Harry Imagine

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You're lying in bed with Harry, doing absolutely nothing. Harry is absentmindedly reading a poem that's hanging on your wall under his breath and you close your eyes and just listen to the sound of his voice, and a small involuntary moan escapes from the back of your throat. He turns around, tilting his head and cocking his eyebrow, "Did you just moan?" he asks incredulously. "No." you reply, though your face is steadily reddening. "I'm sorry, but I think you just moaned." You say nothing and fiddle with the edge of your bedspread, embarrassed. "You did. I heard you moan." There's no mistaking the amusement in his voice this time. "(Y/N), does me reading poetry actually turn you on?" He's in full action now, grabbing your complete collection of Edgar Allen Poe and flipping to a random page, clearing his throat dramatically. "It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, there lived a maiden whom you may know by the name of Annabelle Leigh, and this maiden she lived with no other though than to love and be loved by me-" By now, you're up and off the bed, marching towards him and yanking the book out of his grasp. His eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline, and he's giving you a Harry-esque smirk. "It does turn you on, doesn't it?" You roll your eyes in an attempt to show him how ridiculous you find that idea. "Oh, shut up, Harry." He leans forwards until he's centimeters away from your ear, you feel yourself  freeze as he says in a very low voice, "Because you know, if it does, we can certainly work it in somehow..." You raise your book to smack him, but he grabs your wrists, stopping you, before leaning forward and kissing you, and you feel him start to laugh against your lips.

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