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harryforvogue · 11 months

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harry and mia on their first vacation together <333 smutty because it's harry and mia duh! 2k words

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The first time Harry and Mia ACTUALLY go on vacation, it's months after they get back together, and it's Harry's idea.

Of course Mia agrees, but she's not quite sure what she's agreed to.

Because as far her knowledge of Harry traveling goes, the first thing to get checked in is his laptop bag. Harry has always brought work along with him, even when she was his submissive. And that always irked her, but no matter how much she used to complain about it, he never really changed his ways.

So when Harry suggests the vacation with just them two to a nice, quiet place, Mia's jaw is on the floor when Harry doesn't even take his laptop with him.

She eyes him as he's locking his door.

"What is it?" he asks, reaching for his luggage. "I said the Uber will be here in a bit. Just two minutes. I know you can wait two minutes."

"I'm not that impatient," Mia says, though she was definitely annoyed moments ago when he told her that the Uber was going to be a few minutes late. "Are you sure you have everything?"

Harry frowns, looking at his carry on and suitcase. "I'm pretty sure. Why? Are you missing something? It’s not too late to run in and grab it.”

“No, no. I’m just…confused. So you’re not bringing work with you?”

Harry blinks. “No. I’m going on vacation.”

“But you always bring work with you.”

He frowns deeper. “But I’m going on vacation.”

“Without your laptop.”

“Exactly.”

“I am just concerned.”

“For what reason, Mia?”

“Because you always bring work with you.”

“Do you want me to bring work with me? On our first ever vacation together?”

“Of course not. And we’ve done vacations together.”

“Those didn't count.”

“Why not?”

“Because I brought work with me.”

Mia suddenly smiles. She hears the car pull up to Harry’s driveway behind her. She loops her arm around Harry’s and rests her chin on his shoulder, looking up at his with innocent eyes. “So for the whole week, you’re not working? No phone calls, no emails, nothing?”

Harry shakes his head, tapping her bottom lip with his thumb. “Just you and me.”

And he stands by his word. In fact, Mia’s not sure she sees him on his phone at all for the entirety of the week aside from looking at Google Maps and researching places he wants to visit.

And the truth is that Harry really doesn’t have a lot of places in mind for visiting. He mostly looks up dinner places and cafes he thinks Mia will like. Every night, he sends her a list of them and lets her pick the best one in the morning, but aside from that, there’s no real planning on either of their ends.

Mia, however, quickly learns that she very much likes the person Harry is on vacation.

He wears loose shorts and flowy button down shirts. His hair falls onto his forehead in curtains, and he tans very quickly, the freckles on his face reappearing after quite some time. He always has sunglasses on, either perched in his hair or on his face, and despite the casualness about his attire and mood, she finds it all so incredibly attractive.

Every morning at the hotel, she wakes up to a nearly naked Harry in between the sheets. Something about hotels makes Harry needy, which is something she already knew, but the occurrence is always so pleasant. He’s all long tanned legs and golden bare chest beside her, one arm slung over her stomach, his face pressed against her hair as he sleeps. He looks so peaceful.

When he wakes up, his eyes still unfocused and curls unruly, he smiles sleepily at her, and despite how sticky it is from the sweat and humidity, Mia doesn’t mind when he kisses her softly, holding her jaw between his hands. When he showers and returns in his vacation clothing, his face smoothly shaved, Mia feels as if she’s losing her mind.

Mia watches him put his shoes on. She’s still in bed when he gets ready because no vacation will ever prompt her to get out of bed earlier than him (even though he’s also “sleeping in”). She holds the duvet to her bare chest and stares at him.

“I think,” Mia says, “that I find you ever hotter like this than I do when you wear a suit.”

“I’m always in a suit.”

“Mm. Lucky me.”

Harry looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Go get changed and pick a place to eat, yeah? It’s so late, we might as well do brunch.”

She pushes the duvet off of her and stretches, aware of Harry’s eyes on her. She walks around him, fluffing his hair as she goes. When she returns from her own shower in a sundress and her hair wet, Harry looks at her the way she imagines she looks at him.

Because another thing she’s learned about Harry during their first official vacation together is that when work isn’t on his mind, she is. Specifically Mia naked in his bed under him.

And Mia doesn’t mind at all. He’s more handsy than usual, more flirty. More often than not, the hand on her waist or back travels down to her ass, and his eyes that are usually very attentive when she speaks often slip down to her mouth or neck, distracted.

“It’s the fucking dresses,” Harry groans, reaching for her whens he comes out of the bathroom. “They’re so short.” He makes her straddle his lap on the hotel bed. “Gives me such…easy access.” To prove it, he runs his hands over her thighs, inching higher and higher.

“That’s the point,” Mia murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. His fingers grip her skin tighter when she twirls her fingers against his hair, pressing herself closer to her.

“And the bras,” he whispers, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back to expose her throat. She whimpers when he presses hot kisses to her neck. “Or the lack thereof.”

“Don’t use fancy words right now. I'm too horny to think."

He only laughs and tightens his grip on her hair. She whines again, her breath coming faster. He drags his tongue up the column of her throat, making her tremble in his lap. She’s already unbuttoning his shirt when he grabs her waist and flips her over onto the mattress.

Mia’s working on removing her dress when Harry stops her, shaking his head. “Leave it on.”

She drops her hand, letting him turn her over again so her face is in the sheets. “Fuck,” she groans, grabbing them. She hears Harry rip a condom packet, and she impatiently waits until his hands are back on her, flipping her bright yellow dress up. He doesn’t even bother taking her underwear off. It seems like he’s impatient too from the way he pushes her underwear to the side and slides into her.

Mia closes her eyes, her moan muffled into the duvet. He’s holding her hips firmly, moving her against him rather than pushing into her. She likes it, letting him do as he pleases because it feels too good to stop him.

Harry is absolutely insatiable. He needs to fuck her or make her come on his fingers or mouth multiple times a day. This will be the first of today. He woke up needing her so bad after a night of her ass pressed against his crotch, her soft sighs, and her pouty mouth, and he knew they wouldn't leave the hotel this morning without having sex at least once. Most of the time, he’s gentle and needy and careful with her, but sometimes, like now, he requires something else.

So he lets go of her waist and uses his free hand to gather her hair up in a ponytail and pull her up slightly.

Her fingers flex against the sheets, hot, white pleasure coursing through her. “Fuck, Harry,” she cries, crying out when he picks up his pace. “Always feel so good.”

Harry loves when he fucks Mia so well that she’s only able to say a few words at most, her brain barely able to keep up. It’s exactly how he himself feels, but it’s so much hotter to him when Mia tries to talk to him when he’s that deep inside of her, being that rough.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, tightening the hold on her hair. “Always feels this good when I fuck you, Mia?”

“Mhm,” she gasps. “Always. Always.”

He fucks her from the back for a while, enjoying her strained whimpers into the mattress, before letting go of her hair and slowly pulling out. “Turn over, baby.”

She does, shakily, and looks at him with so much love in her grey eyes when he leans down to kiss her forehead. He slides back into her and her arms immediately go around his neck, reaching up to kiss him again and again until it feels too good and she can’t keep up with him. She’s moaning against his mouth, kissing away all the swears he mumbles against her lips.

“Harry,” she whispers, though it sounds like a plea. He lazily drags a hand down to her throat, wrapping around it. His other hand tenderly cradles the back of her head.

“Mia,” he says back, kissing her jaw hungrily, making way up to her ear. He gives a slight bite, making her legs tremble. He can’t hold his orgasm back, dropping his head to the pillow beside her own head, wary of the hand around neck. For a brief moment, he finds himself lost in the blinding pleasure, and when he comes to, Mia’s on the verge herself.

“Please,” she whispers, as if he’d ever deny her. He kisses her hard.

When she’s about to come, Harry drops the hand around her neck to gently thumb her clit and she cries out sharply. She squeezes him tight, making him bite back his own groan and thank his past self for getting a room with soundproof walls. She has tears in her eyes when she’s finished, and Harry gently pries her aching fingers away from his hair, which she’s gripped very tight during her orgasm.

He kisses her fingers, then her palm, her wrist, and all the way up to her elbow, making her quietly giggle. She watches him pull out, discard the condom, and return to her, kneeling beside her on the bed.

Harry gently pushes her hair out of her face, clipping the stray tendrils back again. “You’re so fucking pretty, my love,” he says, in awe. “Look at you. Absolutely insane to me how pretty you are.”

Her hair is fanned out on the pillow, her pale skin slightly red from where he held it, her chest flushed. She smiles so beautifully up at him when he runs the back of his knuckles against her cheek and leans down to kiss her again, softly this time.

“It’s the dress, I think,” she tells him, taking his hand when he helps her up. Her legs are still too shaky to actually stand on.

“Partly, but mostly it is you.”

“I, um, may need a minute before we go out. Or ten.”

“Anything you want.”

Harry makes sure she’s able to sit upright herself before he plugs in the hair dryer and kneels behind her on the bed, gently running his fingers through her damp hair as he dries it. Every so often, he’ll lean down to press wet kisses to her neck, making her shiver. When her hair is mostly dry, he’ll turn off the dryer, and hop off the bed.

He holds her chin up, grinning. “Ready to go?”

Mia nods. “Let’s go before I make you do all that again.”

He kisses her once more, so lovingly that she feels like crying. “You know I’d never mind, baby.”

#harry and mia #this is my contribution for tonight #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #now it's your turn

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froggyworlds · 1 year

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listen listen ok I was going to put something menacing or lyric-y but every lyric I looked at fits every voice belongs to you and I can't put them all so just take this before I explode

@mustangsart here's one of the fics I promised/alluded to I can't remember which

tw for minor self-harm, guns, and a moment of contemplated/mentioned suicide. plus other typical htb-related content warnings (ask if you want smth tagged tell me and I'll add it!)

If Mark had been holding anything a few moments ago, it would've dropped to the floor by now. His hands shook at his sides, and the trembling spread up his arms to his chest and his legs and for a few moments he was certain he was going to fall over.

He didn't, though he did stumble back a step. Somehow he even found it in himself to remember to breathe in a wheezy, gasping inhale that made his lungs ache and his throat go dry. The man's hands flew almost subconsciously to his waistband, and he watched as a pair of eyes followed them with a spark of- no. Stop it. Don't do that.

¬ Don't shoot me, Mark. ¬

Mark's fingers twitched, an itchy, clawing feeling tugging on the threads in the back of his mind like a kitten kneading a wool blanket. His hand froze, but didn't fall back into place at his side.

Standing across from him, within arm's reach, as far away as anything had ever been, was-

It was-

God, it was-

"F-fuck," Mark stammered, and took another step back.

The thing that looked like Cesar didn't move in kind. Besides the flicker of its eyes, it didn't even seem like it was breathing. As much as Mark was trying to avoid looking at its eyes, the two kept locking gazes.

He- it. It wasn't Cesar. It wasn't Cesar. It's not him. It's not him. Stop thinking it is. It's not what you think-

It looked exactly the same as it had last time Mark had seen it, and the last time Mark had seen it was three years ago. Phantom pain echoed across his scars, and the man winced at the memory of a halo of glass. But everything was the same- the Cesar standing before him was as frozen in time as the one in the photograph weighing heavy in his left breast pocket.

For the first time since its appearance, the alternate moved. It reached up and, in a gesture that seemed all-too-painfully human, drew its hand back in again hesitatingly. Its brow furrowed in what could almost be mistaken for worry.

"Mark, you- you're crying."

As they say, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

Mark felt his legs buckle anyways. Call him a fool.

The man let out a sob and bit down on his left forefinger- hard. It didn't do much to stifle the sound, and something tasted like crimson now, but it gave him something to focus on besides-

"Mark! Are you okay?"

I think I'm going to throw up, was going to be his response, but unfortunately all Mark could muster in response was another half-choked sob, and he jerked away from the hand that reached out for him even when every part of him wanted nothing more than to cry into his friend's arms until his sleeves were soaked and for them to go home and pretend like nothing bad had ever happened in their lives, even if only for a few hours.

After a second, a word escaped his throat: "No." It evidently stung, because Cesar the alternate recoiled and a pang of something heavy struck through Mark's heart that he immediately grabbed and tossed away. This wasn't Cesar.

"You're a monster - a fucking thing. My best friend is dead and you fucking killed him!"

Sweat-slick hands gripping the handle of a gun. The click a millisecond before the bang.

“You’re not him. You’re not Cesar. You aren’t- I didn’t shoot- You’re not him.”

No matter how broken its expression looked. No matter how tired and terrified Mark was.

"I'm sorry. Mark, I'm so, so sorry."

¬ I'm sorry. It's complicated. ¬

Memories rang like church bells in his ears. Half-human shrieks. Half-human.

"It hurts, Mark. It hurts."

Mark couldn't fucking do this.

He pulled out his gun before he could think and for a second the world teetered. Overwhelming déjà-vu coursed through him as he gripped the weapon, sweaty palms and safety off and maybe it would be so, so easy to turn it around and forget all of this ever-

Mark dropped the gun. Clicked the safety back on and nudged it away. He could feel Cesar's eyes on him the whole time, noticed the way he inched away slightly and still hadn't come back yet.

"Fuck." Mark looked up, expression pulled tight and the shakiness of earlier suddenly gone in favor of an all-consuming exhaustion. Cesar still looked like he was eighteen. He still looked exactly as he had the day at the church. Mark dragged a hand down the side of his face. "Fucking Hell, Cesar."

The alternate's expression brightened, a glimmer of hope-but-not-daring-to-hope in his eyes. Mark stopped him with a slightly stiff wave and brought his hands in front of him to pick at his cuticles. The sidewalk was cold and slightly damp from the rain, and Mark pushed himself to his feet, brushing himself off and watching as Cesar did the same.

"I can't-" He sucked in a breath. The air reeked of petrichor. "I don't... know. How or why you're here." He motioned to the alternate and something zipped up his spine. The man shivered and adjusted his jacket, doing his best to ignore the dry, hollow coldness that momentarily jabbed his thoughts. "And I can't just- forgive what happened."

Three years since then. That's a fucking lifetime. It feels like yesterday.

Cesar thought for a beat, and Mark did his best not to do a double-take on how much it really did look like him.

¬ I was alone. That whole time. I missed you. ¬

And in words: "I understand."

Mark bit his lower lip, but not enough that he could taste blood. "We'll work on it, okay?" He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "We should go home. I'm exhausted." The man paused for any sign of a change, a sudden dark smile or something or anything one would usually expect from an alternate. He wasn't sure how to feel about the pang of hope in his chest when there was none, just an almost vaguely relieved look from the other.

Mark let out a yelp, suddenly finding himself wrapped in a pair of arms that ended in hands that held onto the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline. It was a hug.

Oh, it was a hug.

Mark held on in return, almost instinctively. Cesar felt oddly small now, but still familiar enough to imagine just for a second that things were normal. He wasn't sure if either of them would be able to let go.

#this is a first draft like everything else and listen I was half-possessed writing this probably #also I totallywasn't projecting how shaky I am rn onto mark that's ridiculous lol why would you suggest such a thing #this has been floating in my brain since the end of chapter six so uh. here's me finally getting the courage to just write it already #also thank you to everyone who contributed to the poll lol #I refuse to apologize for any damage this caused. I hope the ending made up for it at least somewhat. I guess it's hurt/comfort tonight #mark refuses to go through all of that again I think. and can we blame him #hail true body au #mark heathcliff #cesar torres #the mandela catalogue au #the mandela catalogue fic #the mandela catalogue #mythic's drabbles #tmc au #tw suicide mention #tw guns #tw self harm #¬ Two have become one. ¬#¬ You won't leave me again. Right? ¬#:)

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