sonia stanyard - damson
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Kisses.
Harry likes kissing you; the feeling of puckering his lips and pressing them to anything that’s of you makes his day, a noticeable smile on his face each time.
Kisses for hello were always exciting, just beyond giddy to the point he’d be having his feet almost trip because of their pace to just get to you.
“Missed you so much, lovie.”
Harry would squeal, his excitement coursing through his veins that he doesn’t realize he’s lifting you off of your feet, grinning too much that he’s barely kissing you now, and he couldn’t help himself to just bury his head to your neck, laughing and kissing down on it and whatnot.
Kisses at morning where he’s still sleepy but his rest’s all good so he just takes it out on his early cuddles and pecks, instead of squeezing and pinching your for the tenth time in that minute.
He would be all eager to just press his lips to yours, not knowing whether he should put giggling or kissing first and by then he’d be a mess, not having enough of either so he just pleads you to let him have his way in exchange with him cooking breakfast.
“Please — c’mon, bub. One more? Just one more fo’ me and I swear we could go anywhere later.”
He’d be lying on your tum pulling out on all the stops because he felt the most needy in mornings too, fluttering his puppy-like eyes that’s all wide and pleading to just let him have one more, and he’s never been tired of doing it because you always cave with how soft and warm he looks.
Kisses in sleepiness where Harry’s fighting to stay awake and so are you for something either rational or extremely irrational where he’d just sit you down on his lap, bundling the both of you in covers and whatever that’s closest that’ll make the both of you warm and it always ended with the comforter in the master’s — happened too many times that he just resorted to buying the same exact one to be put in the living room.
He’d press sloppy and noisy kisses to your cheek trying not to yawn, nose just brushing against your cheek as he breathes in slowly, hands fiddling with the back of your shirt that he believes is his.
“Until what time are we gonna stay awake, love?”
He’d be pouting a little, lips puckered as he continues his pecks until he has his eyes closed. Then he’d be falling asleep with his head buried to your neck, just unconsciously humming for a bit because his mind’s still trained that he was still doing it.
Harry would mumble in the lowest of volumes but enough for you to hear, still knackered but his thoughts weren’t, feeling the outlines of his lips curve up against your neck.
“Kissy.”
Kisses at night were always a bit more intimate, sometimes being the one to reserve all that he was feeling that day be let out at night and it was therapeutic in a way for him that it always felt odd when he doesn’t do it.
“Just had a bad day.”
He’d be saying in between kisses and in times like these, he’d let you be the one to maneuver and control it, probably just melting with how one hand would be on his nape just relieving some pressure on it, with the other raking against his curls that he feels he’s in heaven and some sort.
They’d be gentle and rough in some days, him the one to let out some little grunts and sometimes whines when he’s frustrated, little moans and giggles when he’s happy.
“Can y’hold me tonight?”
Kisses in jealousy where he’s gonna be rough and irritated and he’d be gripping your jaw gently just taking out his frustrations with the prick in your mouth, becoming all handsy and he’d slow down when he feels like you’re running out of breath, only pouting and barely running his thumb through his lips as you regain your breath.
Doesn’t care when and where he’s gonna do it because for all he knows, the both of you are still in the party surrounded by people he doesn’t mostly know except for a few and some faces, and it would be so evident he’d be unfazed if he’s given a shocked look by the guy that sparked his jealousy alive.
“Can’t take your breath away like that, can he?”
“Jealous tonight, are we?”
A teasing and an even more knowing look would be given to him that just makes Harry roll his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently against the hardwood floors.
He looks intimidating and brooding this way because of the rage that’s bubbling in his stomach, and the fact that it feels more powerful than ever because he hasn’t been jealous for quite a while after having not seen you so long adds up to it.
His arms would be tightly crossed across his chest and his eyes would be all hooded, lips just unimpressedly drawn tight that makes the guy look away almost instantly.
“You know what m’talking about.”
Kisses in the places either of you don’t like were always soft and caring, just hands brushing over briefly before the softest of pecks would be pressed on it.
Would be done out of habit too and it doesn’t feel like an obligation at all because the both of you like doing it, the fact that it makes you love the other more along with the fact too that seeing the other have a cute soft grin on their face being two of the reasons amongst many more on why it’s always a favorite.
Kisses for good luck when he’s feeling nervous and jittery that he’s at the edge of his nerves, knee erratically bouncing up and down that you think it would only take one last repeat of it that you’re gonna tape Harry’s leg down against one of the chair’s legs.
“You could do it, bub. I believe in you.”
“Y’really think so?”
He’s gonna have to ask you to repeat to say it again, just so that he could have it sink deeper into that thick skull of his right now and he’d be glad he brought you along, not because of the hesitation to not bring you since he’s in fear that he’s gonna fuck up — but because he knows you always make it better.
Good luck kisses were always quick and repetitive, him being the one to ask for just one more so he’d be sure of it.
“Give me another when m’all done, okay? Celebratory kiss, right?”
Kisses while cuddling where soft and lazy ones are given to the neck, just having his head buried to the spot near your haw and his nose pointing upwards, his little scruff adding in to the feeling of sleepiness and eagerness at the same time.
“Fuckin’ — stay still, woman.”
Harry’s gonna scold and he’d normally be clingy, arms just tightly around your waist as he wants to sleep yet in the same time chat with you, humming softly as he tells about his day without having you interrupt him with an abrupt giggle.
Kisses as goodbyes where you’re wiping off each other’s tears, sadly chuckling at the other to try and help relieve the pain in your chests — and it was always a little too hard.
He’d have to remind himself that he’s doing this for the sake of himself, the both of you and everyone else’s and that a couple of months wouldn’t hurt (he thinks) as long as he gets to continue his craft.
Always longing and each time they were craved and begged to last a little more, but they held finality for the meantime so Harry would have to savor every last bit of it, hands on the sides of your face as he manages to smile a little.
“Few more months and m’all yours again.”
That’s nine amongst a whole lot more but no matter how much Harry does love kisses; he hates them.
Hates them when he can’t give any.
Literally feels sadness and desperation crawl through his veins up until his throat, seeing you on the other side of the couch watching your show peacefully with no regard for him on the other because you’re mad at him — mad at him (he deserves it, really) because he didn’t give you the sheet of paper that contained his first-ever song for his second album, which you asked for and had him approve, even if you reminded him a few more times; but only to know he’s given it to someone else even if he’s promised not to.
“Y/N, lovie — m’sorry, alright? Please? Can y’just please look at me?”
Harry frowns and no matter how much he wants to adjust himself so that he’d be closer to you on the couch, he knows you’d leave the area because at this point, he’s actually lucky that you let him be in the same vicinity as you.
It’s nearing midnight and he’s all sad, fiddling with his rings just looking at you desperately and he’s in the verge of crying.
The affection, and most especially the kisses, were lacking and he feels so unaccomplished and incomplete this day because of this wrong thing he did, just looking up at you pleadingly yet to no use because you weren’t budging to even spare a glance.
“Let me just kiss you, please? Was wrong of me to do that and I can’t — fuck, I can’t be still, love! Let me kiss you, bub. Just one a-and I swear I won’t ask for anything more. Would even sleep on the couch!”
His voice cracks and you have to shut your eyes, considering that a couple hours has passed now and that your anger has been diminishing slowly but surely since, reluctantly sighing as you turn to face him.
His face all’s teary now with his serious frustration, your finger just motioning for him to go and he couldn’t have moved to you any faster than that.
Harry wastes no time and just presses his lips to yours deeply, the taste of you enough to make him realize that the hours he’s been begging were all worth it, having to resist the urge to grin with his hands on the sides of your face just savoring every second that passes.
He’s all soft and warm now, knowing not all’s forgiven yet but he takes the risk, just sinking down on you so that his head’s on your chest and his arms are all around your waist, a little hopeful question arising in your throat as fiddles with your shirt.
Harry gathers his courage and breaks down his pride, voice coming down to something that’s all velvety, soft, and warm.
“Does this mean I can kiss you and m’off the hook now?”
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