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balanceright · 4 years

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PINKY PROMISE

“Darlin I’m comin in” being Van, you knew he was extremely persistent; especially when he sensed you were hiding something, so arguing seemed to be useless. However, you still did, even if it meant a fight.

Currently standing in his baggy ‘The Strokes’ t’shirt, and a pair of underwear, you were having a midlife crisis in the centre of your bedroom. A period, with no tampons, pads or even toilet roll; if desperate. While trying to keep Van from entering your tip of a bedroom. “Van just leave it yeh, I’m fine honestly!”

“You got something on yeh?” don’t know why you’re so angsty I’m just checkin on ya love...worried tha’s all!” Pushing the door open, he stood and looked at your wide eyes and gaping mouth, then to your surroundings. Underwear and sock draw tipped onto the floor, and jeans in a pile by your wilting peace lily, with your flashing fairy lights going; still needing that battery changing. Locking his eyes to your’s with a raised eyebrow, all you could summon was a lip bite and a cough. You were fucked.

It’s not that you were embarrassed about periods, or that you didn’t want Van to know. On the contrary, you’d spoken about it before, even going as far as giving the rest of the lads a little ‘introduction’ to tampons; water in a glass and watching their horrified faces as the “missile”, in which Bondy had called it, expanded and sucked the “blood” up.

You just didn’t want Van faffing around, and doing what he usually did; telling the band about his little adventures you’d made him go on. Like buying you Canesten when you had mild thrush.

He didn’t realise this until the women, had asked if he may need it, and if so, to seek other more “useful” medical advice, due to it being used for “female problems”. Or the cringe worthy memory, in which he had to pick up your birth control due to work colliding with the pick up time. He spent the next two hours speaking to the young girl at the desk how he’d already bought his kid a “nice coat” and his first experience of a pregnancy scare. In his words she looked absolutely “mort’ified darlin” when you asked how it went. You quickly left that clinic and went to the one forty minutes away. So standing in the middle of your bedroom was not the most ideal or “natural” position to be in.

“What yer doin?..looks like a bomb went off in er’ love!” a worried frown had taken over his features, as he stepped over mountains of shit “lost somethin have ya?”

Taking your hands in his, and staring at your eyes that were frantically looking around everywhere but his, a sigh left his lips. You did NOT want him going to the supermarket to get you more supplies. Another one of your misfortunes becoming a tale to be told in an interview, or to add to his collection when drinking with his mates.

It wasn’t done with any vindication, he did it more out of naive pride. Happy that you’d let him into your personal bubble and that you felt comfortable enough to tell him. Setting him up “for my Lyla” as he told everyone he met; including the girl at the reception. She was the daughter that was yet to be born. It also allowed him to secretly believe you were little more than friends. Surely only a girlfriend would let him wander around asking which aisle the “special cream” was on?

“Yeh...I-I’m just having a tidy up, that’s, that’s all no need to worry see!” Forming a small smile on your chapped lips, and trying to not bend over from the period cramps, he still didn’t look at all like he believed you, if anything it made his usual laid back demeanour, become tense and eyebrows furrowing; unsure whether to keep questioning or to leave you to “clean.” Instead, he decided to settle on “Alright le’s get goin then”

Stuck, and in no position to argue, he let go of your sweaty hands, and bended down, to pick up a bra that had twirled its way around his ankle, when scaling his way through the bomb-site.

You hated that he was “the good guy” in any given situation. Always turning to passive ways in which to help those around him, rather than getting het up over people that seemingly just wanted to argue or create a scene; always “dead peaceful”, as he liked to say to Larry on the rare occasion they bashed heads. Normally about mundane things, such as what to order for a takeaway or who fairly won a game of FIFA.

Turning away from him, you also proceeded to take a pile of what looked like a swimming costume, and a Star Wars hat Benji had bought for you when they went to Disney, Florida during a break in their American tour. Van had already placed your upside-down draw back into its place within your dresser, and had “neatly” folded your socks into a line formation; yet to work out how to do that “foldy, inside out thingy” you did when doing the washing.

In pain, and at this point wanting to have a little sniffle, you sat down in the same spot you’d been in ten minutes earlier. You weren’t crying because of Van, more to the fact that you were overwhelmed by the mess, and the throbbing pain in your legs and pelvis. The endometriosis flaring up as it always did.

It was uncommon for you to cry during a period, usually getting on with it. But with the inability to express your feelings about the predicament you were in, with currently wearing the last tampon you’d found at the back of your “miscellaneous crap” drawer, and from the sheer anxiety that this story could soon, make it into Van’s adventure book. You could do nothing but pray he didn’t notice your inactivity, while being surrounded by loose DS games such as ‘Cooking Mama’, you’d tossed, three years ago.

However, of course he did. Looking around for a matching set of black underwear, he knew you had, as it made your “little black number” in your wardrobe more “streamline” or sumin’. He noted your slumped figure, fingering the DS games, making no effort to place it into the drawer you normally refused to let him look inside.

Creeping over on all fours being mindful of your “precious” rubbish, leaning over your left shoulder, he tucked the piece of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, and waited for a response. Gaining again nothing but silence.

A ghosted “Hi” was all that left his lips, which were now perching on the top of your ear, bottom lip drifting over the lobe . Understanding that his patience, would give you time, to give him an answer that was honest, and truthful.

His plan to “help” wasn’t really his plan at all. He knew that with time you’d finally crack, and tell him what it was that was bothering you; he wasn’t as childish or as silly people made him out to be. Rather taking pride in his ability to look out for those he cared about. Even if it did mean taking time out to pick up things he didn’t have a clue about, like birth control tablets.

Gently placing his arms around your frame, and resting his head on the crown of your own, he allowed silence to envelope you both. Rubbing his fingertips around in circles along your side. Still waiting for any sign of communication. Eventually he got it. A murmur of warble from your lips, that were now trapped by his shirt due to your head having made it’s way into the crevice of his armpit, and lips just touching his chest.

Craning his head closer to your face, he searched for the answer in your eyes that hadn’t met with his at all, since his little trip into your abominable bedroom. He noticed all day your silence. The banter you usually had going from 100 to 0 the moment you woke up this morning. Not even lowering your cereal to the second shelf so you could reach, had made you crack a grin, and then commenting as always, that Van even made the sun look up AT him rather than it being your 5’4 stature, which enabled your grabby hands to get to the cereal.

Lifting your head from his shoulder and dead locking him in the eyes, you summoned the courage to tell him. You couldn’t stand the soft eyes that looked down at yours. Eyelids gently closing over half his pupils and gentle green corneas; eyelashes almost touching his cheeks as he sat still, scared that with one jog of an arm, you were going to have a complete breakdown. In which singing, “The Wombles” theme tune was not going to even come close in mending whatever was going on inside that brain of yours.

“Don’t laugh k?”

“Never babe...wouldn’t dream of it”

“You can’t tell the boys..or ANY of your “friends” otherwise one eyebrow will be shaved!”

“Darl!”

“I’ve run out of y’know....” Embarrassment all of a sudden sweeping across your cheeks. The feeling of vulnerability clearly taking all its form in your words. Normally, you could splutter it out, without thinking of one’s reaction. Especially to your friend of 6 years. There of course being that 5 year age gap between you both. But all of a sudden, you became aware of everything you were saying. Even down to your next words and whispering tone, as if someone was going to pounce on you both from the open door way.

Again cocking his brow, he repeated your words, almost confused to what you were asking of him, eyes looking up to ask the almighty what was going on. A language he didn’t understand. “You’ve run out of.... Paracetamol?, Tiktaks?, those chocolate things you like..dairy, dai-” “Milk chocolate stars you mean and no Van, I mean TAMPONS!”

“Of course she meant tampons you idiot” was the immediate thought that entered his mind. The red mist that swamped his last remaining brain cells, also fell across his cheeks. It all made sense now. The disorganisation, and the erratic emotions, as well as the stealing of shirts; something that became only more common and sometimes an issue when your “men-ahowdoyousayitbabe-station” started.

However, he felt hurt. Only a little bit, but hurt none the less. Hurt that you didn’t tell him because, that’s what friends normally did; that’s what you’d always done. It was just the code between you two; no secrets.

Still locking eye’s, and noticing the slight blush, you tried to push him away. Almost embarrassed. It wasn’t even a big deal, but his eyes read confusion none the less. Unclamping his hands from your shoulder, you tried to get on your wobbly feet. Standing up, he followed, underwear still in hand and a bow tie he’d found from a fancy dress costume, tightly wrapped around his neck; he still was that fourteen year old; regardless of his 6’1 “manly” stature.

“Come on the darl le’s get goin before Aldi closes then yeh, help tidy up when we get back?” Before you even had time to argue he’d grabbed your wrist and led you through his already made path to your door.

Exactly opposite to yours was his door and as always it was open, just in case “something happened”. I.e wanting to anonymously check up on you when he was back home. Even sometimes having the privilege to soak in your dancing to ‘Toxic’by Britney Spears, when your door crept open due to the wind also wanting to have a peep. In his eyes everything you did was art; even if your hairbrush, used as your current microphone, did sometimes get tangled in your bed hair.

“Promise me, that this won’t go anywhere though... do ya promise!?

“Pinky promise darl” Wrapping his finger, and heartbeat right around your own.

✨ L .B ✨

P.s Sorry this is some shocking content

#catfishandthebottlemen #VanMcCann #fanfic #CATB

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 7 years

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Maybe 29 or 30!!

anon: 29!!

i took these two requests and merged them together! hope you both enjoy :-) 💝

29. “Come over here and make me.”

30. “You better watch yourself.”

Games with Harry are fun, Y/N will admit.

He’s ace at Scrabble, a great opponent at Monopoly and surprisingly incredible at Twister, considering he’s such a clumsy dolt (she credits his success to his lanky limbs).

But there is one game in particular that is Y/N’s favorite to play with Harry because she knows she always has a fighting chance of winning: their sex withdrawal game.

She doesn’t know if it’s necessarily a game– a bet is more like it. The rules are fairly simple: No sex for an agreed amount of time and the person that caves first has to do all of the dishes for a week. Kissing and canoodling is allowed, but they can’t touch each other anywhere between the legs. Breaking that guideline accounts for immediate forfeit. Plain and simple.

It’s Harry’s favorite game as well and ever since he got off on a small break from promo, a couple of weeks before the movie comes out, he’s been itching to get home to start a round of it with Y/N. With everything that has been happening in the past couple of months, they hadn’t done it in a while and he thinks it’s about time they go head-to-head once again (pun intended).

This time around, though, it was going to be more difficult to win because they’ve been apart for three weeks, so the sexual tension is stronger than ever. But Harry will be damned if he loses. He’s held a winning streak the last three games and he refuses to let it fall now.

And so he takes advantage of everything he’s got, picking a particularly boring, uneventful evening of just cuddling and watching Netflix to strike with every temptation he can think off.

Harry trots down the stairs of their condo, fresh out of the shower with the lulling scent of chamomile shampoo trailing behind him as his Blue de Chanel cologne stains his tanned skin (all of those days of filming outside and in the water had really paid off). He has decided to wear a matching set of Hawaiian pajamas that Jeff had gifted him in Jamaica (a nice cotton pairing of a button up shirt and loose shorts with giant hibiscus flowers printed onto a red background), leaving the flowy shirt unbuttoned to expose his sun-kissed chest. His hair is still damp, dry at the roots but flopping wetly as his body jolts with his movements, matting to his neck and aiding in accentuating his jawline. He normally isn’t such a show off, but Y/N is a tough competitor and all is fair in love and sex war. Harry’s also munching on a piece of gum, knowing well and good how his flamboyant way of chewing pushes all of her buttons into overdrive.

When he wanders into the living room, Y/N is distracted by Kevin Hart’s newest comedy film playing on the large flatscreen. She’s snuggled into the corner formed by the couch’s arm, her knees tucked up to her chest as her rainbow polka-dot pj bottoms drape over legs and feet, an oversized Avenger’s t-shirt hanging loosely around her torso and bunching up around her hips. Harry smiles softly, allowing himself a moment to fond over her, and then he’s sliding up against her on the couch, kissing at her shoulder with a gentle, “Mind if I join?”

Y/N nods her head distractedly, letting him scootch up beside her and scoop her into his lap. He sponges fluttery pecks to the back of her neck, running his long fingers through her loose hair and a small, knowing smirk twitches the corners of his lips as she settles onto his widely-parted thighs, snuggling her head against the dip of his collarbone with her hands resting in her own lap. Only a few more seconds…

She suddenly jerks up, her head whipping around as she practically dives off of him, crawling frantically towards the opposite end of the couch. Her expression holds angry disgust and utter shock. “You’re not wearing any underwear?!”

Harry gives her a lopsided grin, chewing his gum excessively hard in order to flex his jaw and neck and pushing his damp hair back from his eyes, giving a nonchalant sniff. “No, ’m not. Wasn’t really feeling it today. Thought the boys could use a little fresh air.”

Y/N stares at him disgruntled, blinking back a seething smolder and trying her hardest to ignore the way his jaw is going taut. Or how his shirt is hanging open off his broad shoulders, revealing his tatted chest and tan torso. Or how the bottoms of his pajamas are hanging dangerously low on his defined hips– low enough that she can see the faint hairs of his happy trail thickening into the rough scruff of his pubic hair. Or how his hair hugs the sides of his neck and looks soft and fluffy up top– hair that carries a soft, therapeutic scent that contrasts with the sharp tinge of his musky cologne, strong notes of cedar, amber wood and citrus stinging her nose. Or, most importantly, the stance he’s taken on, with his legs spread open suggestively to establish a quiet yet powerful aura of dominance, one arm slung lazily over the back of the sofa as the other is propped up against the seat arm, temple pressed to his fist to cradle his head as he pins her with a predatory gaze, a cocky grin winking one of his dimples into existence.

Harry gives her a slow, sensual once-over, the intense stare making her feel as if his hands are coasting up her body, touching every crevice and undressing her leisurely. He pops his gum, humming thickly with agreement when his eyes flit over her chest. “No bra?”

Y/N quickly crosses her arms across her front and glowers, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. The game’s in full swing now and she won’t let her guard down for a millisecond.

He lets out a childish whine, pouting his unusually red lips and giving her his famous puppy dog eyes. “You’re blocking my view, pet. S'not very nice.”

“Leave me alone.” She snaps, bringing her legs back up to her chest like before and wrapping her arms tightly just below the knees. Her gaze looks past him, focusing back on the guy across the television screen as he pretends to run for his life.

“Aw, c'mon, now. Don’t get like that, love! There’s nothing in the rule book that says I can’t have a little fun.” Harry lulls his head to the side, puckering his lips playfully and reaching out towards her to take her hand, but she quickly snatches it away. The look on her face is so venomous, a cobra would quake in fear.

He slumps his shoulders, sighing grandly and taking his gesture back. “Suit yourself. I’ll find another use for my hand, then.”

And before Y/N can protest, he’s plunging his fist into his pants, wrapping his fingers around his thick base and making an obvious tent in the Hawaiian print. “’M kinda itchy. Just shaved.”

“Harry, stop.” It’s the first rise he’s gotten out of her and his cheeks jolt with the ghost of a triumphant chuckle. The way the determined rage in her irises melts away into sheer panic truly tickles him pink.

Harry looks up at the ceiling, pretending to be giving the suggestion some thought, but then scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. “I think not. But, by all means, you can replace my hand with yours if you’d like.”

“Shut up.”

One of his eyebrows quirks up in surprise, his tongue peeking out to further darken his stupidly juicy, flushed lips. “You better watch yourself. Remember what happened last time you snapped like tha’? Hands and knees for two hours straight, along with some pretty wicked ring marks on that perky little ass of yours.”

Y/N releases a squeaky whimper, her neck dropping forward until her forehead knocks against her knees. Some insane part of her hopes that if she hides away into herself, the temptation will fade away. But Harry being Harry, he won’t let her slip away that easily. Especially not when he’s this close to victory.

“I know y'want to.” His voice is low and raspy, with an edge of smugness. “Know you want me in that tight little cunt, yeah? Did y'think I haven’t heard you getting yourself off in the bathroom after I’m supposedly asleep? You’re not exactly quiet, darling.”

Y/N lifts her head, tilting it back to get a full view of him, ears glowing raspberry red. He’s splayed across the sofa with his legs even wider open, the bump in his shorts rising and falling as he jerks himself off slowly, just for show. His mint gum is grinding in between his teeth as he leans his head back, eyeing her hazily over the apples of his cheeks with pride painted across the mossy green around his pupils.

“Just fucking…just stop it, Har. I mean it.” Her arms tighten harder around her legs, the area between them buzzing with longing.

Harry worries his bottom lip between his two blocky front teeth, suckling it into his mouth and releasing it with a wet pop. He yanks his hand from his pants, giving his lap a good pat. “Come over here and make me.”

And that does it. Y/N practically pounces on him, taking his offered seat and starting to hump his thighs. She’s sucking and nipping down his jaw and neck, hands burying in his wet hair to pull him into her. Harry gropes at her ass, grinning with amusement as he tosses his piece of gum into the decorative ashe tray on the coffee table, sitting up to catch her lips in a the heavy kiss and murmuring a deep, quiet, “Say it.”

She ignores him, one hand sliding down to fist at the material of his floral pajama shirt, making a make-shift handle out of the fabric and using it to slam him back against the backrest of the couch. She grinds herself against the thick bulge resting on his thigh, swallowing down his tiny heaves and feathery moans, replacing them with her own. Harry gives her bum a good slap and squeeze, reigning in control as he uses this hold to alter the speed of her humping, slowing her down.

Y/N whimpers in protest, biting at the corner of his mouth out of spite and trying to speed up again. But Harry’s not having any of it, proving this in how he pulls away from her embrace and stares up at her with an stern look. His intimidating gaze cause her to turn away, attempting to force the blush from her cheeks as she zeros in on the TV again, not wanting to be caught in his trap.

“Look at me, peach. Lemme see your eyes.”

She reluctantly obeys, looking up at him through her lashes. Her hand is just itching to slap the pompous simper that is carving his dimples at the moment.

Harry locks their gazes, reaching up to cup Y/N’s jaw and to thumb over her swollen bottom lip, blinking at her with pent up sensual need and unwavering authority. “Say it.”

“I…wanna fuck you.” It’s barely above a whisper, but it’s out nonetheless.

“Louder. Give it to me louder.” He uses his free hand to grip onto her hip, guiding her against his crotch slowly to show her the slightest bit of what she’s missing out on by being so stubborn. “Now, Y/N.”

“I wanna fuck you.” Y/N grits out louder, making her defeat official.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry drops his fingers from her face with a conceited smirk, crossing his arms behind his head and relaxing into the sofa cushions. “Now ride me until you can’t feel your legs anymore.”

#TA DAAAA #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty blurb #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles blurb #prompt

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