than before. His words come out more rushed than he wants them to, spewing clumsily as his wits fail him for some reason, as if she’s not already his girlfriend. “Will you be my valentine? I got you some candy and the flowers with a letter. I mean, the note says what I just said outloud anyways, but that’s the human tradition, right? The letter? With the plants and the food? That’s what everyone was doing at the store, so I figured it was a safe option. The lady said roses were the most popular choice for— why are you laughing?”
Y/N can’t stop herself from bursting into giggles this time around— not in a mocking way, just a soft sound of endeared amusement. He’s now looking at the items in his grasp like grenades instead of trophies, extending them out from his body as far as possible in her direction, as if he’s scared she’ll reject them and they’ll explode in his face.
“Yes, that’s the tradition.” She accepts the flowers and Ferrero Rochers gratefully, admiring the cursive handwriting on the card that he’d clearly practiced just for this moment. She smiles up at him warmly, eyes brimming with fondness. “And absolutely, I’d love to be your valentine. This is so sweet of you, H. Thank you.”
Harry’s shoulders slump in obvious relief, one of his arms falling back to his side as he scratches the nape of his neck with the hand on the other. He’s still radiating anxious energy, as if waiting for her to tell him he did something wrong.
Y/N ducks her head and takes a whiff of the roses, humming appreciatively at the pleasant scent. She arches one of her eyebrows at him, her tone playfully accusatory. “I’m guessing you spent the whole day researching this, didn’t you?”
Harry’s ears turn as red as the bouquet in her hands. “No.”
Her eyebrow inches up further. “No?”
He sighs in surrender. “Maybe.”
“You’re adorable.”
His sculpted cheekbones blossom with color, matching his ears. “I just didn’t want to make a mistake and ruin it.”
Y/N leans forward onto the tips of her toes and plants a delicate kiss onto his twitching lips. “It’s perfect, baby. Best Valentine’s Day gift ever.”
Harry finally feels the churning in his stomach subside, her reassuring gesture funneling all the angst right out of his system. Adapting to human customs hasn’t exactly been a smooth transition for him— each time a new holiday comes up, his curiosity leads him into digging up every aspect of it, which could take him hours of concentration and memorization. It feels like learning to walk all over again.
It’s all so new and so foreign, it makes him question how much he actually knows about the universe. He can spew endless facts about countless stars, galaxies, and planets in the sky, he can build and operate technology beyond human comprehension, and he can speak a dozen interstellar languages from civilizations most people can’t fathom exist. The potential that he could have misunderstood a simple practice dedicated to celebrating love, which he knows from experience is a universal concept…
He’d never live down the embarrassment. He’s just happy he managed to get this one right without her assistance.
Y/N’s fingers sift between his own, squeezing his hand affectionately as she situates her gifts into the nook of her free arm. She tugs him away from the door, slowly backing towards the living room as she grins at him knowingly. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned?”
Harry’s legs move of their own accord, obeying her silent order. He follows her almost numbly, his body buzzing under her attention. He racks his brain for all the information he’d forced himself to absorb just for her, reciting it like a lecture.
“Valentine’s Day celebrates Saint Valentine, who was martyred by the Roman Empire.” He frowns as an afterthought. “Sad story.”
“Mm.” Y/N agrees, carefully sets her belongings down on the coffee table, pulling him towards the couch. “Go on.”
“Christian soldiers were forbidden from marrying as persecution on behalf of the emperor. Despite it being dangerous and illegal, Valentine ministered weddings for them in secret; he believed love was a right no one should be denied.”
Y/N allows herself to fall back onto the sofa, the action yanking Harry forward as a result. She parts her knees and he stumbles to a halt between them, towering over her with his own knees pressed against the edge of the cushions.
His girlfriend gazes up at him below thick lashes, her expression casual and innocent, but he’s familiar with her antics well enough to know her intentions are anything but.
She blinks up at him patiently, her palms gradually working their way up and down the front of his thighs, massaging them temptingly. “Anything else?”
Harry ogles down at her, his face hot and stomach jittery. He may struggle with reading human behavior, but they’ve been in this position so many times to the point where he can sense her objective clear as day.
“Um…” His tongue feels like lead in his mouth. “He…He was arrested for his crimes and eventually executed. During his time in prison, he fell in love with a woman who used to visit him in confinement— the jailor’s daughter, I think.”
“And?” Y/N’s lithe fingers begin toying with the knot in Harry’s sweatpants, undoing the little bow daintily just to tease him. “What happened between them?”
Harry swallows thickly, his own fingers fidgeting under her sultry influence. “Right before he was executed, he wrote her a love letter. He signed it off with, “From your Valentine.” It’s where the whole tradition of writing valentines originated. Once a year, humans honor his sacrifice by celebrating with the people they love.”
“You got everything.” She notes, easing the waistband of his joggers down a bite to expose the coarse trail of hair along his lower abdomen. She leans forward and presses a wet, lingering kiss along the tinted skin, smiling against it when she hears his breathing hitch. “Smart boy.”
“I try.” He croaks sarcastically, chewing along the inside of his cheek as he clenches his firsts, warding off the impulse to bury his fingers into her hair.
“I have a gift for you, too.” Y/N murmurs, dispensing more sloppy pecks across his clenching tummy, her pillowy lips leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. “Been waiting to give it to you all day.”
Harry can’t help the way his head lulls backward in bliss, hanging from his strong, taut shoulders as his inhales grow ragged and shallow. His eyes flutter shut as he swims in the feathery sensation of her touch, his mouth parting in a silent groan as her caresses descend even lower.
“I thought we could go out to dinner. Do something nice, y’know?” Y/N studies the heavy bulge forming through his boxers, her eyes glinting with hunger. “But I didn’t expect to see you waiting for me with those flowers, all giddy and nervous…I think we can postpone dinner for a bit, just so I can show you how well you did— so I can thank you. Properly.”
A low, gurgled moan filters from Harry’s parched throat, and the way his nails are digging into his palms in barely contained desperation only amps Y/N’s need to pleasure him.
“Is that okay with you?” She asks with feigned sincerity, as if he’d deny it. She proceeds to mouth along the outline tenting his briefs, reveling in how it jolts under her tongue. “Or do you want to wait until after dinner?”
A sharp, damp gasp rips from Harry’s heaving chest, and he can’t contain himself any longer. His hands grab at Y/N without permission, his long fingers raking into the roots of her hair and holding her in a steely grasp, eliminating any possibility of her drawing back.
His hips buck forward in distress, his body craving the feel of her silky tongue and filthy mouth. He needs to feel the way she laps at him, with shameless determination and experienced skill— the way she uses her lips to dismantle him entirely, gripping the back of his thighs to keep him in place as her head bobs feverishly, eyes watery as the edges of her mouth curl into a dirty grin around his cock. Needs to feel the way she digs her nails into his plush skin as she sucks and licks at the tip tauntingly, tracing sopping kisses down the veins that protrude along his length. Needs to hear her words of encouragement as she edges him towards release, goading him into making a mess— begging him to fill her mouth and get it all over her face.
All of Harry’s thoughts collapse together to form a single statement, which he utters in a gravelly voice through gritted teeth: “Fuck me.”
Y/N’s gaze sparkles with mischief, her fingers hooking along the hem of his underwear but not pulling down quite yet. She wants to make him work for it. “What was that?”
The garbled whine that escapes her boyfriend is full of so much bottled strife, it sends warmth flooding between her parted thighs.
“Fuck me.” He pleads, his accent deep and tattered, his grip on her locks tightening until stars dance across her vision. His head swings forward in order to lock eyes with her, his thick brows furrowed in deprived torment.
Under his white NASA t-shirt (which she’d gotten him as a joke when he first arrived), the alien hieroglyphic tattoos etched across the expanse of his chest begin to glow faintly. “Please?”
Y/N can feel her mouth begin to water in anticipation, and she’s nodding her head fervently in agreement before she can get a single syllable out. “Whatever you want, H. You—”
Her voice is suddenly cut off by Harry’s palm wrapping around her throat, his strength besting her due to her startled state. The dynamic of their encounter completely shifts as he tilts her face back harshly, holding her steady as he glowers down at her with a newfound darkness in the jade of his irises, the surrounding white glowing vaguely like the scripture on his body.
From the moment they started dating, it’s no secret that Harry usually favors being more submissive to her; he prefers to let Y/N take the reins most nights, based solely off the fact that she knows more about sex than he does. That preference also coincides with his nature— he’s reserved, quiet, and tends to fluster easily. It makes sense that he prefers letting someone else show him the ropes.
But Y/N is aware that his compliance is exactly that— a mere preference, and preferences can change over time. He can be dominating when he wants to, and though it took a while for Harry to be comfortable enough to reveal that side of himself, it most definitely exists.
Over the months they’ve been together, Y/N has taught him practically everything she knows, and over the last few weeks, Harry’s been taking authority of their sex life more and more frequently. She’s always more than happy to let him have it; it creates a sort of balance between them she didn’t know was missing. Having control over him is fun, of course, but giving up control to him is even more exhilarating, considering it’s newer territory.
She loves it, to say the least, especially when it’s sudden and unexpected. Such as now.
Y/N struggles to keep her composure in her boyfriend’s unyielding grasp, but she can’t deny the frothing at the pit of her stomach. Seeing him seize ownership like that— seeing him live up to his broad frame, chiseled features, and low register— satisfies her beyond anything else.
Her fingers crumple the fabric under her hands, balling into fists to hide the way she’s trembling with desire.
Harry ducks down, brushing his warm lips across her heated cheeks, the pad of his index finger admiring the outline of her Cupid’s bow. When he speaks, it weighs in low and dense, the way a humid fog would prickle her skin.
“You want to thank me, is that it?”
Y/N nods to the best of her ability, worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth the same way he had earlier.
“I’ll show you how.” He rumbles, tapping the crescent atop her mouth lightly for significance. “Tongue out.”
She obeys without hesitation, ungluing her chapped lips and sticking her tongue out as far as it will go. Her whole face stings at the prospect of what’s going to happen next.
Sure enough, Harry moves his vice grip from her jugular to her jaw, keeping her in place as he spits into her mouth roughly. She winces at the merciless action, but there’s a certain electricity behind her eyes that shows she’s thoroughly relishing it.
“That should help some, hm? It’ll give some slip, make things go smoother.” He coos mockingly, a nasty smirk shadowing his features. “Are you going to thank me for that, as well?”
Though he phrases it as a question, Y/N can read between the lines— in truth, it’s a command.
Her voice is a frayed whisper. “Yes.”
Harry’s brows quirk into an expectant expression. “Go on, then. Thank me.”
Her lashes shudder as she collects her bearings. “Thank you.”
Harry squeezes her face in entertained acceptance, dusting a soft kiss to her sweaty forehead, the action drastically contradicting his others. “Such a good girl.”
The whimper that claws out of her is borderline pitiful. If her ears hadn’t revealed that to her, the cruel simper on her boyfriend’s face surely would have.
“Now how about you show me what that pretty mouth can do, and then maybe after dinner, I’ll return the favor.”
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