Mature Harry Imagines

"I wanna make love to you."

“You’re my sweet girl, Y/N.” Harry’s words are low and resonant, every syllable seeming to grip the tense air surrounding both of them and refusing to let go. Her wispy whines pierce the atmosphere like a bullet, cutting through layers of tension. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

The letters leave a lingering residue of his longing, dispersing in an impalpable cloud of promises. Small huffs of his breathe run over Y/N’s bare upper chest as his long, boney fingers trace intricate designs against the warm, sensitive skin of her shoulders under her top.

Harry’s lips graze across her collarbone, the gentle dip of the structure making a perfect place to pool light kisses. His teeth nip at the flushed flesh of her neck, one of his hands collecting all of her messy hair into his palm and pulling it away from his line of interest. The other hand has disappeared into her jeans and under her underwear, his digits working over her dripping core.

“Love marking you– proves you’re all mine.” His tongue smooths over the blossoming mauve bruise, soothing the mild pain that he had inflicted onto Y/N.

A quivering, pitiful whimper hums from within her throat, his feathery touch and bittersweet words slowly seeping into her veins, poisoning her blood.

Harry can’t fight the tiny smile that twitches the edges of his lips, her vulnerable mewl attesting to him that she is barely keeping herself together– that she had missed him just as much as he had missed her when he had been away.

On the surface of the situation, one would think it obvious that a girlfriend would strive for her boyfriend when he had been gone for a period of time, but their separation drove way deeper then simple physical withdrawal.

Harry and Y/N hadn’t been together in over four months and the distance had driven a stake into their hearts, their emotions reigning depression and utter grieving into their souls. Every day apart had been another splinter digging into their chests, making them bleed love all over their lives. The phrase, “I missed you” doesn’t encompass even a morsel of the emotional torture the pair had been through; their infinite desire had been more complex than either could explain. It was too tainted with emptiness– too scarred with loneliness– to stitch into comprehendible sentences.

The only way to express their turmoil was through actions and Harry planned on physically confessing every pent up feeling he had withheld since he had set foot inside the private plane to South America. Lonely nights and empty days had weaved themselves into his daily routine. He would jerk awake at the crack of dawn, reaching across his bunk for the comforting heat of Y/N’s body only to be met with cold, wrinkled sheets and to be left with a hollow throbbing in his lungs. He would walk around incredibly beautiful sites from all around the globe but everything seemed dipped in a dull haze– a murky sadness that haunted him because he didn’t have the bright flame that inside Y/N to light his way.

But now they were reunited and the heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, replaced with a wistful sensation of familiarity. He finally feels at ease– finally at home.

“Harry…” Y/N’s voice is filled with grueling desperation, her significantly smaller hands pawing at the silk material of his loose, pale-blue shirt, the silver pattern (Harry has determined them to be bumble bees) reflecting the warm, buttery lighting of one single lamp.

“Wanna undress me this time, poppet?” His panted whisper runs smokey tendrils of electricity over Y/N’s neck, the way his wide, dilated eyes trace her facial features making a shudder course down her spine.

Harry is sponging his wet lips across her exposed upper chest, following the subtle slope of the collar on her deep titian and crimson plaid flannel. He had taken it upon himself to pop open the first few buttons of the clothing item, stopping just as he had seen her skin begin to dip into the valley of her breasts.