#Harry Lather

[lyricsgoal]

10 Numbari Lyrics - Masoom Sharma | Sheenam Katholic

10 Numbari Lyrics – Masoom Sharma | Sheenam Katholic

[humaforever]

Throughout D2 Harry Hook loses more and more of his jacket sleeves and adds more and more eyeliner.

[steaksex]

I NEED TO THINK ABOUT CODEPENDANT TOXIC GAY SEX WITH MY OCS RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

[ak-vintage]

Work of Art

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Prompt: Marcus Acacius & Nose

Summary: Your pregnancy brings out a vulnerability in Marcus you never would have expected. When he reluctantly shares his insecurities with you, you are more than happy to reaffirm your affection for each and every part of him.  

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, established relationship, arranged marriage, POSSIBLE DUBCON (sex in an arranged marriage with a patriarchal power structure), hefty age gap, pregnant reader, inexperienced reader, insecurity, body worship, nose worship, face-sitting, oral (f! receiving), discovering that you’re in love with your spouse, SO MUCH FLUFF, high likelihood of historical inaccuracy (aiming for vibes, not perfection)

Written for @joelmillerisapunk PPCU Body Worship Writing Challenge

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

It is barely sunrise when the messenger arrives at your door.

Coated in a layer of dust from the road, mounted on the back of a well-lathered horse, and bearing the colors of the empire, the young man demands your staff wake you to receive him – that he is under orders to accept no intermediary, that his message is intended for the lady of the house and no one else. The news of his arrival sends ice into your veins the moment you open your eyes; even as the wife of a general, you do not often receive messages from the front lines, and you could not resist fearing the worst. Curls loose and mussed with sleep, tunica tied almost haphazardly in your haste, you rush to the atrium as quickly as propriety will allow and take the messenger’s sealed scroll with trembling hands.

My dearest wife, it reads. The skirmish on the southern border has been quelled for the time being. In recognition of our efforts, and out of respect for our recent union, I have been granted leave to return to Rome for a period of respite. If the sea is calm and the road is easy, you can look to the horizon for my return in one month’s time. Prepare the household for my arrival. Faithfully yours, Marcus Acacius

The relief you feel at those words is so powerful that you sink into the nearest chair, weak-kneed. Thankfully, your staff are more than competent enough to manage offering food, a bath, and a fresh horse to the harried messenger without your guidance, for you have not the capacity to play hostess. It had been your greatest fear, you realize as you sit there reading and re-reading the general’s letter until your eyes begin to burn with fatigue. You had had such little time as husband and wife before Marcus had been shipped out to the border, and you dread nothing more than the prospect of joining the ranks of the widows of Rome before you even have the opportunity to fully know the man you had married. It would have been such a waste, you think, like a flower cut from the vine when it was barely a bud, cursed never to bloom for the rest of time.

The truth is that although yours had been an arranged marriage, one of convenience, you feel (perhaps naively) that it held great promise. The general had never married, choosing to prioritize his military ambitions over his personal life. However, now that he was getting older, he had determined that it would be wise to seek a wife who might give him an heir to the prestigious station he had earned for himself over the years. Your father, a wealthy, prominent senator, had brokered the match, and a mere fortnight after you had been introduced for the first time, you had been wed.

Marcus had proven to be a gentle husband, a great contrast to what you had believed based on the tales of his ferocity in battle. He had spoken kindly to you and listened patiently, giving weight to your words, treating you like a partner right from the start. He had given you free reign over the household and encouraged you to mold his domus and his staff to suit your tastes. You had had very little time in each other’s presence, but he nevertheless struck you as a man of honor, a man of principle. As a woman in your position, there was little else you could ask for in a match, and the thought had comforted you as you stood side-by-side with this near-stranger and signed your marriage contract.

On your wedding night, he had been as tender with you as he could. You had been able to tell that he was holding himself back, restraining himself from taking you as savagely as he might have wished, but for that, you thought him compassionate. Of course, there had been some pain to start; this you had anticipated. However, toward the end of your coupling, as the general had begun to growl muffled curses into the soft skin of your neck and thrust himself so deeply inside you, you swore you could feel his manhood in your belly, you thought perhaps that it might have begun to feel…good?

He had spilled his seed within you shortly thereafter, bringing your union to a sudden and dramatic end and leaving your tentative, blooming pleasure to fizzle and die in your veins.

You glance down at the swell of your belly at the recollection, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. The fruits of your union that night – and the nights that followed for the brief month he had been permitted to remain by your side – had made themselves apparent shortly after his departure. That had been five months ago now, and it had been an incredible relief to know that you had managed to fulfill your duty to the general so quickly. You had fully expected to give birth on your own, to share the joyous news with him via special messenger like so many other soldier’s wives. Now, to know that he is set to return so soon, that relief is compounded. Barring any emergencies on the front, he likely would be home long enough to be present for the birth.

Birthing was a woman’s business, of course. You knew there was little Marcus could truly do to aid you in your labors. But a part of you, perhaps a very foolish, girlish part of you, could not help but feel safer when he was near. You would sleep better at night knowing he was once again within the walls of your domus.

Easing yourself back onto your feet, you get the attention of the nearest member of your staff.

“Once our guest has been seen to, gather the others in the courtyard,” you command. “We have much to prepare. The general is coming home.”

General Marcus Acacius rides into Rome on a sunny afternoon astride a handsome black stallion. Escorted only by a small retinue of guards and vassals, he travels light, with the economy and efficiency of a man who has spent the majority of his adult life in an army camp. The servant boy you have stationed at the city walls every day for the last week eagerly tells you that he looks well, that he has been asked to report first to the emperors’ palace but that he expects to be home by nightfall.

The news of your husband’s imminent arrival has a riot of butterflies rising in your chest, and you feel the child you carry respond almost instantly, fluttering and twitching against the walls of your womb at your excitement. A smile pulls at your lips, and you smooth your palms over the rounded surface of your belly as if to say, “I understand. I feel it, too.”

You send a message to the kitchen staff with orders to ensure that the general’s favorite meal is prepared for this evening, as well as for his preferred wine to be brought up from the cellar. Perhaps it is a bit silly – this is his home even moreso than it is yours – but you have an odd desire to make him feel welcomed. You want him to know that you have given thought to his needs and his preferences, that you have managed and looked after his home with proficiency in his absence, that you have anticipated his return.

You want to make the general happy, you realize with a flush.  Not only for him to be happy, but you wish to be the cause of that happiness. Does that make you proud, you wonder? Or selfish? Perhaps. All you know for certain is that in the brief time spent by his side, all those months ago, you had begun to associate Marcus Acacius with feelings of comfort, of safety, of acceptance. Even perhaps…affection. You like him. Was it so wrong to wish for him to like you, too?

You are in the ostium waiting for him when the general arrives. The sun sets behind him as he approaches on horseback, still in full armor from his travels, and your first thought is that he is even larger than you remember. Blotting out the golden light with the incredible breadth of his shoulders, you think he looks almost otherworldly, like some mythical hero of old returned from a harrowing quest. You can feel your heart speed up behind your ribs, galloping like the hooves of his horse on the cobblestones, and you are thankful no one can hear it but you. You are a woman grown, wedded and bedded and carrying a child, the head of your own household, the wife of a prominent, respected officer of the grand army of Rome. The idea that you should become so flighty, so unmoored at the sight of your own husband is absurd.

When his gaze falls on you, your trembling hands find your stomach, a gesture that has become more and more instinctual as the bump has become more and more visible, and before he can even greet you, his eyes drop to where they rest.

Marcus pulls his horse up short, the soft expression in his dark irises sharpening, intensifying. You watch as his prominent brow draws up, something between shock and awe and hope washing over his face, and then he is swinging his leg up and over his mount, dropping to the ground, closing the distance between you in a handful of long, powerful strides. His eyes do not leave your stomach until he is a mere handful of inches from your body, and you catch sight of his broad, thick-fingered hands clenching at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach out and touch you.

“Dearest wife,” he rasps, his throat dry as he finally, finally flicks his eyes back up to meet yours. “Have you something to tell me?”

You swallow thickly, suddenly overcome with the intensity, the intimacy of his attention. “Welcome home…husband.” Your voice sounds tremulous to your own ears, but you do not allow yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you wrap both of your hands around one of his and bring his dry, scarred knuckles to your lips. Dropping a kiss onto the center ridge, you add, “It is a blessing from the gods to see you well after so many months apart.”

Your name is a sigh on his lips. “It is a blessing to be permitted to return home after so short a time,” he counters. “Now, if my eyes deceive me, I will beg your forgiveness and claim fatigue from the long journey as my excuse. But are you…”

He trails off, as though hesitant to speak the words aloud, and you could swear that someone had reached into your chest and taken hold of your heart for how tight it squeezes at the thread of hope woven into his words. Unable to bear it anymore, you finish his incomplete thought on your own.

“Yes…General Acacius – ”

“Marcus,” he interjects immediately, and you feel yourself flush at the familiarity.

“Marcus,” you echo. “I-I am with child. You are to be a father.”

The breath he releases is long and slow, his dark eyes shining in the setting sun, and if you did not know better, you might think that your revelation had rendered him speechless. However, it takes him only a moment to collect himself, and then he is reaching for your belly with both hands, palms outstretched almost pleadingly. “May I – ?”

You nod readily, feeling a grin split your face, and then his hands are on you, cupping your swelling bump with his sword-calloused touch. His skin catches on the fine material of your tunica, but you are unbothered. He is warm and vital against you, his touch more than welcome after so many months on your own, and as though the precious thing had been waiting for their cue, the child in your womb kicks against their father’s hands.

The general’s brows shoot up at that, his forehead crinkling beneath his dark, gray-streaked curls, and he lets out a rough, strained laugh. “By the gods. It’s true.” Keeping one hand on your bump, he brings the other to the side of your face, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, stroking your jaw with his thumb. It’s the most tender, intimate gesture he has ever shown you, and the heat of his palm has your knees weakening beneath you.

“You honor me, amica. Thank you,” he says, husky voice thick with emotion. He presses a brief, dry kiss to your forehead, and you cannot help but wish it had been to your lips instead.

Dinner passes in a blur of sumptuous foods and peppered questions, both from you about his time at the border and from him about how you are settling into your new home, your new role. This is one thing about your relationship that has been easy from the moment you met – it is clear to you that Marcus cares deeply about your perspective on the world. He never rushes you, never cuts in when you are speaking, never attempts to correct you in some demonstration of superiority. It’s a unique experience for you coming from a man, particularly one of his age and rank, and it makes you feel cherished in a way you never would have expected in a marriage like yours. You are under no illusions that yours was a love match, after all, but something about the intent way that Marcus holds your gaze, the way he nods along as you speak, the way he asks such thoughtful questions – it has you all but convinced that he cares for you as you are coming to care for him.

The two of you linger over dinner long past nightfall, but eventually, he stands from his chair at the head of the table, offers his hand to you, and leads you to the privacy of your shared chambers. He beds you that night, as you had expected he would after so long without the touch of a woman, and you go to him willingly. His touch burns with barely-restrained fervor, the expression on his handsome face twisted almost as if in pain, and just as you had on that first night, you feel something building within you as he takes you.

You have no name for it, and yet it feels altering in its magnitude. You feel like lightning, like lava, like some elemental thing ablaze with fire and light, and just when you are certain that the feeling is about to consume you, just as you know in your bones that you cannot take any more or you will surely die –

Marcus spills himself inside you, withdraws, and collapses onto the bed next to you.

The feeling recedes. You catch your breath. Your husband plants a kiss on your hairline, and under his lips, he finds the sweat of your exertion, of your truncated pleasure. He whispers “good night, amica” against your curls, and then he rolls away.

Moments later, soft snores fill the room. The general is fast asleep, but you…

You are going mad.

It is many days later before this madness finally comes to a head.

Every night since his return, Marcus has sought his pleasure in your body. He never forces himself upon you or hurts you in any way; he asks before touching you, always. But as you approach a full week of night after night of thwarted pleasure, you cannot help but begin to find ways to…delay the inevitable question. You have taken to engaging him in conversation as you lay in bed, asking him about the many visitors he has received over the last several days, or about his journey home from the border, or about his favorite horse, Tempestas. He takes this in stride, seemingly happy to indulge you, and the two of you spend long minutes talking softly by candlelight, warm and close under soft, shared sheets.

This night, you decide to ask him about the baby and how he feels knowing that you carry his heir, that his legacy is secured.

You anticipate the smile he gives you, the fond look in his eyes as he reaches out to feel the curve of your belly, as he has done now hundreds of times over the last week. What you do not expect is the earnestness of his words as he tells you, “I have never been a father before. At my age, I did not expect that I would ever have the privilege. Now that you have made it possible, I find that I care much less for legacy or inheritance than I do for…safety. Stability. Peace.”

You soften at that, and on instinct, your hand goes to his hair, brushing his graying curls back from his forehead with gentle, soothing strokes. You have found that this is something he likes, and he leans into your touch like a barn cat in a sunbeam. He seems pensive, and you allow the silence between you to linger while he gathers his thoughts.

“I mourn that this child should have a general for a father,” he admits after a moment. “I will be absent for much of his life. I will disappear for stretches of time that could number in years, and when I return, I will be like a stranger to him. Were it in my control, I would be more present. I wish to know my child. And for him to know me.”

“Him?” you echo, a bit impishly, and Marcus smirks.

“Or her, of course. I cannot claim to know whom you carry in your womb. I shall leave that mystery for the gods.”

You grin back him, enjoying the good humor sparkling in his dark eyes. “I am sure that however much time you are permitted to spend with our child – be it months or weeks or days – it will be enough.”

Lifting himself up on one elbow, the general fixes you with a skeptical frown. “How can you be so certain?” he asks.

“Because it does not take long to see who you are, Marcus,” you reply earnestly. “To see your nobility, your strength, your power. Your kindness. These are all things I learned about you in the mere fortnight before we were wed. Your child shall know these things about you, as well.”  

Tucking your hands beneath your cheek, you stare up at him from your pillow. The warmth of the candlelight casts shadows across his golden skin, highlighting the soft crinkles around his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the plush fullness of his lower lip. “Besides, even when you are away, I shall be around to teach them,” you add with a shrug.

“Amica…” He seems a bit overcome at your sincerity, and his low voice rasps like a sword on a whetstone in the darkness. “You are very generous.”

That riot of butterflies returns to your belly as the intimacy of the moment stretches on. Gods, but he is so beautiful like this. No one has ever looked at you the way he does – not with base lust for your body, not with envy for your wealth, not with dismissal for your sex. Marcus looks at you like something precious, like something to be valued. That look makes you foolish, makes your cheeks hot and your tongue loose.

When you speak again, it is without thought.

“When I think about our child…I hope that they look like you, so that even when we are apart, I might have some comfort in seeing your face every day.”

At that, the general lets out a full-bodied laugh and rolls his eyes. Flipping over onto his back, he shakes his head fondly at you like one might a mischievous child. “Now I know for certain that you are flattering me, wife.”

Your brows nearly reach your hairline as a flush of embarrassment races up the back of your neck, darkening your cheeks in an instant. “Wh – No, sir, I would never!” you insist. “I am being entirely earnest.”

“My face? My face upon an innocent babe?” He says this with a scoffing laugh, sounding amused, but when you catch sight of the tightness in his jaw, the wrinkle between his brows, you think that there might be something…authentic beneath his jesting words. “No, my dear wife. It would be far better if the child were to share your visage. Then they might truly be comely to look upon.”

Is it possible…have you stumbled upon a true insecurity, you wonder? It seems unlikely. This is General Marcus Acacius, commander of the emperors’ armies, a man two decades your senior who fought wars on behalf of Rome before you could even walk on two feet. He exudes power and strength and intelligence, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence and self-assurance that comes along with experience. He is a skilled strategist, an indomitable warrior.

Does he truly not see…

Scooting closer to him on the bed, you allow yourself to cup his bearded jaw, to turn his face toward yours. “There would be no greater gift than a child with your eyes, Marcus,” you say softly. “Or perhaps your smile.”

“But not this nose, surely,” he replies, tapping the end of his prominent, hooked nose with one calloused finger. He shakes his head with a wry smile, as though the idea is too preposterous to consider. “I would not willingly inflict such an eyesore upon a child.”

By the gods. He means it, you realize. He has truly surprised you. To your knowledge, the general is not a vain or self-conscious man. You have never known him to care overmuch about how he looks; it was quite a contrast to the pampered upper-class boys you grew up alongside, something you had found refreshing when you had first met. Had you misunderstood? Misinterpreted his lack of self-regard as a lack of care?

You decide it does not matter. All you know for certain is that your husband appears to be under the impression that his appearance leaves something to be desired, and as his wife, you feel it is your duty to demonstrate to him just how wrong he is.

The thought has your heartrate picking up again.

“Do you know…what I thought,” you begin haltingly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “the first day I met you, at my father’s villa?”

His dark brows knit together in a small frown, as though your words have surprised him. “Tell me.”

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you confess, “I thought you the most striking man I had ever seen.”

“You flatter me, dear heart.” His words are soft, as is his answering smile, but you can hear the platitude in his voice. He does not believe you.

“No, no, it is not flattery.” With some effort, you push yourself up off of the bed, too emphatic to remain lying down for this discussion. You haul your pregnant body up to kneel at his side, tucking your knees into the warmth of his thick waist, and your long hair dangles over his broad chest as you look into his eyes. “I know that…the circumstances of our union were not exactly romantic, and I know that we do not yet know each other well, but I hope you will heed my words when I tell you that…I count myself extremely fortunate to have been married to so handsome a man.” Glancing down at your hands, you fiddle with one of the many thin, gold rings on your fingers in self-consciousness. “My father could have selected anyone he liked. The fact that it is you who shares my bed, you whose child I carry… It is a blessing.”

It is silent between you for a time, your words hanging in the air like a declaration, but then Marcus’s body shifts against you. Curling up to sit at your side, one of his thick, broad hands comes into your line of vision and wraps itself around both of yours, stilling your fidgeting.

You risk a look up, meeting his gaze through the length of your lashes, and you feel your breath leave your body as you take in the softest, warmest, most tender expression you have ever seen on his handsome face.

“It pleases me to hear that you are happy,” he murmurs, running one of his thumbs along the back of your hand. “And that your affection for my look is genuine. It would not do for you to say such things in an attempt to…endear yourself to me. There is no need. I am already quite fond of you.”

You are quick to shake your head. “Not at all! If I have ever given you such an impression, you have my deepest apologies.”

Now that your true feelings for your husband have been revealed, you feel as though you can no longer contain them. Under the affectionate weight of his dark eyes, more comes spilling forth, unbidden. “The truth is that even in the short time that we have known one another, I have spent many hours at my easel attempting to recall your likeness in detail so that I might recreate it. Your nose in particular, I find to be most…attractive.”

Your hand moves of its own accord then, slipping from his grip to float across the narrow space between you as though possessed by some covetous spirit. The very tip of your middle finger lands in the space between his eyebrows, and although you make no conscious decision to do so, you trace down the steep curve of the bridge of his nose with a touch so delicate it might as well have been a breeze.

Your own voice sounds breathless and far away to your ears as you whisper, “You look like a sculpture, Marcus. Like the great marble warriors along the garden path. It makes you look stately and…masculine and…commanding.” Between your thighs, you feel your most intimate muscles clench. You have grown swollen and sensitive there, a feeling you have become increasingly familiar with since your husband’s return home. It’s sweet and delicious and utterly torturous, making you want to squirm in your seat, but you resist.

At least…until Marcus traps your hand in his and brings your wandering fingers to his mouth.

Your eyes snap to his, and you watch as he presses slow, lingering kisses across each of your fingertips. The sensation of his hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin has you trembling, and gods, but his lips are so soft. Turning your palm up to the heavens, the general places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the tender center of your palm, and you feel yourself swaying toward him as though under a spell.

The plush of his lips dances gently across the thin skin of the inside of your wrist, and your pulse thrums beneath his touch as he growls, “There is perhaps…one advantage of such a face.”

“Tell me.” Your echo of his earlier words comes out like a whine, like you are pleading with him, though what you are pleading for, you cannot say.

Marcus appears to consider your request for a moment, his eyes going sharp and calculating, and then he says, “Perhaps it might be better if I showed you. Do you trust me, dear heart?”

You are quick to nod. “Yes. I trust you.”

Inclining his head at you in acknowledgment, he releases his grip on your hand and pulls away entirely. He lays back on the bed then, scooting down so that his head is flat on the padded surface rather than on his pillow. He adjusts himself a bit, shifting back and forth, but once he is comfortable, he looks back at you and pats his chest with both hands. The sound is muffled by his soft linen sleep tunic but nonetheless audible in the silence of your bedchamber.

“Mount me,” he says without preamble, and you swear you can hear the whirring gears in your brain grind to a halt.

“W-What?”

“I want you to sit astride my face, as you would a horse.” No matter how intensely your face burns at the wicked suggestion, you cannot seem to look away. His deep brown eyes are bottomless in the dark, the depths of them reflecting the candlelight like water at the bottom of a well. You can feel yourself falling into them, can feel something at the very core of you tugging toward him, answering his call. If you were to glance down at the rest of his body, you would see the evidence of the general’s own arousal tenting his tunic, but your gaze is trapped, held fast by the magnetism of him.

“Come, amica,” he says after a moment of your silent, scandalized staring. “You may rest your ass upon my chest, but I would have that sweet cunt on my mouth.”

You swallow audibly, still making no move to obey. Wetness begins to pool between your thighs, slicking your skin and staining the fabric of your sleep clothes, and you lose the battle against your urge to squirm. Your thighs clench together, and you shift upon your calves in search of friction, but you find none. You need his touch…but what he is suggesting is –

“M-Marcus, I couldn’t possibly – I shall smother you, how will you – ”

He cuts off your protests with a growl of your name, and in that moment, you see not your noble husband staring up at you. Instead, you see the Roman General Acacius – sharp jaw clenched, nostrils flared, dark eyes blazing.

“I shall not ask again, wife. No harm will come to you or to me. Now do as you’re told and sit on my face.”

You hesitate for another beat, then two, and then you shuffle forward on wobbly knees to obey. Your husband’s eyes burn a path across your body as you approach him, tracing from your parted, panting lips, to your heaving breasts, to your swollen, pregnant belly. You feel the look like a physical touch, and the sensation has your skin flushing, has sweat breaking out at the small of your back and the nape of your neck. With shaking, uncertain hands, you reach out and brace your palms against the gold-filigreed headboard for stability.

“That’s it, nearly there now,” Marcus sighs as you clumsily, awkwardly swing one of your legs over his body. Your knee lands on the other side of his shoulder, and you feel the heat of his touch on your naked thighs almost immediately. With slow, deliberate motions, he pushes the hem of your sleep tunic up to your hips, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the cool air of the bedroom.

You draw your lower lip between your teeth to stifle a whine, and gooseflesh breaks out across your skin. You’ve started to shake, though whether in fear or arousal, you couldn’t say. Gods, you’re so exposed now. The wetness between your thighs is fully on display, mere inches from your husband’s face. It’s mortifying; if you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, you know you would.

Marcus, however, clearly has no such compunctions. His thick fingers knead the soft, lush flesh of your hips and thighs, using his grip to draw your forward, to draw you down. The groan that oozes from his lips into the hot slip of atmosphere between you sounds exactly like the one he makes when he first slides inside you, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily at the tremor of it now sounding between your legs. He must catch sight of this, your body’s own betrayal happening right under that stately nose that started this whole ordeal, for one moment he appears to be watching you settle in with rapt attention, and the next, he is releasing a dark, sinister chuckle and yanking you closer.

You give a thought for resistance then, consider pulling yourself from his hold, but –

Oh, you can feel his breath on your cunt, can feel your dripping curls shift beneath the current of air as he laughs.  

You shift a bit on your knees, settling so that your weight rests just above each of his shoulders with his hands gripping your hips from behind you. The lower curve of your ass brushes the fine fabric of his tunic, and you are certain that if you could see his face, you would find his chin mere inches from the part of you that pulses and throbs for his attention. As it is, the roundness of your bump nearly eclipses his head, leaving only wisps of the thick, graying curls on the top of his head to peak out around the edges.

“Marcus?” Your voice trembles with nerves around his name, and beneath you, he sighs.

“Well done, amica, you are right where I want you,” he assures you with a groan. You feel the well-trimmed stubble of his silvered beard brush your lower lips; the feeling startles a gasp out of you, and on instinct, one of your hands flies from the headboard to the top of his head. “Mmm, yes, that’s it – sink your fingers into my hair. Hold yourself steady on me.”

You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice as you whimper, “Marcus – Marcus, please.”

“I know what you need.” His touch on your hips is warm, gentle, soothing. “Don’t be afraid. Now rest your weight on me and let me taste you.”

The joints in your limbs feel like water at the general’s words, at the hot wash of his breath across your swollen center. The embarrassment at your precarious position above his face still fizzes in your veins, making you lightheaded, but molten desire has begun to drown it out. Your mind doesn’t fully understand what is about to happen or what he is asking of you, but it seems that on some level, your body does, because it is absolutely thrumming for it.

There is nothing for it anymore. You cannot refuse him. You do not want to refuse him. Whatever he is about to do to you, your body needs it, craves it in the same way it does air or water or food. When you sink your cunt down onto your husband’s waiting mouth, it feels both like a surrender and like a victory.

“Oh – gods, Marcus – ”

Marcus groans deep in his chest the moment you touch his tongue, and then he is bracketing his arms around your thighs and forcibly seating you even more firmly against him. Dragging the slick, pink muscle of his tongue through your folds in one long, languorous stroke, it doesn’t take long before your thighs begin to tremble around his ears. He is focused, meticulous, thorough in his exploration of your most intimate flesh – sucking delicately at your lips, dipping the gentle tip of his tongue into your soft, quivering hole, using the flat of it to dance around that swollen nub at your apex that pulses with the thunderous beat of your heart. The thick arms locked around your thighs angle you this way and that, and through the sound of your own gasps and whines, you can hear the way your wetness drips at his touch.

Every lick, every suck, every swirl of his tongue serves to drive you higher, and you find yourself mindlessly running your hands over your body to ground yourself – stroking your belly, gripping your hips, cupping your breasts. The latter has you accidentally brushing your hardened nipples with your thumbs, and even muted as it is through your tunic, the sensation has you crying out into the dark room.

And that tongue never stops. Marcus is relentless – inexorable and yet unhurried. You can feel all of the tension in your hips and thighs melting away under the heat of his touch, and yet deep within you, something has begun to twist, to pulse, to squeeze. It feels like it does when Marcus beds you – pleasure stirring, burning, building within you as he grows more and more intent, more and more hungry, oh, gods…

It is miraculous. It is unbearable. It is tantamount to torture.

“Marcus,” you gasp helplessly, your fingers knotting in his hair, gripping the headboard. “I – I need – ”

The general pulls away from your cunt with a growl like an animal, and the sound rumbles through your body as he rasps, “That’s it, beautiful girl. Ride my face. Grind those hips into me and ride my face.”

You understand each of his words individually, but they do not coalesce in your mind. How does one “ride” a face? For a moment, you feel self-consciousness and shame begin to creep in at the edges of your thoughts. There are others who would understand the general’s instructions, surely. Others who would know what he wanted and would do it for him in an instant. For the first time, you allow yourself to consider the women that follow the army camps, the women whose services you were certain your husband had partaken of throughout his extensive career. They would know, certainly. Was there truly anything you could offer him that they could not?

Just as you begin to lose that delicious curl of pleasure in your core, as the fog of desire begins to clear from your brain, Marcus flexes those thick, strong arms around your legs and encourages your hips to thrust, dragging your tender flesh across the stubble of his beard, the plush of his lips, the slick of his tongue. That tongue, suddenly firm and pointed, thrusts into your sex, lapping at your wetness, filling the place that clenches for his cock. With the hitch of your hips, that swollen bundle of nerves just at the top glances across the bridge of your husband’s nose.

“Ah! Marcus!”

Beneath your cunt on his face, beneath your hand in his hair, you feel him nod emphatically, and understanding crashes over you like a wave. “Riding” his face. “Mounting” him, like a horse. This is what he wants. He wants you to thrust your hips against his face, as if in the saddle of a warhorse. To rub yourself against his nose and his tongue.

He wants you to find your pleasure with his body.

As though all your joints and muscles had been waiting on this realization, your hips begin to move of their own accord almost immediately, thrusting against that relentless, ever-present tongue, driving it deeper into the hot clutch of your cunt, and fuck…that nose, that big, strong, curved, perfect nose, glancing off of that most sensitive spot with every thrust. Head thrown back, hands on your breasts, fingers twisting and pulling your tender nipples through your tunic, you experiment with different speeds, different pressures, different depths, but if you are honest with yourself, you are so far gone that it has all begun to feel equally intense, equally delicious.

And so you move with abandon – leaning heavily on the headboard for balance, gripping his hair, you grind your swollen, dripping cunt across your husband’s handsome face, fucking his tongue deep into your body, riding the hard curve of his perfect Roman nose. You feel yourself pulse and twitch and tremble with every thrust, feel him lap and slurp and suck at you with new fervor, feel his thick fingers dig into your hips so deeply you know you will bear his bruises in the morning. You had not known pleasure like this existed, had not known it was possible for you to achieve it. You feel drunk with it, the way it seeps into your veins like one too many glasses of wine, and Marcus drinks you down like the finest vintage.

Your clitoris drags across his nose once again, and you cannot smother your moan at the feeling. “Gods, Marcus, your nose – ”

Against your wetness, the general’s face vibrates with something like a chuckle. “I know, dear heart, I know – I told you, this face has one advantage.”

You shake your head fervently, feeling your long curls brush your back as you grind. “It’s perfect. Perfect, Marcus, I – oh, gods, I feel – ”

Another animalistic growl ripples through your husband’s chest, and you feel him nod beneath you. “Jus’ let it happen, amica. Take your pleasure,” he slurs, mouth full of you.

And you do. You take and take and take, clit grinding, hips thrusting, thighs shaking, lungs gasping, and with every pass, that bright, hot, vicious spiral in your abdomen winds tighter, tighter, tighter. Gods, it feels as though it is going to consume you – to swallow you whole and drag you under, to drown you in your own dripping sweetness, your own savage pleasure.

And then it plateaus, the sensations holding, holding, staying at precisely the same level, dangling you over the edge, and in a far away voice, you hear yourself whimper, “Marcus, please!”

Releasing his grip on one of your hips, the man beneath you lands a single, sharp smack to the meat of your ass, and over the edge you fall.

It’s everything you thought it could be – lightning in your veins, lava in your lungs, something primal and elemental and raw that rips through your body like a tidal wave that leaves you hiccuping whines and shaking like a leaf atop the general’s face. You spill your pleasure down his chin, into his mouth, along his jaw. It slips down his neck and dampens the embroidered collar of his tunic, and the way he groans into your twitching cunt, you would think that it had caused him pain. But no – he feels your ecstasy as though it is his own. You have left your body to soar among the clouds, and he joins you, overcome with the particular joy of being responsible for making his wife – the mother of his child – reach such heights.

When you come back to yourself, you are utterly spent – limp and boneless and sweating as though you had just run at top speed from here to the city gates. You start to collapse, and Marcus’s strong hands are there to catch you, to slide you down from his face to his lap. Gathering you into his arms, he brings you back down onto the mattress and tucks you into his side. His broad shoulder cushions your flushed cheek, and his fingers brush your disheveled hair back from your face as you catch your breath. Through bleary eyes, you catch the way his face shines in the candlelight. He’s covered in your slick.

For a few moments, you simply gaze at each other as the silence stretches between you. It is only punctuated by the sound of your labored breaths as each of you settle, but somehow it isn’t awkward, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself. He’s so perfect like this, your Marcus. Hair mussed, face pink, everything from his chin to his nose glowing with your pleasure.

There’s a softness around his eyes you’ve never seen before, an earnest warmth that burrows its way into your chest and makes a nest there dangerously close to your heart. It’s an emotion you have a name for, if you are brave enough to say it, and the thought has you gripping tight to his tunic.

You are in awe of him.

You…you love him.

“And what is your verdict, my wife?” he asks after a beat. His voice is a low rumble that travels through his chest and into your body, warming you inside. “Does this Roman nose still please you?”

A tired grin tugs at the corners of your lips, pulling you out of the seriousness of your thoughts, and you nod as enthusiastically as you can manage. “Indeed, I am not certain I have ever been quite so…pleased before, husband.”

“Hmm. Good.” Marcus tucks the arm around your body into your waist, pulling you even deeper into his embrace. “Then perhaps the thing may serve a purpose after all.”

You reach up and cup his cheek in your palm, feeling the stickiness of your spend in his beard on your skin. “The purpose it serves is that it is my husband’s nose, and as such, is a part of the dearest face in the world to me.” His dark eyes soften at that, and he turns to place a warm kiss on the heel of your hand.

“Though…should you find yourself forgetting,” you add with an impish grin, “I would not object to a…repeat demonstration of its value. If it would be of any help to you, of course.”

This startles a laugh from his chest, his dark eyes crinkling with mirth, and you cannot help but join in. Gods, he is gorgeous, you think to yourself as you chuckle together in the dark. Both in his soul and in his body, your husband is gorgeous.

A hand drops to the place where your child rests, safe and protected inside your womb, and you feel a little flutter against your palm.

You decide then that you care not whether your child bears your face or Marcus’s. Either way, they will be beautiful, for how could they not be, when they have come from this?

Latin Translation:

amica - darling, sweetheart

[gurugirl]

Under His Bed | bfd!harry

best friend's dad!harry x reader

Summary: Harry invites you to stay at his house for the night and the following morning you both get an unexpected visitor. Based on this request.

Word Count: 4479

Warning: 18+ only, smut, cheating, lying, age gap, breeding kink

Best Friend's Dad!harry Masterlist

Harry showed up at your apartment after you’d just gotten home from work. You hadn’t made any plans to see him that day but you definitely weren’t disappointed when you saw him at your door.

“I just got home and I need to shower really quick,” you said as he attacked you with his mouth. His face was unshaven and the scruff was a bit more grown out than normal. You grasped his face and laughed as you bent back from him, “I’m serious!”

But your giggles and sweet smile were all that Harry noted as he ignored your words and kept smushing his lips against yours with his own smile on his face. He smelled like the fresh outdoors. The weather had cooled down significantly over the past few days, but it was only temporary. It would warm right back up. You were enjoying the cool down, though.

And Harry’s skin was chilled. Like he’d been outside for a bit. You pushed at his chest, still puffing out laughs through your nose at the way he was pawing at you, “You’re cold. Do you want to shower with me?”

Now that got his attention, “Of course I would.”

You pulled out an extra towel for Harry as you let the water warm up, “What did you do today? You smell like you were outside all day,” you asked as you reached into the stream to test the temperature.

“I smell like I was…” he shook his head and looked at you like you were crazy, “You can smell that?”

You nodded, “Yeah. Just smells like you were outside. It’s like a fresh, chilled air smell. Hard to explain. You don’t know what I mean?”

“Not really and I was golfing before I came over.” Suddenly his arm was around your front and his chest pressed into your back, “You’re not pregnant are you?”

You whipped your head around to look at him, “What?! Why would you say that?”

“Because you said you can smell fresh, chilled air. That sounds like the superpower of a pregnant woman,” he grinned.

You scoffed and pushed at him so you could take your towel off, “Water’s ready.”

You both climbed into the shower and you continued, “I’m not pregnant, though. Don’t worry,” you grinned as you picked up the soap. Harry’s comments recently had been very teasing but you wondered if there was some truth to his words.

Harry wet his hair and sighed under the warm stream before switching places with you, squirting soap into his hand to lather up, “Do you want to be?”

You paused your motions and stared at Harry bewildered, “What are you…?” You laughed at his cheeky attitude, “You’re insane.” You honestly didn’t know if you were ready for that conversation. Or if he was even being serious. But of course, his little suggestions and the way he’d talk about stuffing you with his babies did give you a bit of a longing you never had before. You were sure it was only because it was Harry.

Harry grinned and pulled his lips into his mouth as he rubbed suds over his torso and you began to lather soap over your skin. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Looking at his fit, toned body never got old. And he wasn’t one of those guys that only had buff arms or buff pecs. He was masculine and nicely muscled everywhere. His thighs always got you. They were solid and every time you held on to them when he was fucking you– the way they bulged and rippled under your hands… you could get wet from just thinking about that alone.

Dropping your sight to his tiger tattoo and then upward to the center of his thighs where his other masculine feature hung in front of them you bit your lip. He was half hard already.

Harry pulled you into his arms, your soapy, wet skin slipping against his as he cupped your face and practically devoured you with his gaze alone, “You’re so pretty. You wanna come home with me tonight? Test out my bed?”

You slid your arms over his shoulders, “What if your wife comes home? Or Fae stops by? Or the neighbors see me?”    

“Don’t really care that much. Doubt any of that will happen.”

You frowned and tilted yourself back in his arms so you could look at his face squarely, “Why are you so loosey-goosey about this lately? You don’t care if we get caught?”

Harry shook his head, “I don’t know. I think I just rather be with you and risk it than be without you and on the safe side.”

You smiled softly at him and breathed out through your nose when you felt his fingers lower to your bum. It felt like silk the way his hand traveled down your wet curves before he groped your cheeks and pulled. It was then you felt his cock was no longer only half hard. He was solid against your hip.

You both grinned at one another knowingly as Harry reached behind you and turned off the shower before picking you up and carrying you into your bedroom. You yelped and laughed, “Harry! I wasn’t done!”

“You’re done when I say so, little girl,” he lowered you to your mattress and climbed up over you, pressing his lips to your mouth, his tongue finding yours and his fingers traveling up your ribs and to your breasts.

You and Harry had been seeing each other just about every night since Mrs. Styles went to stay with her sister. It had been… really nice. But you had yet to go to his place because of the risk. Your apartment was less obvious.

Harry lowered his mouth to your neck and tongued over your still-damp skin, “I love you so much, Y/n,” his warm breath heated the droplets of water on your neck and your shoulder and you moaned.

“I love you, Harry,” you whispered with your eyes closed. Harry lowered his lips to your breasts, sucking and squeezing at them.

He pushed your thighs apart and lifted one leg as he kept his eyes on yours before he ducked down to give a hot, wet kiss to your pussy.

When he sat back onto his haunches his pink lips were parted and he looked like a man on a mission, “I don’t know how to explain it, Y/n,” he smoothed his palms over your thighs and up to your tummy, “The way I feel about you… how much I want you. Fuck it’s like a need. I don’t know if I can ever go back to sleeping next to my wife again now that I get to have you almost every night,” he watched the path his hands were making up your ribs and to your breasts. He pushed his thumbs into your nipples and then leaned over you, his cool wet hair dripping over your skin as his hot mouth covered every inch of your tits and nipples.

You moaned and grasped at his shoulders then his lats as he moved up your body and pushed his mouth to yours. You could feel his warm cock over your pussy, just pressed over you teasingly.

He parted from the kiss and brought his hands up to your face, “I love you and I don’t feel like that phrase even cuts it. God, I have to just…” he sighed and dotted a kiss to your lips before continuing, “Make you mine. Want you, Y/n. In every way. I mean it. I can’t be with anyone ever again.”

You brushed your fingers over his cheekbones and then into his hair as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him down flush to you, “Harry… that’s how I feel too. It’s such a deep need and I can’t describe it.”

Harry rocked his hips and you enjoyed how his big cock slid through your folds back and forth slowly. You were wet for him. Your body always ready and open for his cock somehow. Nothing and no one had ever turned you on like Harry did.

As he kept his eyes on yours he pressed his bulbous crown to your entrance and began to push into you. You gasped at the tight fit and he grinned at your reaction.

With your legs wrapped tight around his waist and your ankles crossed together he thrust in and out, long and languid, delicious strokes. His chest was pressed to yours and he moaned as he felt you around himself, your slick walls taking him fully, meeting the spot that he nudged into when he couldn’t reach in further.

You both breathed in steady, timed exhales as your bed’s mattress gently squeaked.

Everything between you was slippery and Harry’s arms began to shake as his breaths became more labored. He ground himself into you and his pelvis was glued to you, pressing into your clit making your brain mush.

“Shit, Y/n…” he whined when he felt you clench and stiffen. Your legs keeping his crotch and his hips connected to yours.

Your babbled words were unmistakable cries of pleasure as you pulsed around him in your sudden orgasm. Harry choked his own words out, lips against your ear, “My everything. I wanna give you the world…” his strong hold on your body as he released into you ached. You already had bruises on your thighs, your ass, your hips, but every time he whispered sweet nothings into your ear it left a lasting mark on your heart. The bruises on your body were all temporary but you would never forget his words.

.           .           .

Walking into the Styles’ home knowing you’d be sleeping with him in his bed, the bed he shared with his wife, well… it felt so much more evil than doing it at your apartment. It felt like a blatant disrespect. A clear signal that Harry was allowing you into the space his wife once occupied. Along with his words to you earlier in the day at your apartment, I don’t know if I can ever go back to sleeping next to my wife again now that I get to have you.

“Are you sure this is okay?” You took his hand and looked up at him.

He furrowed his brow and nodded, “Of course it is. Baby, I just want you with me. Thought it would be nice for a change of pace.”

And oh was it nice. Harry’s bed was big and soft and the sheets were buttery. And he made love to you until you both fell asleep. You didn’t even wake once at all during the night because the bed was so nice.

It wasn’t until your alarm went off that you woke up. 9:00 a.m. on the dot. You stretched and yawned and Harry reached for you and groaned with his face in your hair, “Don’t get up.”

You giggled and turned to face him, “I have to work, Harry. And you still have to take me all the way to my apartment so I can get my car.”

“How about I just drop you off and I’ll pick you up when your shift is over and you can come stay here again with me.”

You pressed your lips to his and hitched your thigh over his hip, “Either way, I’ve got to get going.”

“But if I take you to work that’s an extra half hour we’ve got,” his long fingers made their way down your side to your bottom, “that’s an awful lot of extra time.”

“It kind of is actually. We could make a big breakfast. Or… oh! We could get in a run! How does that sound?” You laughed as Harry’s fingers pinched your bum and then moved up to your ribs and he began to tickle you.

“I hate to say, Y/n, but you’re no good at running and you know I’d just be the one to wind up making breakfast. But if that’s really what you want then I guess we can use our time that way instead,” he grinned as he began to move away but you tightened your hold on his hip with your thigh and pulled at his arm.

“Harrrryyyy…” you whined his name with a giggle.

He put his hands up to your face and looked at you innocently, “What is it, honey?”

You rolled your eyes and groaned. He always did this to you. He knew what he was doing and even though his hard cock pressed into your inner thigh was a dead giveaway of the state he was in he was good at making you fold.

You sighed and pressed your palms into his chest, pushing his back into his mattress and straddled him, “I love you, Harry.”

The pleased smile on his face was warm and loving. You pressed yourself over his hard shaft and leaned down to kiss him. It didn’t take long for your body to heat up and your pussy to begin to slip over him easily. With your lips moving together he kept a firm hold over your bottom, fingers reaching around to test you for wetness every now and then.

When you looked at the clock you decided there was little time to waste and you were quite wet so you sat up and pressed yourself down over his tip.

“Shit. Just like that huh? Needed my cock that bad did you?”

You swiveled your hips and moaned softly in answer and Harry’s lips parted with a quiet gasp as you squeezed yourself over him, unhurriedly moving him in and out.

It felt good to have Harry like that in the morning. It was something you didn’t want to be without. And as apprehensive as you were when you got to his house the night before about sleeping with him in the bed his wife slept in you quickly forgot all about what had you feeling bad. Harry saw to it that you were happy and feeling good. As he always did.

You leaned down, pressing your chest into his, Harry had his hands at your bottom, pushing and pulling at you, slipping you up and down his cock as you kissed the edge of his mouth. You both sighed as you pressed your lips together and slowly kissed. You stuffed your fingers into his hair and he grunted when you pulled gently.

But then he lifted his hips and began to thrust up into you, the tip of his cock smushing into your cervix, and you gasped. Harry laughed and then you lifted so you could see his face.

The first swat to your bottom was unexpected and had you yelping and jolting in surprise. But then he did it again and you pulled at his hair, “Haarrryyy…” You moaned his name in protest but it was more like pleasure as he popped your cheek again and you laughed. You squeezed your thighs around his hip to still your movements but he gripped onto the soft flesh of your ass and kept pushing and pulling, causing you to glide up and down his cock.

“Oh my god…” you breathed as you pressed your palms into his chest and moved with him. Your pelvis was tilted over his and it had you fuzzy and moaning with each glide of your clit over him.

“Damn, baby…” Harry squeezed your bum with a pinch, “Your pussy is so creamy. Just drawing my come out little by little like this.” Harry groaned his words. It was true, his steady stream of precome was dribbling into you with each thrust. Your warm, slick walls always drew his cock in deep, milking him perfectly.

“Yeah? S’that feel good, Harry?” You squeezed as you drew your hips up and he moaned, digging his fingers deeper into the meat of your ass, “Cause it feels so good for me.”

“Fuck. M’gonna need it like this every morning. Okay?” He gritted his teeth as he watched you jostle gently over him, your hips canting and tits softly swaying, “Keep you with me for good. Make you all mine, get this fertile, creamy pussy loaded with my sperm every day.”

You coughed out a cry, “Yes! Please!”

Harry shifted himself, bending at the knees, feet flat onto the mattress, and began to push himself upward into you faster. You gasped and held onto his shoulders as he rocked into you from beneath, the sound of wet skin connecting and slipping together filled the room. Now you were being punched up with each of his strokes, deep into your pussy over and over again.

“Want my come, and my babies honey? Would you like that?” Harry’s words were spoken tight and whiney as he trembled from the exertion of his muscled thighs working himself into you.

“Want it. Want you to make me yours,” you spoke between gasps as your cunt tingled in indulgent lust. Your pussy gripped him tight as you felt the ache of his head ramming through your walls.

Harry gasped with your tight squeeze around him, coating him and gliding over his twitching cock. You both cried out, intoxicated with love and physical need.

You couldn’t stop the wave of your orgasm from bursting as you shook and clamped down over Harry. He gripped you tight and continued fucking into you, moving you along his shaft as you came with whimpers and moans.

“Holy…” Harry gasped as he felt you fluttering and clenching around him deliciously. You were a tight fit but you were gushing around him and he used his leverage to tug you up and down, letting you feel all of him as you writhed in ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, honey!” Harry moaned when he felt his orgasm burst out of his balls. He pulled you down onto his hips and pumped himself into your walls, teeth clenched, groaning, chest flushed in heat.

You could feel him twitching and unloading into you as he loudly moaned in rhythmic bursts.

When you finally caught your breath you collapsed onto his chest, still trembling. Harry’s big hands ran up and down your spine soothingly while you both breathed heavily.

Harry brought a hand up to the back of your neck and pulled you up, pushing your mouth to his.

As your lips were still pressed to Harry’s you both heard Fae’s voice suddenly, “Dad?!”

You’d never moved so fast in your life as you pushed yourself off Harry and jumped out of his bed.

Harry sat up quickly and dashed to his dresser to grab a pair of shorts, “Just… stay here…” he glanced at you as he rushed his words out and jumped on one leg to pull his shorts up. Grabbing a shirt he put it over his head and jogged out of his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

You had your hand pressed over your chest and stood between the wall and Harry’s bed as you heard muffled voices coming from downstairs. You couldn’t move for a few moments. Finally, looking around his room you saw your clothes draped over the bench at the foot of the bed along with your bag and purse. Walking toward the bench you shoved your things under the bed and slid your t-shirt on over your head. That had been a very close call.

Harry was surprised that his daughter had stopped by at all. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs he’d pulled his shirt over his head but his cock was still half hard and his hair was a mess. Not the most ideal way to greet Fae but he didn’t have much choice. Better that than the alternative. He didn’t even want to think about how that would have gone down. His bedroom door had been wide open as you two had been having sex, loudly.

“Hey, hon…” Harry hugged Fae loosely and smiled.

“What were you doing?” She looked him up and down in scrutiny.

“I just woke up a bit ago. Was sitting in bed looking at my phone. Haven’t really done much of anything yet.”

“You’re all sweaty,” she groaned and turned to walk upstairs.

“Where are you going?” Harry rushed behind her.

“I left a suitcase in my room and I wanted to bring it to my apartment,” she paused and turned back to him, “Why are you so jumpy?”

Harry’s heart was pounding. He knew he was probably quite jumpy given the circumstances, “I just didn’t expect you. Caught me off guard.”

Fae looked at him like he was crazy and turned to finish ascending the stairs.

Harry followed close behind his daughter and spoke loudly, “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by Fae. You know that.”

“Why are you shouting? Are you okay?” Fae scrunched her brows and shook her head at her dad.

You heard the commotion and then Harry’s voice. Kneeling down behind the bed you kept your eye on the bedroom door. Just in case Fae should enter.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry,” Harry lowered his voice but hoped you heard him. He imagined that you already were hidden and aware of everything going on. He doubted his daughter would need to go into his bedroom but still.

Harry leaned against the door frame as Fae looked through her closet for the suitcase, “It’s not here. Do you think it’s in your room?”

Harry’s heart rate picked up once again, “No. I doubt it. Haven’t seen anything like that in there.”

Fae sighed and peeked under her bed, not finding her suitcase, “I’m just gonna check in your closet if it’s okay,” she spoke as she walked toward Harry who was at her doorway.

Harry put his hands on Fae’s shoulders to stop her, “No! Uh… I’ll go check. Just keep looking. I’ll be right back!”

“Seriously, Dad. What’s wrong? Are you hiding someone in there?” Fae laughed out her last sentence but Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his daughter with wide eyes.

“Why would you say that?”

Fae stopped and cocked her head, “Well, I was kidding. But you’re starting to make me think I wasn’t far off.”

Harry licked his lips and shook his head, speaking loudly once again, “No. Of course, I’m not. I’ll check in my room you just… keep looking in your room. My room’s a mess. I don’t want you to see it.”

However, if there was anything about Fae that was consistent from childhood through adulthood it was that she was nosy, and if she wanted to find out information she would.

You panicked and slid under Harry’s bed just as the door opened. There was no good spot to hide in his bedroom. The bathroom or the closet was an option but those were no better than just being under his bed.

Harry stepped into his room and looked around, not seeing you he moved to quickly look under his bed and saw you on your back with your eyes closed, “Nothing under here,” he spoke loudly and Fae passed him into the room to open his closet.

“Your room’s not messy, Dad. You’re being really weird.” She looked into his closet and up on the shelves, not finding the suitcase.

“Dang. Wonder if Mom took it when she left. I’ll have to call her. You sure nothing’s under your bed?” she stepped toward the bed and Harry quickly hopped in front of her.

“Nothing’s under there. But I think there are a bunch of things in the hall closet. Let’s go check there.”

Fae pointed at her dad, “I’m on to you. Something’s going on here and I’m going to figure it out.”

She walked past him to leave his bedroom and Harry let out the breath he was holding.

You were sure you’d been caught when Fae stepped into his bedroom. At first, you figured there would be no reason for her to go into his room but you were clearly wrong.

You continued to lie still under his bed with your bag at your feet as your heart thumped loudly in your chest until the moment she left. You opened your eyes and waited. You weren’t going to move until you knew for sure the coast was clear.

It took a few minutes. Harry wanted to wait until he saw Fae pull away in her car before he gave you the all-clear.

Running up the stairs toward his room you heard him as he ducked down on the side you were laying, and put his hand on your arm, “Hey, baby. She’s gone.”

He helped you out from under the bed and you felt like you were in shock. The morning had started off so perfectly but the reality of what you were doing crashed down on you when your best friend arrived.

You were even still wet between your legs, Harry’s come on your thighs, as you hadn’t had a chance to clean up.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. Are you okay?” Harry pulled you into his lap. He sat on the rug and cradled you into his arms.

“I don’t know. That was… I feel awful about this.”

Harry put his hand to the back of your head and kissed your forehead, “Don’t feel awful. We can’t help our feelings, Y/n.”

You nodded and closed your eyes, “I know. I just wish the circumstances were different.”

“Me too.”

Fae’s surprise visit put you behind on getting ready. You didn’t have time to shower after wiping up and getting dressed and now you had no choice but to let Harry drop you off at work so you wouldn’t wind up being late.

Harry parked at the front of the restaurant and you leaned in to kiss him goodbye, “Thank you, Harry. See you tonight.”

He grinned and pulled at your arm, pressing his mouth back over yours once again before parting from the kiss, “I’ll be here to pick you up at 8.”

The moment you walked inside your boss was there with a confused look on her face, “Is that your boyfriend?”

You paused and looked outside as Harry’s car drove off and then back at your boss. You hadn’t expected that anyone would see you, “Uh. Yeah. He is.” You figured there was no harm in admitting he was your boyfriend to your boss.

“Interesting.” She gazed out the glass entry into the front, “He looks awfully familiar. Except the man I’m thinking of is married and probably 20 years older than you,” she shook her head and looked back at you. “Same car too.” She raised her brows and sighed as she looked at her watch, “Well, anyway. Your first table was just sat. You should probably go clock in.”

Fuck.

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[jgracie]

HOW YOU GET THE CURL

masterlist | rules

❝ idk if you’d do percy but with curly blonde hair (like pjo series ver perce) but if you do, i’d love a fic where he teaches y/n how to maintain curly hair (she doesn’t have curly hair) cause he loves the idea of her taking care of him ❞ — anon

in which percy teaches you how to take care of curly hair

pairing percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings none

on the radio . . . romeo & juliet (peter mcpoland), san fransisco (be sure to wear some flowers in your hair) (scott mckenzie), sunflower, vol 6 (harry styles), slow dancing (aly & aj), our house (crosby, stills, nash & young)

an can someone pls tell me the titles sooo smart and funny 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

“Honey, I’m home!” As soon as you heard Percy yell those words from your front door, you left the comfort of the couch and ran into his arms. He immediately put his bags down and picked you up, twirling you around before peppering kisses all over your face.

Life in New Rome couldn’t be any better. After the two of you got into the same university, your parents bought you an apartment to share so you wouldn’t have to be separated in university dorms, knowing all too well how you were attached at the hip. You had cried at the gesture, and Percy held you in his arms as he, too, held back tears.

A wide grin on his face, he asked, “how’s my favourite girl?” As he unpacked everything he’d bought that day, you gave him a rundown of your day. It was pretty mundane - some reading, some studying - but he listened as if you were describing the plot to a sci-fi movie. Your eyes quickly took in everything laid out on the counter, mostly groceries, and landed on one bottle.

You picked it up and read the label while Percy explained what it was, happy you were amused, “that’s a new curl cream. The one I’ve been using’s a little too heavy for my hair, always weighing my curls down. I think I’m gonna try it today, do you wanna do the honours?” 

“Honours of what?” You asked, confused. You didn’t have curly hair, so you didn’t know much about the effort that went into taking care of it, just that it required a lot of different products and was incredibly laborious, according to Percy. His curls were really cute though, so in your opinion, the labour was worth it.

Making his way over to you and wrapping his arms around you, Percy batted his eyelashes, “of trying it on me. I’ve been thinking, babe, you need to know how to do curly hair for when we have kids! Curly hair genes run strong in my family, so I wouldn’t be surprised if our kids inherit them.” 

You felt your face heat up as you thought about having kids with Percy, then smiled fondly when you realised what he was doing. Percy’s always been incredibly shy about wanting to be cared for. No matter how many times you’d tell him you didn’t mind giving him a massage or going over his maths homework, he’d always try to conceal his true intentions with some other lame excuse, like now.

“Okay! Let’s go do it now,” you said, dragging him over to your bathroom. You grabbed a stool for him to sit on and stood between him and the bath, hand-held shower head in hand (I hope this setup makes sense LOL). Making sure the water was the perfect temperature, you began rinsing his hair, careful to make sure no water dripped down his body. While you did so, Percy told you about his day. You always loved his knack for storytelling, your boyfriend never failed to find a way to make anything sound interesting.

Next, you squirted some of his shampoo on your hand and began lathering it in his hair. You felt Percy relax and smiled, glad he was content, “it’s okay to want to be taken care of, Perce. I’ll do it gladly,” you mumbled absentmindedly, to which he simply hummed. As you conditioned his hair, he began to doze off, which made you reconsider using the cream. You didn’t trust yourself to use it without his guidance, but didn’t want to wake him up.

In the end, you decided on disrupting his sleep, since you knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he slept now, “how do I do this?”

Percy took your hand and squirted some of the cream into your open palm, “rub it into both hands, then scrunch it into my hair.” You did as you were told, your hands light as too little was better than too much, in case you did something wrong.

When Percy looked into the mirror, he turned to you and smiled, “hey, you’re a natural! You should do this all the time” He asked, his eyes bleary. You would do this a million times if it made him this happy every single one of them.

After the cream came the gel, which was a lot easier since it was the same scrunching motion as before. You were a little apprehensive when Percy told you to put it in, since you didn’t think crunchy curls were the outcome. However, it all made sense during the final stage: the hair oil.

“This, my love, is what stops them from being all crunchy. Just lightly pass it over my hair,” Percy explained, pouring the tiniest amount of oil into your palm. You recognised the scent - it smelled like home, like him. 

You finished and admired your work. Percy was right, you were pretty good at taking care of curly hair. After running his fingers through his hair a couple times to loosen the curls up the way he liked, Percy gave you a hug, kissing your head thousands of times and saying a muffled, “thank you,” into your hair.

Nothing was more blissful than this. Well, until you smelt something burning.

Pulling away from you, Percy asked, “did you make something?” You wracked your brain for an answer then gasped, remembering what it was. Running to the kitchen with Percy behind you, you quickly pulled the cookies you were baking - once blue, now black - out of the oven.

“I wanted to surprise you with these!” You said, disappointed. 

Fighting the urge to cough, Percy picked one up and bit into it, grimacing for a second before smiling and holding a thumbs up, “it’s really unique, I’ve never tasted anything like these. You definitely did surprise me!” He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice Rolling your eyes, you discarded the cookies and replied, “oh, shut up, Perce”

[august126]

The Shower of yearning (2/2)

Harry Potter x female reader

Summary: Harry Potter likes y/n, although he won't admit it. y/n likes Harry Potter, although she won't admit it. Hogwarts Castle is sick and tired of it - and decides the two need some help, forcing them to shower together again and again.

warnings:Shower Sex

The fourth time it happened, it was perfection.

Harry and y/n didn’t make eye contact for most of the following day. There was no clandestine meeting. No plan on how to avoid their little showery rendezvous. Whenever they were around each other, they went slightly pink and felt that Hogwarts was suddenly all too warm. Harry even skipped his shower that night - instead choosing to shower the following morning in the dorm showers. But one view of Seamus pulling nose hairs out as he washed his face was enough for Harry to know this was not a viable option.

So the following night he was back in the shower, back to thinking about y/n, back to remembering how good it had felt to be in her hand. He had barely begun to wash himself before the pop came. y/n was there a second later - chewing on her lip, one finger toying with a strand of wet hair. They made eye contact for a few seconds. A thousand words passed silently between them.

“Oh Harry”she said, taking a step forward.

Harry groaned. “Fuck it.”

Their embrace was wild. Before he could so much as blink, he had his arms wrapped around her, and y/n was clinging to him just as tight. Her hands were just as eager to roam over his toned, defined back as his hands were to drop to her peachy bum, finally discovering what it felt to grope y/n ass. They moaned into each other’s mouths - their kiss desperate and uncontrollable. It went through all the early stages of dating in four heartbeats - the peck, the press of lips, the open mouth, the battling tongues for dominance.

“Need this” Harry grunted into her neck at one point as he lathered it with kisses - delighted with the moans escaping y/n mouth. “Need you.”y/n arched her back, pressing her stomach against his cock, letting him feel her skin sliding along his length. “Please. I want it. Now.”

Harry reached down and hiked up one of y/n’s legs up with his arm. He pressed her back into the shower wall for support, even as her sex was revealed to him. He didn’t waste any time in stepping forward, pressing his shaft against her opening. Even the shower couldn’t wash away her arousal - hot and wet, begging for him. They both groaned - the sound louder than the water - as he pushed himself inside, sheathing himself inside her body, taking her for the first time.

y/n grabbed his face as he started to thrust. Her hands cradled each cheek as she pulled him back against her lips, kissing and sucking, covering him with her love. Harry meanwhile hiked up her other leg, trapping her against the shower wall with his body. She wrapped her feet around his waist. Letting him push even deeper, to claim every inch of her as his own. It didn’t take long for either of them as they rutted in the shower, bodies pressed together, wet skin slapping against wet skin, filling the bathroom with the sound of their fucking.

“Yes!” y/n cried out. A hand balled up in Harry’s hair. “Yes! Oh God yes! I’m cumming!”

Harry’s release followed a second later. A strangled “fuck!” escaping his lips as he spilled himself inside her.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

Harry was sitting in the common room long after most people had gone to bed. He was enjoying the warmth of the fire and was watching y/n talking to Hermione on the other side of the room. They were laughing about something. Harry smiled to himself. y/n was truly beautiful when she laughed - the joy of her face captured in her smile. It made his heart far too big for his chest.

They had been dating for several months now. Ever since that perfect night in the shower. They continued to shower together. They had gone to Hogsmeade on two dates. They had whispered in the dark to each other those words “I love you” as their bodies were embraced. He was so happy and he was glad that whatever strange curse of Hogwarts had thrown them together - had forced them to explore their feelings.

As he looked away from y/n and Hermione however he caught sight of a book in y/n bag: Secrets of Hogwarts. The title intrigued him - his eyes narrowing as he gently snuck the book out of the bag. y/n hadn’t noticed. Looking over the library stamp, he realized y/n had checked this book out after their second shower together, during that week when they had showered at separate times. He realized one of the pages was marked and flipped to it - his eyebrows rising higher with each word he read.

The Shower of Courting is an old Hogwarts myth that has never been confirmed to exist and must be regarded as an old wives’ tale. The story goes that if the castle itself perceives two students to be so compatible, so in unknowing love with each other, then it will take action and teleport them together into a single shower so that they might be forced to explore their relationship. It will do so until they consumate their relationship.

Harry looked up from the book stunned. y/n had known. That was why she had showered the third time, why she had stroked him, taking charge. He opened his mouth to say something - to question her - and then he shook his head ruefully. It didn’t matter. It really, truly didn’t matter. They both got what they had wanted. Hogwarts had got what it wanted. Laughing to himself, Harry returned the book to y/n bag and went to his girlfriend.

[hjparisian]

sandcastles and beaches- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x fem!reader w: fluff summary: harry and (y/n) decide to have a beach day with little james. a/n: this was a super old request that i have found the motivation to finish

Harry and (Y/N) were sleeping peacefully one morning, that was until a certain little boy decided to disturb the peace.

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake uuuppp!"

Harry felt a small body pounce on him, causing him to wake up. It was their son James. Why was he waking them up rather it being the other way around? Harry and (Y/N) had been talking about a day trip to the beach, which was today. So as all young children do, it was James' responsibility to wake them early and remind them of the fun day planned.

Harry felt movements and a groan coming from (Y/N), signifying she's awake too. He looked over to find her facing them with a smile.

"Good morning you two."

"Morning love," Harry said to his wife.

"Mum! Mum! It's beach day! You guys said we would go to the beach today!" said James.

(Y/N) chuckled a bit at her son's excitedness. "Yes we did say that."

"Get up and let's go!" James shouted.

"Of course James but first let's make some breakfast. We can't go on an empty stomach," said (Y/N). At that moment a growl could be heard from little James tummy.

After (Y/N) gotten ready for the day, she prepared breakfast for the three of them. James had devoured his meal quick, considering he was quite hungry and excited for the day. Harry began packing things into the car with James while (Y/N) was making lunch to take with them.

James was following his lookalike around, asking him a million questions.

"Is the water going to be cold? Do you think we will see dolphins or fish? Oh, can we build sandcastles dad?"

All Harry could do was chuckle at his son's curiosity and excitement.

Once everything was loaded, Harry strapped James into his carseat before he got into the driver's seat and began their journey.

Throughout the car ride, James kept asking questions about the beach, which caused both (Y/N) and Harry to chuckle at the young boy.

Soon, the three arrived at the beach. James was ecstatic, jumping in the carseat. Once they were parked, (Y/N) got out and unbuckled James while Harry began grabbing their stuff from the trunk of the car.

"Woah! The beach!" James exclaimed once he saw the blue waters.

The young wizard started running off towards the water.

"James! Stay close to us!" (Y/N) yelled out to him.

James stopped in his tracks, looking at the waters while his parents try to catch up to him. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Harry and (Y/N) caught up to him, hands full with their beach supplies.

"I think right around here should be good," Harry says to (Y/N), who nods at him.

After they set everything up, (Y/N) calls James over, telling him she needed to put sunscreen on him.

"Mum! I don't need it!"

"Yes you do James. I don't want you to get sunburnt."

The boy pouted, but reluctantly let his mother lather him in sunscreen. The moment she finished, James jumped up and started running towards the ocean.

"Don't go too far James!" His mother yelled to him.

(Y/N) watched as her son started playing by the water. It was such an adorable sight to see. They need to start making more trips to the beach.

Harry's voice caught her attention. "Mind helping me put sunscreen on me, love?" (Y/N) looked up to find her husband with his shirt in one hand, sunscreen in the other.

She nods as she pats the spot in front of her. Harry sat down and (Y/N) put some sunscreen on her hand and began rubbing it on Harry's back.

"Seems like he's having fun, no?" Harry says to his wife.

"He is. Haven't seen him this excited since you got him that quidditch broom for Christmas."

"I think he was more excited for the broom," Harry chuckles.

"Uh huh. Sure," (Y/N) said. She moved in front of him to apply sunscreen to his chest. The feeling made her flush a bit, no matter how many times she's seen or touched him. She could feel Harry smirking at her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a young voice. "Can we build sandcastles now pleasee?"

James was looking at them with his bright green eyes, holding one of the beach pails they had brought with them. Of course, Harry and (Y/N) couldn't say no to the young boy. While she helped her son fill the pails with sand, Harry helped James with the construction of the sandcastles.

Once they finished, (Y/N) decided it was time for lunch. Unpacking the lunch, she began handing it to Harry and James, who practically inhaled the food as soon as it was in his hands.

The young boy was excited to hit the waters again, dragging his parents towards the ocean as soon as they finished their lunch.

"Come on, come on!" his young voice sounded.

As soon as their feet hit the water, young James decided it was a good time to splash water onto (Y/N) and Harry.

"Hey!" (Y/N) said, laughing. She leaned over to James and whispered in his ear. All of a sudden, Harry was knocked over by his two favorite people, all three of them landing in the water.

After a while, the three went back to their set up where they dried off. James had fallen asleep on the towel that laid on the sand. (Y/N) and Harry sat by him, Harry's arm wrapped around (Y/N).

"Had a good day?" he asked her.

"I did. You?"

Harry nodded. "Bet James had an even better day than us." His wife agreed.

He turned to look at her. "Hey love?" (Y/N) hummed in response.

"How do you feel about having another child?"

(Y/N) thought for a moment. She's been debating about this for a while. Though she knew she wanted another child, she wasn't sure when it would be a good time. James has been asking her for a sibling because he "wants to be the coolest big brother ever" and wants to have someone to hang with. He was still young so it wouldn't be a bad time to try.

"I would like that," she says as she looks as James' peaceful face. Harry smiles at her before grabbing her chin and kissing her.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

Requisite*

part 2 to this

a/n: this is my first time writing smut!! please be gentle (like harry is in this hehe)

makeup sex after boyfriend!harry feels insecure about your relationship

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+ content! smut :) dirty talk, cursing, kissing, pussy eating, p in v sex, creampie

my masterlist || my ask box (come say hi!)

Your core was a slick mess throughout dinner. Harry had got you so hot and bothered, and then left you waiting and desperate.

“You go to the room and wait for me, I’ll put these dishes in the washer.”

“Mm, okay” you mumbled.

Climbing up the stairs, you made your way to your room.Sitting on the edge of the bed, you waited for him, fiddling with the hem of your tshirt.

He came in soon after, and closed the door shut. With a smirk on his face, he walked towards you. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and your pussy was throbbing like it had a heartbeat of its own.

He reached you and put his palms on your face, caressing your cheeks. Leaning in to kiss you, his soft, pink lips met yours. His tongue licked your lower lip, and you gladly opened your mouth, inviting his tongue inside. His tongue gilded against yours, saliva from both of your mouths mixing in a hot, sticky mess. It was wet and messy, but you loved it.

He put one thigh up on the bed, and nudged your legs apart with one hand. He pushed his thigh between your legs, as you spread them apart to welcome the friction he was giving you. You were wearing a thin pair of shorts, which you had slid on after he had left you wanting just hours before. His thigh pushed on between your legs, and your back arched, despite there being no contact between your pussy and his thigh. 

“Harry  do something” you asked him, looking up at him with the best puppy eyes so he wouldn’t refuse.

“Aw, my poor baby’s desperate?” he held your chin, while making you nod.

“Yes, please…” you begged once more, and he quickly leapt into action. He grabbed your waist and pushed you up on the bed. Pulling the shorts off your legs, he spread your legs apart, and got on his stomach before you.

Lifting your right leg up, he looked right into your eyes as he kissed your ankle. Peppering kisses all over your calves, upto your thighs, he edged you. Made you wait, so you would anticipate his touch on where you needed him the most. Maybe beg more.

After he reached the joint of your hip and waist, he put that leg on his shoulder, and grabbed your left one.

You sighed, almost used to his cruel torture. You waited on your elbows, looking down at him while he loved on your legs. Even after that, he wasn’t done. You grabbed his curls and pushed his head between your legs, and he chuckled, before diving right in.

He spread your lips apart using his fingers, and licked a bold stripe. Your back immediately arched off the bed, the grip on his hair tightening.

He started to kitten lick your clit, while pushing your shirt up to expose your breasts. You got up and yanked off the shirt, throwing it away. He reached a hand up and grabbed your breast, kneading it between his palm. Rolling a nipple between his fingers, you moaned when he brought a finger at your entrance.

Lathering it up in your cream, he gently pushed it inside your weepy hole, your walls clenching around him. After letting you adjust to his finger, he started to fuck you with it, while simultaneously sucking your clit. You felt like your body was on fire, your stomach tightening and chest heaving.

He started to move his tongue in circles and the fingering heightened your pleasure even further. You started to pant and moan with each lick, and Harry felt incredibly aroused watching you. The sight of your back arched before him, your plump breasts in his hands and your pussy wrapped around his finger had his mind going wild.

He pushed another finger in, and increased the pace. Your legs tightened around his head, an orgasm fast approaching. He rolled and pulled at your nipple, while sucking and licking your clit, and fingering you hard and fast. Moments after, you fell apart in his hands, your cum and juices coating his lower mouth.

Your vision fell black, as you felt your orgasm wash over your body, waves of pleasure rolling through from your scalp to your toes. Harry’s hand didn’t stop it’s movements, fucking you throughout the intense orgasm to make it last.

He licked up everything that came out of your sweet pussy, like it was a dessert he was saving up for after dinner.

Maybe he was.

“God, Harry, you’re so fucking good at this!” you said breathlessly, your breathing still labored.

“Mmm, I know, sweetheart. There’s a reason why I keep you waiting.” he climbed up your sweat-covered body and kissed you on your lips. You could taste yourself on his, and you grabbed his hair to pull him into you further. His erection pressed against your stomach, the front of his boxers wet from precome.

“Eating me out got you hard, Harry?” you asked, with a hint of innocence, and a whole lot of mischief.

“You know how much I enjoy licking you between your thighs. And how I love having you coat my face in your sweetness.”

You gulped, not used to this much praise.

Harry treated you like a literal goddess, Unlike your past loves, he showed genuine care and respect for you. He wasn’t grossed out by the idea of having his head between your thighs, unlike the other guys. In fact, that was his favourite thing to do to you, besides fucking you.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, softly kissing your nose.

“Nothing, just…how much I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too, baby.” he reciprocated, and you felt your heart swell up with love and adoration for the man beside you.

“Then show me how much you love me” you whispered, and he immediately got up. Pulling his boxers and shirt off, he climbed back on the bed, on top of you.

His hard cock lines up with your wet hole, his head making its way past your lips.

“Ah!” you grabbed his shoulders as he made his way inside you. He was big, and always gave you time to adjust.

Pushing into the hilt, he got up on his elbows, panting.

“You ready?”

“Yes” that was all he needed. He pulled back and pushed back in, making you scream out his name. Your legs wrapped around his narrow waist, his cock making you see stars behind your closed eyes.

He establishes a smooth rhythm of fucking you, and your eyes roll back with each thrust. He tucks his face in your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear with each thrust.

“That’s my good girl”

“Taking me so well, my pretty baby”

“God, you’re so fucking tight. Take m’cock nice and deep in your little hole.”

“All mine, aren’t you?”

“Faster, H.” you moaned into his ear, biting his earlobe. He reached one hand between your bodies, traveling straight to your clit. He increased the pace of his harsh thrusts, while rubbing and pinching your clit between his fingers. Your wetness coated his cock and his balls, making a sticky and wet mess. 

Obscene noises of skin slapping against each other, wet squelching sounds of his dick pounding into you filled the room, another orgasm threatening to take over.

Your nails raked down his chest and back, creating marks and memories that he will cherish for days. Your grip on his waist tightens and you bite onto his shoulder, as another orgasm rolls through your body.

“Harry! Fuck, I’m coming!” you scream out, your pussy spasming and fluttering around his cock, making him lose it too. He slows down his thrusts as his cock shoots ropes of thick, white cum inside you, painting your walls white.

He slumps down on you, resting his face in your neck, with his cock still buried deep inside you. A warmth is spread across your body, the orgasm making your face glow.

You both catch your breaths, while he kisses your neck and you rub circles on his back with your finger. 

His body on top of you feels like home, one in which you want to stay forever.

. . .

a/n: tell me if you liked it!! and so sorry for any mistakes or typos! any feedback is welcome!!

taglist:

@freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou

message me / send an ask / drop a comment if you wanna be added or removed!

[yopossum]

My first of two fics for @burntheedges and her Roll-a-Trope Writing Challenge! For this I picked Javi G and rolled the “stuck in an elevator” trope. Wheeeee!!!

To Make a Day for You

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javi G x female reader

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+ only! Language, fluids, capitalism, working in service positions and hospitality

———————————————————————————

God, this shift was never ending.

You trudged to the elevators and punched the up arrow, dreading the nightmare that awaited you on the fourth floor.

We need a preliminary check-out hazard assessment prior to clean on the Bacchus Suite. Guests noted the presence of “some various fluids” on multiple surfaces and potential smoke damage.

Always the fucking Bacchus Suite. Why they named it that, added a full bar, and then carpeted the room, you’d never know. And now it was your job to see what the most recent rockstar oozed where.

You stepped into the first elevator that opened, nobody else waiting to join, and you were feeling grateful to have at least a few private moments of calm before the storm when a large bronzed hand bearing an expensive-looking watch reached into the gap between the closing doors.

“Excuse me, thank you so much,” exhaled a voice with a smooth Spanish accent. The voice was followed by a man, broad and tanned, looking harried and apologetic and extremely wealthy in a powder blue suit. He went to press the fourth floor button, and upon seeing it already lit, ran that large hand through the waves of glossy brown hair on his head and winced out a smile. His eyes were soft and warm, a rich deep cocoa, and they crinkled at the corners.

You were annoyed at his presence, but such was life. Especially in service positions.

“Of course, sir!” you chimed, feigning cheer the way all good hospitality workers must.

“I am sorry I have intruded on your ride. I am sure you must tire of interacting with guests. I will not insist on your attention...” The man glanced at your name tag, added your name to his apology. He smiled again, more easy, and bowed slightly, before stepping back against the wall and clasping his hands at his waist.

Ah, well. That was nice, at least. Usually riding the elevator with hotel guests resulted in a barrage of complaints and requests, generally almost none of which you were capable of addressing or responsible for, which was no concern of the guests or of management. Smile, nod, apologize, agree, lather, rinse, repeat.

This guest also smelled incredible, you noted as his scent drifted in the enclosed space. Citrus, vanilla, fresh and warm and masculine. Maybe you could cling to the sense memory in your nostrils as you faced down whatever horrors existed in the Bacchus Suite. Of course you’d forgotten your Vicks at home today. Swipe of it under the nose, a trick you’d learned from a mortician, one that had, unfortunately, proved very useful in luxury hotel housekeeping. You tried to will the guest’s cologne to somehow weave itself into your nose hairs.

———

As the elevator moved past floor 3, the lights flickered.

Huh.

As the digital display panel flashed, the elevator suddenly lurched to a stop, sending you toppling into the handrail. The guest’s hand flew to your upper arm to steady you, then quickly retreated.

“Are you okay? Were you hurt?” the man asked, eyes quickly scanning you for any obvious injuries.

Were you? No, you determined after a quick mental inventory. “I’m fine, thank you. Are you alright, sir?” You straightened up, brushed your uniform shirt down into place, slipping back into your customer service mask.

“I, too, am fine. I was simply startled.” He pursed his full lips thoughtfully. “I do not believe this is how elevators are meant to work, however.” He frowned up at the lights, now dimmer than before.

“Uh, no, not… not typically, no. I am sure it will be resolved soon. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir.” You leaned over to press the service button, which did nothing.

He waved his palm dismissively. “Please, no ‘sir.’ I am Javi. And I do not think elevator maintenance falls within your purview, no?” He grinned, turning to you. He had a dimple.

You chuckled. “It does not, sir. Javi. Still, on behalf of the hotel…”

“You do not need to speak on behalf of the hotel to me. No pasa nada - do not worry, please.” He placed his hand back on your arm, gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing. “I do not hold you accountable, my new friend, for the failures of either man or machine.”

“I appreciate that, very much,” you said softly. “Sorry, it’s unusual for guests to be so… understanding. They’re generally—,”

“—terrible assholes?” he finished, eyebrows raised and eyes glinting with a spark of mischief.

You laughed. “Technically I’m on the clock, so no comment.” He chuckled and winked knowingly. The two of you resumed your wordless standing for some time.

Eventually, the guest, Javi, slid his back down the elevator wall until he sat on the floor, luxurious fabric of his suit rumpled without a care, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. “You will join me, perhaps? While we wait for our knight in a shining toolbelt?”

You glanced down at him. “Join you on the ground, you mean?”

“Where else is there to go?” He had a point. You sat down.

“So, Javi. What brings you to the hotel? Business or pleasure?” You pulled your legs to your body to sit criss-cross, bracing your elbows on your knees and resting your chin on a fist.

Javi grinned. “Both, I hope, or perhaps neither. I wish to make a new film — that is what I do, I make movies — and if the studio will agree, then I will celebrate. If the studio does not agree, I suppose I will not be working or playing.”

He tilted his head back and folded his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and smiling in the direction of the ceiling. “Either way, it has been a worthwhile trip, I think.”

“Wow! So, you like to travel then?” you asked.

“Sí, but more than that, I enjoy meeting new people. Making friends. And I have done that today, and so, I consider my visit to be a success. Would you agree?” He looked over and cocked his head, eyes wide and bright, like a charming puppy.

Your face warmed. “I guess I would. I’d much rather make a friend than clean up another disgusting hotel room.” You shook your head, then remembered yourself. “Sorry. That’s my job, I know. I don’t want to be rude.” Thank god you’d forgotten your walkie in the break room. You could’ve called for help by this point, sure, but you also could’ve gotten yourself fired with the accidental press of a button.

Javi shushed you affectionately. “I will not hear these sorries. We are simply having a conversation, as friends do, are we not? You may be true to yourself with me. I would prefer it if you do.” He slid a thumb over his lower lip, then scratched at his stubbled jaw before sighing.

“When you are a man such as me, one who is associated with riches and fame and power, people do not speak to you plainly. They tell you, instead, what they think you would like to hear. What they believe may win them your favor. It is… rather difficult.” He hummed. “The more I am known, the less I am known. Does this make sense to you, what I am saying?”

“Yeah, it does.” You bit your lip and nodded. “It really does. That sounds really isolating. Lonely.”

“It can be, yes,” he confirmed quietly. “I love movies. Making films was my greatest dream, and I am very grateful for the chance to do it, and for the privileges I have had, though they did not come without their own challenges.”

He laced his fingers together and sat his hands on his thighs. “But part of what I love about movies is how they can connect people together. It is ironic, maybe, that making movies has resulted in fewer connections for me.”

“In that case, I’m glad the elevator got stuck, then. I’m enjoying the chance to connect with you, Javi,” you said declaratively.

With impeccable cosmic timing, all the lights of the elevator went dark, save for a thin emergency strip, glowing red along the edge of the floor.

———

Well. You thought for a moment. “Javi?”

His voice swam easily through the darkness. “Sí, I am here.” You focused on the red glow to try and make out the shape where he sat.

“I think this is the best day of work I’ve had in years,” you shrugged with a snort.

Javi barked a loud laugh along with you, then slid a few feet closer along the floor to sit immediately beside you in the darkness.

“May I ask you something, my friend?” His voice was softer, husking around the edges a bit.

“Of course,” you replied, feeling something small and fuzzy and wriggly in your chest. The smell of his cologne washed over you, more concentrated with his proximity, almost as if it was your skin that bore it and not his.

“Will you tell me about your favorite movie?”

You were surprised at his question for a fraction of a second, but he asked so earnestly, you knew that, for your new friend Javi, the topic that others would probably regard as small talk was instead a precious, intimate thing.

“Yes, but don’t laugh.”

“I would never, you must know this. I will tell you one of mine first — it is Paddington 2.” You could only see the vague shapes of his face in the low light but it was clear that he was serious, and it filled you with adoration for your gentle and unpredictable new friend.

“I haven’t actually seen it,” you admitted.

“Oh, we will change this. We will watch it together someday,” Javi said with an authoritative clap of his hands. “If we are not entombed inside this elevator, of course,” he added.

“It’s a big if,” you acknowledged. “But yeah, I’d like that.”

“So.” You felt Javi’s shoulder press against your own, flush together. “I am dying to hear. Which is your favorite?” He was practically buzzing with anticipation.

“Babe,” you muttered, tucking your face into your hands with embarrassment.

Vision having adjusted somewhat, Javi clocked the movement and turned his broad shoulders to face you, grabbing both your hands in his and pulling them down.

“Why would you feel shame for this?! It is an incredible story of defying expectations and overcoming oppressive structures. The pig is a marvel, is he not?” He shook your hands with emphasis and continued breathlessly. “He teaches the other animals and humans of the farm to love, to respect one another, to see the inherent value in each other. It is a tribute to empathy! An ode to the triumph of the spirit! Oh, you have chosen well, querida.” The white of his teeth gleamed in the shadows when Javi beamed at you.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Okay, THANK YOU. It’s so wonderful, right?! I’m so used to being teased about it, but I love it. Ugh, Farmer Hoggett is so…”

“Fuuuuuck. The song! Oh, I can feel my heart seize when I think of it. It is what I would want the next time I fall ill, somebody to sing that song for me. I suppose I could pay somebody to do so,” Javi mused, “but I think it would not have quite the same sentiment.”

“Javi, I promise that if we don’t die in this elevator, I will sing the song from Babe to you over the phone whenever you’re sick.” You turned his hands in yours, running your thumbs over his knuckles.

“And I will do the same for you. We must pinky swear it. Then our vow will be unbreakable.”

He hooked one pinky in the air between your bodies and waited for yours to join. You lifted your own and looped it with his, and Javi flexed his strong hand to squeeze the promise in extra tight.

“Good. It is agreed. Now, I am curious to know how a spirit that burns for such a piglet finds herself in such an establishment as this, cleaning up after unruly excess. Surely, it does not feed your soul.” Javi returned his hands to his own lap but tilted his head so it rested on your shoulder, his soft hair tickling against your cheek.

“Doesn’t feed my soul, no. Doesn’t feed my body very well, either. Pay is garbage, bills are always tight. My fridge has seen better days, for sure.” You huffed. “But, the hours are flexible. Sometimes I get tips. It’s whatever.”

“I wish for you to have more than ‘whatever’, querida,” intoned Javi, warm concern in his voice.

“Yeah, me too. Someday, hopefully.”

“Hmm.” Javi nuzzled slightly into your neck, and you wondered if he could feel your pulse pick up. “And if you were not working in this hotel, not burdened by your responsibilities, what would you like to be?”

“Besides a sheep-pig?” you smirked.

Javi patted your back with a giggle.

“I want to be a museum archivist,” you sighed. “I, uh, actually have two Masters degrees? History and Library & Information Science.”

“No! That is amazing!” Javi gasped at your side, lifting his head to gape at you.

“Thanks. It is… a lot of debt. And most archival positions require you to do a bunch of internships for experience just to get a foot in the door. Degree is a necessity but it doesn’t really mean anything in terms of getting a job. I couldn’t afford to pay back my loans and pay my bills while volunteering my time, and no paying jobs were willing to take a chance on me fresh out of school.” You laughed humorlessly. “Probably should’ve thought of that before I got the degree. But, I needed to do something, and this job was something. I’m able to volunteer at the Natural History Museum a few days a week with my schedule doing whatever they’ll let me.”

Javi was nodding along with your words as he listened. “I see, I see. And how long have you been doing this job instead of what you love?”

“Ah,” you hemmed. “Six, no, seven years?”

“And you have made progress on your loan payments?”

“Not really. If I work for a nonprofit or public employer, I could have my loans forgiven after 10 years of employment, but I’d have to be able to get the job first, and prospects are bleak. I don’t have savings either. Paying $1800 a month for a shoebox doesn’t leave much left over.” You allowed yourself to lean into Javi, your head slanting on top of his shoulder.

“Shit.” Tentatively, he reached his arm around your body. “This is okay, querida? For me to offer you this comfort?”

“It is, Javi. Thank you.” You snuggled into him, let his warmth seep into you, and sat in silence for a while. Time stretched lazily around you both, like a comfortable cat.

“You know what’s crazy? And sad, now that I think about it,” you said eventually. “In the seven years I’ve worked here, nobody has ever asked me about anything besides hotel shit or housekeeping. Not my bosses, not my coworkers. Definitely not any of the guests.”

“Then that is an injustice to you and a loss for them. Thank you for sharing yourself in this way with me. I feel very fortunate to have met and learned more of you.” You smiled against Javi’s torso and he cupped his palm around the base of your neck, thumbing the space behind your ear.

Suddenly, the elevator jerked, the lights blaring back on. You and Javi shielded your eyes from the blinding change. You exchanged glances as the display lit up once again, and Javi clambered to his knees, reaching out to give a testing press to the round 4 button.

———

The elevator rumbled and began to ascend.

“Oh, wow,” you said. “I kind of forgot this might eventually happen. Lost track of time, I’m not allowed to have my phone on me during shifts and I don’t wear a watch.” You stood up and shook out your tingling limbs.

Javi stood as well, straightening his suit and fixing his cuffs. “It has been…” He looked at his watch and squinted at the face. “It has been three hours.”

“Oh my god! Shit, I’m going to get reamed for not having that room cleared.” Panic and frustration started to gnaw at the corners of your and Javi’s peaceful vignette.

“But it is the fault of their elevator that you are delayed,” he reasoned.

“They won’t care, trust me. God, I wish I didn’t need this job as bad as I do.” You closed your eyes and took a breath, steeling yourself as the elevator stopped at the fourth floor and the doors slid open. For a moment, Javi hesitated, then exited before you and reached a hand back. You took it and let him lead you out of your shared could-have-been sarcophagus.

Wary of the hallway’s security cameras and what additional trouble you might find yourself in if your supervisors spotted you bothering the guests, you stepped further away from Javi’s body than you would’ve liked to be.

“I have to go to the Bacchus Suite, like, immediately,” you groaned, toeing at the carpet.

Javi tutted. “I am staying in the Fortuna Suite. If I leave a message for you at reception, will you receive it?” His face was drawn, but hopeful.

“Yeah, I definitely will. I… I really would like it if you did, Jav.” Your cheeks felt hot and you glanced down at your feet, looking up when you heard a shuffling to find Javi now standing inches from you.

“Nothing could keep me from leaving you a message, then. I think, probably, I will take the stairs this time,” he huffed a quiet laugh, his brow scrunching, his breath warm on your face. He moved closer, letting the strong curve of his aquiline nose nestle against your own, and you felt his long dark lashes flutter against your cheekbone.

“I would like to kiss you, before we part, if you would agree to it.” His voice was low, reserved, but run through with a gentle current of hunger. His hand slid around the back of your neck once more, as in the dark elevator, and he let his thumb stroke along the hinge of your jaw as he looked at you deeply, rich vanilla eyes heady with longing.

Fuck the security cameras.

You answered Javi by pressing your mouth firmly to his, lips slotting together effortlessly. He brought his other hand to hold your face, and you gripped around his biceps, fingers barely circling them, as you breathed in tandem. He opened his mouth against you, and you slipped your tongue to his, kissing deeply and languidly, losing yourselves in each other’s taste.

The other elevator dinged and you pulled apart as the doors opened, a bellboy with a luggage cart rolling his eyes at you both before turning down the hall.

“I have to go, Jav.”

“Okay. I will leave a message.”

Javi stepped back to you and kissed you once more, chaste and quick, and you waved your fingers at him and turned to hurry towards the room you were meant to be cleaning. He watched you go, his face flushed and his heart swelling, and when you’d disappeared around the corner, he walked to the stairwell and opened the door.

———

You stopped at the supply closet for a cart, gloves, trash bags, cleaning supplies, and a UV light (shudder), taking a few seconds to steady yourself, remind yourself you were about to go clean up possible biohazards for minimum wage after you’d spent the past few hours shut in a dark elevator with the most remarkable man you’d ever met, who kissed you like he needed you as much as he needed air.

Locking the closet behind you, you approached the suite. You steeled your nerves, puffed up your chest, and held the keycard up to the door latch.

Bink. The light flashed green and you pushed down the handle, ready for the worst.

It was worse than the worst.

After the wall of stench, the first thing you noticed was what appeared to be blue paint trailing from the door to the lounge, where a pool of cerulean was soaked into the cushions of the sofa. The curtains had been ripped from the wall, massive holes in the drywall where the rod had been, a fine layer of white dust settled over the drapes, which were crumbled on the floor. Every mirror was shattered, some bearing signs of lipstick and/or blood on their jagged edges. The stocked bar was trashed, cracked bottles dripping across the counter, glasses full of cigarette butts and unidentified liquids, sticky liquor puddled and syrupy on every available surface. The one bed you could see from where you stood had no mattress on it. You did not see the mattress. You were afraid to look at the bathroom.

The phone was ringing.

You sidestepped the paint splotches and tiptoed around broken glass to lift the receiver. “Housekeeping,” you said, peppy as was possible amid the destruction.

“We’ve had a guest request immediate assistance.”

“Okayyy,” you paused, curious why they were interrupting you about it. “I can do it after I finish assessing here.”

“The guest asked for you by name, and he does not wish to wait. He is a very valuable client of the chain, so we’ll reassign another housekeeper to the Bacchus. You can go straight to the other suite.”

“Oh! Which, uh, suite is that?” you asked, hoping for a particular answer.

“Fortuna.” You grinned.

“Okay, I’ll go right now.”

They hung up without saying another word, and you left the cart in the room and left as quickly as you could, trying not to skip as you rounded the corner and headed to the Fortuna, which sat on the other side of the elevator bank.

———

When you arrived, a little short of breath, you knocked twice and waited, bouncing slightly on your toes. There was no response.

You knocked again, louder this time, realizing you didn’t know Javi’s last name to call out to him and have it sound vaguely professional.

“Javi,” you said against the door, knocking once more and pressing your ear against it to listen for footsteps. Nothing. You pulled the master keycard from your pocket and passed it in front of the lock.

Bink. The green lights flashed, and you opened the door cautiously.

“Javi?” you called, stepping inside, but the room appeared to be empty. You walked through the lounge and peered into the bedroom, into the en suite, out on the balcony. Nothing. The bed was messily made, as if it had been straightened after being slept in, and the shower stall was damp, but otherwise you saw no evidence of Javi or anybody else, save for the faint ghost of his cologne lingering in the air.

What the fuck?

Your heart was sinking when you glanced at the console table and saw an envelope bearing your name in an even script. Before you could feel confused or angry or worried or any other emotion, you grabbed for it, then plunked yourself in an overstuffed armchair and opened. A folded piece of paper from the hotel’s branded memo pad fell out.

Inside the folded paper was a check. Your check. Or, rather, a check for you. Filled out in the same handwriting as the envelope. Made out for $50,000. From the personal account of Mr. Javier Gutierrez.

You thought you might faint, or cry, or puke, or drop dead. Activities better suited for the Bacchus Suite.

You turned your attention, somehow, from the check to the paper, seeing your name across the top of the paper below the hotel logo.

Querida,

Quit.

Your Friend,

Javi

P.S. I am outside. I am driving a silver Porsche convertible. No pressure. But I will wait here. - Javi

P.P.S. This is my phone number. It is okay if you do not call. Or come out to meet me. I just want you to have it. - Javi

P.P.P.S. In case you have received this letter later than I expected and you have been delayed by your cleaning duties, I have written this twenty-seven minutes past the moment you left me at the elevators. I do not want you to rush or to worry. If you have not appeared or called by evening I will wait in the parking lot overnight, just in case. The attendants are very easily distracted, it will not be difficult to hide. - Javi

P.P.P.P.S. I did not write you this check in the hope that you will want to pursue a romance with me. I wish for you to follow your dreams, even if they do not include me in them. We are practically strangers, after all, and I would understand. The money is yours, whatever you choose. My hope that you will also choose me is an entirely separate thing. Most of all, I desire for you to be happy, archiving all sorts of things that must be archived. I am certain you’ll do it very well. - Javi

P.P.P.P.P.S. I would like to kiss you again. - Javi

———

Ten minutes after reading Javi’s note, you were strolling out of the employee lockers, sunglasses and cell phone in hand and uniform abandoned on a bench. You paused at the schedule posted on the wall, used the Sharpie tied to a nail in the wall to drag a thick black line through your name on the calendar. Without fanfare, you waltzed out the front doors and climbed into the vehicle waiting for you in the valet loop.

“Did you drive?”

“Nope. No car - I take the bus.”

“Ah, just as well. I have many. I am happy to share.”

You turned to face the man in the driver's seat, his handsome face haloed by the sun as he looked fondly at you.

“That’s lot of money, Javier Gutierrez” you tsked.

“It is no hardship. You.. you will accept it, though? And, if I am lucky, you will accept… me?”

You laughed. “Yes. Both. I accept both. Happily.”

His eyebrows curled upwards and his lips pouted in an expression of blissful disbelief. “This is fantastic news, querida. And you quit?”

“And I quit,” you confirmed, and leaned across the console to continue the kiss that had been interrupted at the elevators, savoring this moment at the cusp of something beautiful.

Javi shifted his head, sat up slightly, and you tugged gently on his plump lower lip with your teeth as he pulled back just enough to lock his eyes with yours. Tears glistened at his waterline and you felt your own begin to well. He pressed his forehead to yours, nudged his nose against yours, and rubbed his hands down your arms before giving you a solid pat on the back and whispering against your skin:

“That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”

———

Tagging the sprintos who cheered me on!!

@whocaresstillthelouvre @jennaispunk @goodwithcheese @ace-turned-confused @timelordfreya @maggiemayhemnj @beefrobeefcal @tinytinymenace

[harrieatthemet]

Birthday

In which Harry has to have the last word... and a better present.

"There's my girl," he sings, a wide smile expeditiously appearing on his face, "my birthday girl."

Her smile is shy, which is ironic considering her outfit is lathered so dramatically in bright colors it could singlehandedly blind anyone within a 5 mile radius. Nonetheless though she skips over to Harry, wrapping her arms around his leg best she can.

Despite the animosity between the two of you and the not-so-subtle hard feelings, there's no fighting the smirk that creeps up on you when she squeals in amusement. Harry's got her in a cradle now, swinging her back and forth before sitting her on his hip. Their bond is so special and he's so effortlessly good with her. You almost forget how you were fighting the urge to throw a handful of plastic spoons at him under a minute ago.

"Can't believe you're turning fifty seven," he teases, "you're a little old lady!"

"M'turning five," she giggles, "still a baby!"

"What!" his dramatized gasp pulls a belly laugh right out of her, "mumma, is this th'tallest baby you've ever seen?!"

Your nod in agreement is emphatic as you pair it with a pretend shocked gasp, which only makes her laugh harder. She's squealing once Harry starts tickling under her chin; writhing sporadically in her spot on his hip as she's got nowhere to run to seek refuge. But eventually he relinquishes his grip after she begs for mercy, setting her back down on the floor before sending her off to check if any guests had began to trickle in.

On the counter he's placed two bags; both generously filled and near overflowing. His grip was so tight on the handles earlier he may have even lost feeling in his knuckles halfway on the walk to the front of the house.

"Did you get the candles?"

Now he's definitely lost feeling in his knuckles but not from carrying cheap plastic, but more-so because he's barely been 10 minutes in the house and you're already needling him.

"Candles?" his words come out in an annoyed exhale, "Y'never asked me about candles, (Y/N). If y'asked, I would've got them."

If he wasn't so well accustomed to the sound of it, he'd almost miss your exasperated groan as he started unpacking the shopping bags onto the kitchen counter.

It's obvious you're in a mood. He can tell by the tenseness in your stature and how frenetic you're moving around the kitchen island. Had you greeted him with a little more cordiality, he'd have complimented your over-achieving decoration execution. The house, inside and out, really looked beautiful.

"I did," you huff before undoing a package of paper napkins, "I asked you twice. Don't do that, Harry."

"Do what?"

"Berate me," you snap, "or tell me I didn't do something I know I did."

He throws his head back and lets out a long breath, "Y'don't even talk t'me on a good day, and now you're telling me y'asked me for candles? Like I'd forget candles for m'daughters birthday."

"Wouldn't be the first time you forgot something important."

"Oh fuck you f'that, really," you've managed to get him riled up in record time - a whopping 3 and a half minutes, "bloody unbelievable, you are, y'know?"

"Oh I am? Me - unbelievable?"

"I walk in and immediately it's th'bitching and the-"

Honestly he could drag on and on if time permitted. Once he gets going he finds it hard to bring it to a full stop. And usually, these arguments tend to get drawn out for that exact reason. He's promptly interrupted though when he hears a soft clicking of shoes and a familiar little voice roam in from the kitchen archway.

There's no need for him to turn around to see who it is. And she knows better by now than to say anything. Since the fighting initially became a household staple she's gotten pretty skilled in hallway loitering and incognito eavesdropping. How much she's already heard is unclear, but he's gonna table the conversation for now and act like it never happened. So are you.

"My friends are here!"

Sometimes it feels kind of like having an entirely separate identity. You often find yourself wondering if Harry ever feels the same way. When angel baby is around, it's kind of like switching off a light or getting caught doing something you shouldn't be. Because when she spawns in the room mid-argument, the energy shifts and you find yourself smiling a little too hard and over-compensating a bit too much.

And when she leaves, it's right back to the regular scheduled programming. You don't remember exactly when the turning point was that resulted in this; neither of you being able to stomach looking at the other, constantly arguing, going jab for jab, saying the worst thing that comes to mind out of spite or with the goal of tearing each other down.

"Not done talking about this," it's just like Harry to try and have the last word as he follows angel baby out of the room, "can y'table it for her birthday? Can y'manage that?"

It was an intentionally halfway-out-of-the-room delivered line, largely so you'd have no time to quip back at him with a snide comment or off-color remark. Because as soon as you follow him out to say something in rebuttal, you're stepping into an influx of people holding different-sized gifts in the middle of the front entrance.

It's almost like he's challenging you. Of course you can table it.

At least, you thought you could table it.

It's so irritating how easy it is for him to compartmentalize. It doesn't phase him at all that you were at each other's throats earlier. At least that's how it comes across in the way he seamlessly works the room; all cool and convivial with the inviting hugs and enthusiastic small talk. More likely than not, he's carved out 5 minutes for each guest tenfold. Whether it's an act or not, it really gets under your skin.

"Here petal," Harry encourages eagerly, handing an oversized professionally wrapped gift, "s'from me."

She's sat in an awkwardly shaped circle alongside a couple friends from school, giggling as Harry places the box in front of her. Her eyes light up merely at the size of it. The box itself is almost as tall as she is, and what 5 year old wouldn't gawk at a lavish gift that towers over them when sitting down. It was arguably the most predictable move right out of the 'separated parents' playbook.

"Had to get the biggest one, right?"

Beside you he stands, phone up to record as he watches angel baby rip the once perfect wrapping paper completely to pieces. For a second you think he doesn't hear you. In fact, he doesn't even bat an eye at the remark you just made beneath your breath.

"S'a birthday gift... fo' her birthday," and he says it through gritted teeth and a pompous smile, "but g'on and make it about you, if you'd like."

"Think you've got that bit covered," you nod slowly in rhetoric in attempt to depict this conversation as passive, "you know, trying to outdo me with a splashy gift and all."

Unbeknownst to you, angel baby's eyes are training your lips with every word that falls from them. Stood in a box in front of her is the set outdoor doll house she'd been pining for as of late. And she doesn't seem to care. She pays no attention to it at all, even when the chorus of ooing and ahhing erupts from her intimate circle of friends and their parents. The facade of casual conversation between you and Harry has completely vacated, it's obvious in how the bickering has become more hushed and the vein on Harry's forehead begun peeking out.

You're fighting on her birthday and she's noticed. The topic that's gotten you both so hot is a mystery to her, but that doesn't keep her from trying to conjure up an answer. Even right now she's thinking about it, as Anne places a beautifully decorated sheet cake down in front of her at the patio table. The number 5 stands firmly in the middle, romantically adorned by sporadically placed individual flames dancing all around it as everyone sings happy birthday off key.

"Ok lovie," Harry cheers, "g'head 'n make a big wish!"

Both of her hands press flatly on the table, propping her up a good amount as she teeters on her chair so that she's appropriately hovering over the cake. Leaning in to grab a photo, she smiles sweetly before closing her eyes. If she's gonna make a birthday wish, she wants it to be good. She wants it to actually come true.

"I wish," and she pauses to adjust the flower crown that's lopsided on her head, "that mommy and daddy didn't hate each other."

When the words spill from her lips before she leans in to blow out her candles, your complexion goes ghost-white. And Harry thinks he might be sick.

[thebestofoneshots]

scents | Sirius Black x Reader

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Word Count: 4.3 k Warnings: Smut, P in V, angst, clingy!Sirius, so. much. fluff Prompt: Inspired by the sense of smell, this fic tells the story of The Marauders' last New Year's Eve together, and the love shared back at home.

scents is part of The Five Senses: an anthology series where each chapter will be a stand alone story, inspired by the different ways we have of perceiving the world around us.

18+ readers only (smut under the cut)

December, 31st 1980

You placed a drop of your perfume over your wrist, you knew how much Sirius liked it when you wore it, but to be fair, the smell made you relish just as much as it made him. You used your fingers to spread some over your chest and neck, placing a little behind your ears as well. Then you grabbed your lipstick from your vanity and started to softly dab on your lips with it. 

You were getting ready for the New Year’s party with the Potters, Lily and James had arranged it for everyone. Remus would be there, Peter and Mary and Marlene too. 

Baby Harry was turning 5 months, and you were more than excited to see him again, with the war, you couldn’t afford visiting as often as you’d like, especially after you’d all become objectives for openly defying Voldemort and creating the Order of the Phoenix alongside Dumbledore. You all had targets on your back, so you had to be extra careful with your every move, but even then, even with all the pressure on your shoulders, you were eagerly anticipating seeing all your friends together again. 

Sirius came out of the bathroom wearing a burgundy shirt and a patterned vest, his long hair framing his clean-shaven face, looking as beautiful as ever. “You look ravishing,” he said as he saw you sitting in front of your mirror, then walking closer to you and leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek, but he stopped there, relishing on the scent of your perfume. “And you’re wearing that perfume I like,” he said with a raised eyebrow, “intoxicating.”

He leaned into you and placed a soft kiss on your neck, you playfully and gently pushed him back before he started something neither of you’d be able to stop “We’re not going to arrive on time if you do that, Puppy.” 

He pouted and finally stood up straight, “We can always be fashionably late,” he said eccentrically, you gave him a reproaching look and he finally surrendered, allowing you to finish your make-up. 

Once you were done, you stood up, straightening your dress, a satin sheet, strategically sewn on the side and back that seamlessly draped over your body, loose and elegant all at the same time. You felt two strong arms hug you from behind, feeling Sirius’ velvet coat brush over your bare back. He leaned in, enjoying how the scent of your perfume had combined with your own by now. “Can’t we just stay here?,” he said as he hugged you even tighter “I want you all for myself.” 

You turned to him and planted a chaste kiss on his lips, using your thumb to wipe them after, since some of your lipstick had transferred over. He delighted in the feeling of your thumb brushing over his lips, and you almost went for another kiss when you saw the way his lustfully went back to their place, but you restrained yourself yet again, taking your brain away from Sirius and thinking of baby Harry and how much you wanted to play with him, lathering kisses on his soft checks rather than on Sirius’ lascivious lips. 

“We should go,” you told him, resting your hand on his shoulder with a smile. He nodded and the two of you apparated outside of the Potter Household. 

Godric Hollow was buzzing with activity when you arrived, children were playing on the snow, the faint scent of snowflakes still ringing in the air. The lights of the Christmas tree flickered joyously from the city square. The scent of gingerbread, cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate, and roasted chestnuts wafted from the cozy cafes and bakeries, in the area. As you walked with Sirius you decided to stop by one of them and purchase some gingerbread cookies for Harry, who you knew absolutely loved playing with the little gingerbread people before munching on them with his very small, barely coming out teeth. 

When you both arrived at the door, Sirius knocked, being received by Lily, looking beautiful and bright while wearing a royal blue gown. You gave her a tight hug the moment you saw her, not wanting to let go for a while, Sirius hugged her next. 

“Where is my beautiful godson?” You asked after. 

“In the living room, we brought his crib out, so he can be comfortable,” Lily responded. And so you rushed inside, with Sirius and Lily trailing behind, the scent of Christmas times enveloped you. The savoury smell of freshly baked goods, such as buttery mince pies and spiced cinnamon cookies, mingled with hints of mulled cider and aromatic pine from the adorned Christmas tree in the corner flled with stunning ornaments Lily had collected through the years. The one you and Sirius had bought for her as a gift a couple of weeks ago was already hanging from one of the the tall tree’s branches.

Harry was indeed there, and you ran towards him, and carried him “Hello, love!” You told him with a smile, “How’ve you been? Did you like all your Christmas presents?” Harry, being 5 months old, obviously did not reply, but he cooed happily as you pattered kisses all over his cheeks. 

“Hey James, How are you? –Oh, hey (Y/N), I’m great, long time no see,” James mocked from the bar that connected the kitchen with the living room "I've been demoted to second place by a pint-sized tyrant," he grumbled, his ego bruised after you went to greet Harry before you greeted him “And he can’t even respond to you!” 

You laughed and approached him, while still carrying Harry in your arms, giving him a right hug “Sorry James, the cutest boy gets greeting first,” you teased. 

He gave you a playfully offended look, as he turned to complain to Lily, but he spotted Sirius and the two of them pretty much ran to each other for a hug. 

“Love of my life you’re here!” James exclaimed dramatically. 

“Of course I am,” Sirius responded “I wouldn’t dream of depriving myself the opportunity to see you.” 

You turned to Lily and whispered with a mischievous grin on your face “Can you believe they chose to date us over each other?” 

“Hard to believe, I know,” she replied as the two of them walked together towards the sofa. The doorbell rang again and you walked with Lily to open it, Remus was at the door, carrying a carton box with a cake inside. He grinned when he saw the two and after putting down the cake on the foyer table, pulled both of you into a tight hug. There was another ring of the doorbell while he hugged and both Mary and Marlene appeared on the door. Mary with a bag filled with gifts for everyone, since she had been away on Christmas, and Marlene with a small stuffed, and pretty soft quaffle under her arm, yet another gift for Harry, who grabbed it the instant he saw it and started turning it around in his little hands. 

Once the greetings were over, you all walked back into the living room, and while James and Sirius greeted everyone, you went for the packet of gingerbread men you’d bought for Harry and started to play with him on the living room rug, hearing the peaceful crackling fire behind you. 

“Starshine,” you heard Sirius whine from behind “Can’t you leave little Harry alone and come pamper me instead?” You turned to him with a hand still placed on Harry’s back, he had his arms opened up for you “I’m sure Marlene’s dying to get to play with him too.” 

You raised an eyebrow, Sirius was awfully needy today, and you knew how he could get if you ignored him, even more, needy and whiny, so you turned to Marlene, she nodded and extend her hands for you to pass Harry over to her. You did, and as soon as he was out of your hands, Sirius grabbed for your arm and pulled you onto his lap. You giggled once you were comfortably sitting on him. 

Lily came from the kitchen a bit later with a tray filled with sausage rolls and some Yorkshire pudding. You attempted to stand up to help her but Sirius tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you closer to him “Please don’t go Love.” 

You turned to him and grabbed his head in between your arms, pulling him in for a short kiss. 

“Uhhh, Get a room!” You heard James say from the side of the couch. 

“As if you and Lily were any better,” Remus retorted. 

James's eyes flew open, brimming with surprise “Take that back Moony!” he asserted, his accusing finger aimed directly at the werewolf “We’re not like that! Are we love?” He asked turning to Lily, who was gracefully arranging the food on the center table. 

She giggled in response, “James when you’re clingy, you’re even worse than Sirius.” 

“I’m not that bad…” you heard Sirius grumble from behind, feeling his hot breath on your back.

“In fact,” continued Lily, “When we started dating, you literally wouldn’t let me walk anywhere by myself. And you always had to have some sort of contact with me, be it holding hands, hugging me, wrapping your arms around my shoulders, grabbing my–“

“-OK!” James interrupted “I get it, I get it, I can be very clingy too.” 

“But they don’t even know how good you smell,” Sirius mumbled from behind again. 

The doorbell rang one last time and James went to get it, coming back with Peter, holding a box filled with cupcakes his mom had prepared. You used your want to levitate one of the sausage rolls towards your hands and gave it a bit, moaning at the flavour and letting your head fall over Sirius’ shoulder, holding the snack towards Sirius’ mouth who ate the rest. 

“These are absolutely exquisite,” You said to Lily, who was sitting on an armchair next to Mary. 

“James made them, actually,” she responded. 

You rose your eyebrows in surprise “Didn’t know he could cook.” 

“Hey!” James said shoving you gently with his arm “I’m gonna start counting your strikes.” You shrugged and pulled your tongue out. “That’s it, you’re banned from eating any more sausage rolls.” 

“James,” Lily reproached.

“Fine then, not banned but still, Sirius tell your girl to behave.” 

Sirius rose his eyebrows towards James “You expect her to listen to me, or what? She’s not a dog!” 

“Right, we all know who is the dog in the relationship,” teased Remus, which only earned him a scornful look from Sirius. 

“Can we eat?” Asked Peter from his own armchair “I’m kind of starving, Mom didn’t let me have anything from the things she made.” 

“We should, shouldn’t we?” James said and stood up, with a swish of his wand a bunch of plates came from the kitchen and started accommodating themselves carefully on the table. “I’ll go get the Roast Beef,” he stood up and turned to his wife “Lily, Love, would you mind helping me with the mashed potatoes?” She nodded and the two of them left for the kitchen. 

“Come on,” You nudged Sirius, “Let’s get some food in our stomachs.” 

She took one more sniff of you and nodded, loosening his grip and allowing you to stand up. As you walked towards the kitchen Remus approached your boyfriend. Sirius was still staring at you “Mate, I know you love her, but please stop undressing her with your stare, she’s gonna catch a cold.” 

“But she’s so pretty Moony!” Sirius whined “I just want to be beside her all the time. I always do, but when she smells so heavenly, like today, it’s like I can’t–“ 

Remus placed a hand over his shoulder, “Enjoy the dinner mate, you’ll have her all for yourself when you get back home.” 

“Right, I really do feel sometimes I’m more dog than man.” 

Remus chuckled at that and walked with Sirius to the table. He sat on the chair beside yours, as you poured some champagne over your glasses placing his hand over your leg, to keep some kind of contact between the two.

“Friends, as we bid farewell to another year and welcome the promising embrace of a fresh one, I stand before you tonight with a heart full of gratitude and hope. This particular New Year's Eve holds an extraordinary significance for me, as I find myself in the joyous role of a husband and a father. I had the privilege of marrying the love go my life, Lily, and with her, we created a little bundle of mischief named Harry,” he pointed at them “We did that!” He said with a very excited smile. 

“Tonight, as we raise our glasses to toast the arrival of a new year, let us also take a moment to reflect on the power of love and family” he then turned to look at us “Sirius, Remus, Peter, thank you for always being there, for helping us protect our beautiful boy, and the future world he’ll be a part of, Hopefully, a better one. (Y/N), Marlene, Mary, I could not ask for better friends, no–“ he corrected “–I couldn’t have asked for a better family. 

“In a time when darkness may try to cast its shadow, we have the power to ignite the flames of hope, compassion, and unity. Life is a fleeting thing, we’ve lost so many friends the past year, let us cherish the simple joys, the laughter shared, and the bonds that deepen with each passing day. So… as we embark on this new year, hand in hand, let us embrace the future with courage, determination, and mischief. Together, we will make it a year filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities!" 

Finally, he raised his cup “To all of you, dear friends, I raise my glass and say, Cheers to a new year of joy, love, and endless possibilities!" 

You all cheered and chimed your cups together, enjoying the dinner as you chatted. It felt like being back in school, everyone was there, and everyone was happy. Laughter filled the Potter’s house like it hadn’t done in a while, and for a whisper in time, everyone was happy.

When you were done you moved back to the sofa, Sirius walked towards James’ records and sat down, trying to pick one of them to play. You crouched next to him “A day at the races,” you told him, nodding a the black record with the swan and the lions. He raised an eyebrow, you instantly knew he was asking if you were sure and nodded. 

He shrugged and fetched it from the shelf, standing up to put it on the record player. Tie your mother down started to play and you smiled with the first sound of the guitar. Sirius walked over to you and offered you his hand, he wanted to dance, you grabbed it and decided to humour him, saying your hips at the rhythm of the song. James and Lily stood up and started to dance as well, Harry has already fallen asleep and was soundly laying in his crib. 

Soon Mary stood up and pulled Marlene and Remus into the dance floor, Peter stood up shortly after and everyone was dancing on your improvised dance floor. Then the next song came, Freddie’s voice filling the room along with the background choir. You closed the gap between you and Sirius and placed your hands over his shoulders, and leaned in to whisper the lyrics to him, singing along the recorder “You’ve captured my love, stolen my heart, changed my life.” 

Now he whispered into your ears “Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind, And the way you touch, I shiver deep inside and...” 

The two of you pulled back and stared at each other with absolute adoration “You take my breath away,” you both murmured. You blushed and leaned back into his neck to hide your blush, so many years together and he still made you blush like a teenager. 

“It’s time,” said Lily, taking little Harry from the crib and walking outside with everyone behind them. You heard the first chime from the church’s bell, and you smiled. When the twelfth chime came, you all raised your wands, letting sparks fly up into the sky, they looked like fireworks. James’ had drawn his and Lily’s initials inside a heart. Remus’ exploded in thousands of tiny little sparkles, yours was a star, mirroring Sirius. 

“Starshine,” he said looking at the sky with a smile, you pulled his face towards you and finally gave him the kiss you’d been wanting to give him since you saw him come out of the closet. 

You stayed at the party for a couple more hours drinking some wine and spending some quality time with your friends. Mary told you about the trip she’d done for Christmas, Remus about his plans to become a teacher one day, and you talked and talked until everyone was happy. At around 3, Harry started to cry and Lily excused herself to go check on him, you took the moment to signal to Sirius, who was still talking with James and Remus that it was time to go home. You bid your goodbyes to everyone and walked outside the house, grabbing his hands before apparating back into your shared apartment. 

The moment you stepped inside, Sirius hugged you from behind, burrowing his head in your neck "I’ve been waiting for this moment all night," he mumbled.

"Have you? I thought you were having fun with the love of your life," you teased. 

"I wanted to have you all for myself," he responded, his head still borrowed in your neck "and even if James was the love of my life, you would be my life itself."

You blushed, turning around to face him "Sirius, my love, what’s got you so clingy?" 

"I want to spend every moment of my life with my best girl," he said placing a kiss on your cheek "I don’t want to be away from you," another kiss "All I want is for moments like this to last forever,” another kiss, he was now in your neck "is it too much to ask the universe to grant?"

You grabbed his head, turning it towards yours, so you could stare into his eyes, the prettiest eyes in the world "It is not my love, what you ask, will be granted," you reassured, and brought your lips together. 

It started soft, but Sirius’ hunger got in the way, deepening the kiss. You followed along his lead, Sirius had been dying to have you all night, and you’d been dying to take off his coat the moment he showed up with it. You urgently helped him take his jacket off, discarding it somewhere on the floor and moved to unbutton his vest. He stopped kissing you just to give you a teasing grin "And here I thought I was the only needy one."

You ignored his remark and brought his lips back to yours, soft, lustful lips, you wanted to drown in them. Sirius pulled you from the floor and you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling a familiar hardness in his pants. Now you stopped the kiss to tease him "but all we’ve done is kiss."

He grabbed your chin, forcing your face to the side to gain access to your neck “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I smelled you putting on your sexy little perfume from the bathroom," he said in between kisses. With you still wrapped around his torso he apparated the two of you back in your room, gently dropping you on the bed. You sat back and helped him unbutton his shirt, and when you did, he pushed you back down on the bed, extending your right arm and kissing your wrist "You know how crazy this perfume makes me for you," he kissed the inside of your forearm now, relishing on the smell of sweat and perfume and you. "And you decided to torture me,” more kisses, each time moving further up you arm, his long hair tickling your skin every time he moved "all." kiss "night," another kiss "long." Finally he moved from your shoulder to your neck, placing wet kisses all over you. "How would you feel I did the same to you?"

"I’m sorry," you said, breath sharp, Sirius’ kisses were something else entirely "I just wanted you to want me tonight." 

He chuckled as he placed a few kisses on your chest "Love, I want you every night."

As he kissed you again and again, he placed his hand on one of your thighs, causing the dress to ride up along with his ever-sliding hand, as he continued to kiss, He squeezed and played with your leg until you buckled your hips, a clear signal you wanted more. He grinned, he loved the effect he had on you, as much as you loved the effect you had on him. His bulge only ever growing larger. 

"Help me with this love, please," he said as he pushed the dress up your tights and all the way to your stomach, you arched your back and allowed him to handle you around until he managed to completely lift it off of you, discarding it somewhere on the floor near the bed. As the cool air hit your torso you took in a sharp breath, Sirius, on the other hand, was more than enjoying the view, as he got to see how your nipples perked, just for him. With one hand on your waist, and the other one on your breast, he went back to kissing, trailing down all the way to your free nipple and nibbling on it, he was enjoying himself. 

You buckled your hips against his again, "Please Sirius!" You pleaded.

He gave you that smirk of his again and finally moved the hand on your breast down again, using it to pull your underwear down and spread your legs lightly, sliding a finger through your slit "fuck!" he whispered as he realized how wet you were "you might actually be just as needy as me."

You wanted to laugh, but he quickly found your clit, and the first touch made you gasp. He grinned and started making circular motions with his finger. "Bloody hell, Sirius!" You said as you buckled your hips towards his hand. He used his other hand to hold your hips down. 

"Let me do the work love," he said as he continued playing with your clit. Eventually, he slid one of his fingers inside you and slowly started taking it in and out. "Good girl!" he praised "so ready for me already."

"Come on Puppy, I want you…" you managed to say in between sharp breaths. 

"I can smell you do," he responded and took his finger out of you, you quickly brought your arms towards his pants and helped him finally unbutton them. Bringing his trousers down, finally letting his cock free. It was throbbing and you went straight for it, tightening your hand around it and moving it up and down a couple of times, you moved your hand up and used your thumb to play with the nib, "fuck!” He cursed and allowed his head to fall on your shoulder "You’re gonna be the death of me."

You smiled and pulled on his hair lightly to have him look at you instead, flushed and breaking apart for him. Lending upwards to give him a kiss. Still strocking his cock. 

"Come on Puppy,” you said, "you’re more than ready."

He nodded and guided his hips towards you, your hand still on his cock to guide him to your slit. And he slowly slid in, waiting for a couple of seconds before he started moving. A tiny little moan left your lips and it only fuelled him even more, he started moving faster. But then he stopped "fuck!"

"What’s wrong Puppy?" You asked, concerned. 

"I’m just s- so close, but I- I want you to come first," he stuttered. 

You smiled "Don’t worry about me Puppy," you said, softly placing a hand on his head, pulling back some of his hair behind his ears "Do your thing."

He shook his head feverishly, and planted a small kiss on your neck "I want to see you come first." He said as he brought his hand down in between the two of you, playing with your clit as he resumed his thrusts, which had you panting and moaning, you then started bucking your hips towards his. He brought you over the edge with so much ease. You placed your hands on his shoulder to help yourself with the momentum and he relished in the way you dig your nails onto him. There was something so animal with that particular gesture that made him go absolutely deranged. 

"Puppy, I think I’m gonna-"

"Go ahead," he told you "come for me Starshine." Your head leaned back, your eyes closed tightly as your orgasm washed over you, the way your walls clenched around him had him push you even further, ridding you all the way out of your high. Even after you were back down he continued, pushing himself in and out of you. 

When you got your senses back you brought Sirius down, closer to you and started kissing his neck, right the way he liked it, and after just a few more thrusts, you felt the familiar warmth wash over you. He continued ridding you until he couldn’t and he slowly slid his cock out, Allowing himself fall on top of you, his head on your chest, his weight pushing you into the bed, making you feel giddy with joy, there was nothing like having Sirius cuddle you after making love. You started playing with his hair, and rubbing his back with your free hand, you loved being able to feel his soft skin as you slid your hand up and down "So? Was it worth the wait?"

You felt him smile against your chest "You have to put on that bloody perfume of yours more often," he said placing a soft kiss on your skin. 

A/N: this is my first ever smut piece, I probably have no clue what I’m doing, hence I’m making The Five Senses as a way to practice writing smut for my upcoming Wolfstar x Reader series. If you have feedback, please leve it in the comment below.

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[feedists4walz]

Food is one of the most universally beloved things on planet Earth. Aligning a presidential campaign with it is smart for all the obvious reasons, but for the Harris-Walz ticket, it’s also a signal. The rhetorical challenge of progressivism is that it is by nature abstract: It imagines a world that does not yet exist, rather than advocating to return to some previous version of the one we know. [...] In foregrounding food, Harris and Walz are making theirs the candidacy of terrestrial pleasure and straightforward abundance.

The governor of Minnesota and possible future vice president’s hotdish recipe is, uh, a lot. It involves, among other things, whole milk, half-and-half, two types of meat, three cups of cheese (specifically Kraft), nearly a stick of butter, and a full package of Tater Tots. It is gluttonous, deeply midwestern, and, I am sure, delicious. Indeed, Walz won the Minnesota Congressional Delegation’s hotdish cook-off in 2013, 2014, and 2016.

Tim Walz loves food. He loves corn dogs, and the all-you-can-drink milk booth at the Minnesota state fair, and—I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this—dunking cinnamon rolls in chili. He gets excited about soda. He posts pictures of his sandwiches.  He loves to eat so much that people on X are already writing short-form fan fiction about it. Throughout his political career, but especially recently, he has gone out of his way to talk about food, the fattier and folksier the better. Last week, in a discussion with CNN’s Jake Tapper that was ostensibly about Joe Biden’s mental fitness, Walz recounted receiving a call from the president while eating the Minnesota delicacy Juicy Lucy, a hamburger stuffed with cheese. The next day, he posted on X about a different award-winning hotdish recipe of his, this one involving two separate kinds of canned soup.

We are witnessing what might be the most food-centric presidential campaign in American history. Kamala Harris is, by all accounts, an exceptional and enthusiastic home cook, and has made cooking part of her political brand—surely an intentional calculation, given the negative connotations that might arise when the potential first woman president openly embraces domesticity. In 2019, she offered an off-the-cuff lesson in turkey brining while getting mic’d up to go on television: “Just lather that baby up,” she said, eyes bright. The next year, she started an amateur cooking show; on it, she cracks an egg with one hand and bonds with Mindy Kaling over the fact that their parents both stored spices in old Taster’s Choice jars. She laughs a lot in the kitchen.

Unlike her running mate, Harris seems unlikely to throw four kinds of dairy in the oven for dinner—she’s a Californian, and she cooks like one: swordfish with toasted cardamom for her pescatarian stepdaughter, herb-flecked Mediterranean meatballs on an Instagram Live with the celebrity chef Tom Colicchio. But she’s not immune to the humble charms of ice cream, gumbo, Popeye’s chicken, red-velvet cupcakes, or bacon, which she describes as a “spice” in her household. She comes off as sincere in her love of food but discerning in her tastes. When a 10-year-old recently asked her at an event what her favorite taco filling was, she answered with the kind of absorbed expression that she might otherwise display when explaining foreign policy on the debate stage: carnitas with cilantro and lime, no raw onions.

Invoking food on the campaign trail is a cliché for a reason: Eating is an easy and extremely literal way to prove that you are a human being. But the Democratic Party has not always been great at it. In 2003, John Kerry visited the Philadelphia cheesesteak institution Pat’s and asked for a sandwich not with the traditional Whiz, American, or Provolone, but with Swiss. If voters needed proof that he was something other than the eggheady elitist they thought he was, this wasn’t it: In Philly, Swiss is “an alternative lifestyle,” The Philadelphia Inquirer’s food critic, Craig LaBan, said at the time. One does not get the sense that Walz or Harris would stride into Pat’s and ask for Swiss—not because they’re self-consciously avoiding a gaffe, but because they have deep respect for America’s foodways and are interested in enjoying food however it is meant to be enjoyed.

Their approach makes a marked departure both from the Obama era—what with its well-meaning but not entirely fun focus on childhood obesity, and its notorious seven almonds—and from the current leaders of the Republican Party. Donald Trump doesn’t really talk about liking eating; he does, famously, consume a lot of fast food, but that is reportedly because he’s afraid of being poisoned, not because fast food tastes amazing. His most well-known food tweet—“Happy #CincoDeMayo! The best taco bowls are made in Trump Tower Grill. I love Hispanics!”—reads like an obligatory plug rather than an earnest celebration of the way the taco bowl itself looks, smells, and tastes: all business, no pleasure. Meanwhile, Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance, says he loves Diet Mountain Dew, but he seems mostly to be mad about it. To the degree that he has gotten specific about why he likes the beverage, the praise is purely functional: “high caffeine, low calorie.” The primary message here is that food is the site not of delight and togetherness but of anxiety and alienation, or utilitarianism at best. It’s all a little, well, weird.

Food is one of the most universally beloved things on planet Earth. Aligning a presidential campaign with it is smart for all the obvious reasons, but for the Harris-Walz ticket, it’s also a signal. The rhetorical challenge of progressivism is that it is by nature abstract: It imagines a world that does not yet exist, rather than advocating to return to some previous version of the one we know. I find it telling that Walz keeps using the word joy when he talks about the campaign and about his running mate. It’s an uncomplicated message, one that’s even more concrete than Barack Obama’s hope: Hope is the future, but joy is the present. It’s cold milk on a hot day; a perfectly cracked egg; a steaming casserole dish full of God knows what, enjoyed at a crowded table. In foregrounding food, Harris and Walz are making theirs the candidacy of terrestrial pleasure and straightforward abundance. It’s simple, really. —Ellen Cushing

[finelinevogue]

bestie is there an update on LI harry?

ummmm hi?! here's a little something:

1 Year Later

"Babe!"

You hear Harry yell from inside your semi-detached house. You smile to yourself as you are reminded that you have the most perfect, quiet, life now with the guy you love.

It's been a whole year since the beginning of Love Island and you can't be happier that you made it out of there together - only after winning too.

The sponsorships that you both got, after coming out of the villa, have set you both up for life. Even after giving away a quarter of your money to family and another quarter to respective charities, you managed to buy a house in the country on the outskirts of London and Harry recently saved up to buy you your engagement ring.

"In the garden, lovie!" You call back.

His presence is felt before he actually speaks around you.

You are trying to catch a tan in the back garden, laying on a sun-bed. Today was supposed to get up to 25 degrees and the UV would be at 5, so it was a good opportunity to tan.

You squint one eye open to see him hover over you with an ice-cold beer in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

"Have you got enough suncream on?" He asks, handing you the bottle of water and sitting down on the sun-bed next to you.

"Think so." You nod.

"Think so, is not good enough. Turn over." Harry instructs you, ever the bossy and concerned fiancé.

He takes a swig of his beer and puts it back down on the floor.

You hear the bottle of suncream open and you turn over and lay on your front.

"Fuck!" You squeal as the cold of the suncream meets your hot back. "Could've warned me."

Harry just chuckles and continues rubbing the suncream into your back. It was like getting a free massage. He really lathers the suncream on, so your black glistens with the stickiness of the cream, but only because he cares about you.

Next his hands land on your bum - his favourite part of your body.

He can't even lie when someone asks him what his favourite part of your body is and say your eyes. It is always going to be your ass. He claims it's too peachy for your own good.

"You having fun back there, H?" You tease, noting how long he is spending on applying suncream to your ass.

"Time of my life."

"You're going to rub all the suncream off if you keep massaging it."

"Well, then I'll just have to reapply." He hits your bum lightly to signal that he has finished. For now.

Your head it resting on one side and you watch Harry sit a bit further up on the chair so he is in line with your face. You have a hard time focusing on anything when his chest is right in your line of vision.

"What did you need me for?" You ask.

"Was gonna ask whether you wanted me to put the BBQ on and we can have burgers off the grill for dinner?" He takes another sip of his beer and it shouldn't be as hot as he makes it look.

"Sounds nice."

"Bacon too?"

"And cheese, onions and burger sauce."

"And a salad, because God knows you need to eat more greens." Harry always teases you about your lack of eating vegetables, just because you don't enjoy eating broccoli.

"Oh piss off." You laugh.

"Y'know, if I do this BBQ I'm going to need help." He leans over a bit, so he blocks the sun from your face and he's only a few centimetres in front of you. He smells like a mixture of beer, suncream and aftershave.

"And how am I going to help? I burnt our pasta last week."

"By giving me a kiss." He smirks.

"Oh really?" You tease, leaning your head up a little to close the distance between you.

"Yeah. It's been proven the best help for me."

"Hmm. Sounds a little too convenient for you."

"I don't really care."

Harry doesn't let you bicker back, because he's cupped the back of your neck and pulled you towards his lips. The kiss is messy and ungraceful, considering the positions your both sat in, but you make it work. Your lips work over Harry's deliciously and he doesn't break away until he's satisfied. Your lips both tinge a little afterwards and not because of the sun.

"Will never get over the way you make me feel." Harry says.

"Thanks for finding me." You kiss him again, but just a little one this time.

"And thanks for loving me."

You smile at him as you watch the love transfer between him and yourself. The feelings will always be magical between you both.

"Now go make me my burger." You flop back down on the sun-bed.

Harry slaps you on your ass for the attitude, but you were expecting it so it only makes you laugh.

"Bossiest fiancé in the world." He mumbles as he leaves, making you fall in love with him a little more.

[narrycherries]

love of my life

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ✩°｡⋆

a preview of my new story

tags: Harry x original character, romance, famous!harry, AU, smut, fluff, angst, secret relationship

triggers: mentions of mental health struggles, past pregnancy loss (does not go into detail, only brought up), alcohol use, mature/adult situations, sexual content

excerpt:

[..“It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen.” I licked my lips as I thought about what the number one thing was.

“What’s at the top of your list?” She curiously asked.

I let a chuckle come out, only because I had just thought about that. “Well, if I’m being honest.. you.”

“Me?” She said with a grin, fairly amused by that. “Okay. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” I bit down on my lip.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” I corrected her. “You’re stunning. If I didn’t think so I wouldn’t be with you right now. You’re gorgeous and kind and perfect.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You hardly know me.”

“I’ve spent enough time with you to know that I adore you.”

“I think you’re crazy, Harry.” She was blushing again, probably overwhelmed by everything I said.

For a second I thought I had went too far, but then I realized that I would have said it anyways. I do adore her. I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life in this city with her..

She was right. I didn’t know her well. I didn’t know how many blankets she used at night, or how long she spends lathering her hair in the shower. I didn’t know any little things, things that she wouldn’t tell me. Like if she hums while she cleans or mumbles nonsense in her sleep. But I wanted to know every little thing. I was striving to get to that point..]

˖⁺‧₊˚ love of my life :: the playlist ˚₊‧⁺˖

golden - harry styles

ivy - taylor swift

easier said - kacey musgraves

come undone - tove lo

you could start a cult - niall horan

wildcard - miley cyrus

what a feeling - one direction

fine line - harry styles

angel - kacey musgraves

dancing with our hands tied - taylor swift

safety net - ariana grande

**sneak peek, full playlist to be released soon**

[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part III

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 5k+

STORY PAGE

Working the breakfast shift had its advantages. While it was the busiest time of the day at the cafe, you were grateful that it took your mind off other things - like Harry Styles for one. You were excited about your date with him that evening, but you were also nervous as hell. Working nights at Zelda’s hadn’t left you much time for a social life. In fact, the last date you’d been on had been nearly six months ago, and while the guy had been nice, and the evening had been pleasant enough, there had been no sparks or chemistry between you, and you never ended up seeing him again. Shae called you a social hermit, claiming you worked too much and needed to have more fun. But the truth was, you just hadn’t met anyone that you felt was worth your time.

Another thing that was good about having the breakfast shift, was that you had time for a quick nap before you had to start getting ready. Exhausted, you wondered how you would have made it through to the evening if you hadn’t had the extra time for a snooze. Your feet were killing you, your back ached, and you were pretty sure you smelled of coffee and maple syrup. Opting for sleep before a shower, you crawled into bed, out like a light.

You woke up to the buzz of your phone. Picking it up, you noticed you’d been asleep for two hours. But it was the text that sent your heart aflutter.

Hope you had a great day at work. I’m looking forward to tonight.

Smiling at the phone, you wondered again how and why this man already had this effect on you. Just a week ago you despised him. The mere thought of him would have had your blood boiling. But here you were, about to spend an evening in his presence. And it thrilled you.

Thanks, work was hectic but good. Just took a nice long nap. I’m excited about tonight as well : ).

Setting your phone down as you rose from the bed, you quickly heard another buzz.

Excited! Phew, I’m so glad. I was worried you’d change your mind and cancel.

Of course not.

Good : ). See you at 7.

You took a long, thorough shower, making sure to get every crevice. You used your good shampoo, the one you’d bought at the salon weeks ago that smelled like coconut. As you lathered, you thought of Harry’s previous text. The one where he had been worried you’d cancel. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to have any insecurities. If you had canceled, he probably would have just gone about his day, maybe even have asked out someone else. But you had to admit, it felt a little nice knowing he was relieved you hadn’t.

Stepping out of the shower, you dried off and applied your favorite lotion, making sure to use a little extra in the areas where you’d shaved. You weren’t sure exactly why you were making such an effort. While you weren’t against the idea of sleeping with someone on the first date, you didn’t always do it. And there was never a guarantee. However, this guy…

You had just stepped into your shoes and were putting on your earrings when your phone announced another text.

On my way. Should be there in ten.

How long had you been daydreaming? Was it time for him already?

Running a brush through your hair one last time, and making sure your makeup looked alright, you walked out into the living room where Shae surprised you.

“Hey, look at you!” she exclaimed. “I love that dress!”

“Hi, I um…didn’t know you were home.”

“Only just. About to hop in the shower.”

“A date?” you asked.

“Yup. Brian’s picking me up in thirty minutes. Looks like you have one, too.”

The color rising in your face, you gave a quick shrug. You hadn’t planned on telling Shae about Harry. At least not yet. If things didn’t go well, you’d just have more reason to talk bad about him later. But if things went well…you figured Shae would want all the juicy details. And you weren’t in the mood for the prelude discussion.

“Awesome!” cheered Shae before embracing you. “You deserve a night out. Who is it? Someone from the cafe?”

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

“Oh, that’s so cute! See, things are working out for you!”

You gave a sheepish grin and a nod. Looking down at her phone, Shae squeaked.

“Shit, I gotta go shower! If you leave before I’m done, have a great night!”

Shae had barely shut her door and you heard the shower going when the doorbell rang. You breathed a heavy sigh at the close call. Which was probably a good idea because as soon as you pulled open the door, your breath caught in your throat again.

“Hi,” he grinned. Damn if he didn’t look good.

“Hi.”

“You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you,” you smiled, unable to tear your gaze from him. “I’d um…invite you in, but my roommate’s in the shower, and her date is gonna be here any minute.”

While you weren’t sure why that mattered, you didn’t wanna make things more awkward. Plus it was a good excuse to leave.

“No worries,” said Harry. “We should probably get going anyway. We have reservations.”

“Oh. Perfect.”

Grabbing your purse from the counter, you shut the door behind you, following Harry out to his car. When he opened the passenger side door for you, you noticed how good he smelled. This time it wasn’t the clean, soapy smell like at the cafe, but rather a nice, notably expensive cologne. You felt your mouth water as you climbed into the car.

“So, this restaurant,” you said once you were down the road, “is it by reservation only?”

“Mm, not particularly,” shrugged Harry. “I just happen to know the chef. So I got us a special table.”

“Ohh. Well…I feel special then.”

Harry gave you a sexy grin, sending chills down every extremity. Stopped at a red light, his eyes ran down your body and back up to your face. Suddenly self-aware, you licked your lips and swallowed hard. When the light turned green and Harry hit the accelerator, you looked out the side window and blew out a breath.

The restaurant was a quaint little building off a side street. Harry parked in the small parking lot in the back, quickly jogging around the front of the car to open your door. You thanked him as you climbed out, getting another whiff of his yummy cologne.

You felt his hand on your back as you entered the restaurant, the hostess greeting you. When Harry gave his name, she guided you both through the restaurant to a table in the back. Taking a seat, your eyes scanned the room, the warm lighting and Tuscan atmosphere, the instrumental jazz playing lightly. Within seconds, a man appeared, asking for your drink order. Harry leaned toward you, asking if you liked wine.

“Yes,” you smiled. “Whatever kind you like is fine with me.”

Harry then looked at the waiter, a nervous chuckle rising from his throat. “Whatever you recommend.”

“Certainly, sir. I can bring you a sample if you like.”

“Sounds great.”

When the waiter left, you raised your brows at Harry.

“Not as much a wine connoisseur as a tequila one?” You couldn’t help the jab.

Color rising in his face, he looked down at the table, then back at you.

“I dunno shit about tequila, either, Y/N. I admitted I was an asshole that night, okay?”

“So nothing was real? It was all fake? Was it even your birthday?”

“Oh, it was my birthday. And I had been seeing Nicolette. But everything else was phony. Or…fake as you said.”

“Even your friends?”

Harry chuckled. “They were probably the fakest part. I wouldn’t exactly call them my friends.”

“More like…acquaintances?” you asked.

“No, more like…I’d just met them that night.”

Your jaw dropped, and hadn’t it been for the waiter returning with your wine samples, you’d have pressed the subject further. But instead, you graciously accepted the wine, tasting it. It went down smoothly, and you nodded.

“This is delicious.”

Giving you a wink, Harry agreed and asked the waiter for full glasses. You watched as he poured the red liquid into your glass, announcing he’d be back momentarily to take your order. Once he was out of earshot again, Harry looked at you.

“How do you feel about Spaghetti Bolognaise?”

“Not sure I’ve had it,” you replied. “But sounds incredible.”

“It is. Carlo makes the best.”

“Carlo? From the tattoo shop?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth curled up into a lopsided grin. “You remember.”

“Well, I…” you cleared your throat, fingering the napkin in your lap, “I heard you say his name last night.”

“Yeah, he’s a faithful client of mine. And an amazing chef.”

“I see,” you nodded. “So, Harry…may I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything. It just depends on the question as to whether or not I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough,” you smirked. Leaning forward, you folded your hands in front of you. “Why did you go to Zelda’s that night?”

“I told you, it-”

“No, I know it was your birthday,” you interjected. “I mean…why Zelda’s? And why with those people? You obviously make a decent living. You have people who like and respect you, like Carlo. Why did you feel the need to be someone else?”

Harry let out a breath through his nose as he fumbled with his napkin, then took a sip of wine.

“Basically…it was a business deal gone bad. And I regret every bit of that night.”

“Are we ready to order?”

Startled, you looked up at the waiter who had seemed to pop up out of nowhere. You were grateful when Harry ordered for the both of you. You were speechless, Harry’s words rolling around in your brain.

“Y/N,” Harry addressed you when the waiter left. “I know I apologized already, the best way I knew how. But you have to know that I felt so horrible afterward, and I still do.”

“I don’t understand. What does a business deal have to do with me? Did they dare you to treat me that way or something?”

“No, not directly,” he shook his head. “It was…just an attitude that had developed…um, I guess I picked it up from hanging out with them.”

“But you said you’d just met them that night.”

“I had. But we’d been drinking since Happy Hour.”

Just then, a figure emerged from behind Harry, carrying two large dishes.

“Harry, my good man!”

“Carlo!”

You watched as Carlo set one of the humongous dishes in front of you, the other in front of Harry. The aroma was intoxicating, and your mouth watered more when Carlo added fresh cheese to the top.

“Carlo, I was telling Y/N here that you’re the best chef in town.”

“Oh, Mr. Styles flatters me,” beamed Carlo who then extended his hand to you. “Lovely to meet you, Y/N. Please enjoy.”

Your waiter returned once more with salads and fresh bread, asking if you’d like more wine or water. When the coast was clear, you finally dug into your feast.

“I take it Carlo thinks I can eat enough for four people,” you commented with a chuckle.

“He thinks everyone can,” laughed Harry. “And trust me when I say he will only be offended if you don’t take the leftovers home with you.”

“Oh fun. A date with a to-go box.”

Harry giggled, making you lift your gaze to him. You liked how his eyes squinted when he laughed, his dimples dipping deeply in his cheeks.

“I can honestly say, love, I wouldn't be offended either. It’s a lot of food.”

“Good. Because I don’t wanna waste any of it. This is f-ing amazing.”

“Told you,” Harry winked before shoving a forkful into his mouth.

You enjoyed the delicious meal and pleasant conversation until you circled back to the night you’d met at Zelda’s. It was obvious Harry was remorseful, but you were still curious as to what had brought on the horrible attitude.

“So how did you meet those guys?” you asked. “From the tattoo shop?”

“Oh, no,” Harry shook his head and took a sip of wine. “They were connections. From my art exhibit. And…from Nicolette.”

“Oh, so your girlfriend knew them.”

Harry frowned. “I wouldn’t call her that. But yes.”

“Hmm, and you wanted to shmooze them. To…get them to buy your art?”

Harry sighed, dropping his fork and lifting his napkin to his mouth. Then resting his wrists on the table, he looked at you pointedly.

“Nicolette’s a rich girl. Like ‘daddy’s money’ rich. I met her…well it doesn’t matter how or when…but she was basically like arm candy. I’ll admit that. I’m not proud of it, but I admit it. I reckoned she could help me meet people, get my name out there. And she did. She was able to help me set up an exhibit, and it went well. Then she mentioned she had these friends from New York that were only in town for the weekend, but they might be interested in purchasing some of my art. So we met up at their hotel and had some drinks. Then we had some more. Nicolette ended up texting her friend to join us, and she showed up with another chick. And before I knew it, Nicolette had let the cat out of the bag that it was my birthday. The guys insisted we celebrate at some place better than the hotel bar. That’s how we ended up at Zelda’s.”

“But I recall one girl saying you were buying. Why did you have to buy if it was your own birthday?”

“I was trying to close a deal. Simple as that.”

“And you figured if you play the asshole show-off they’d buy your art.”

Harry sighed again, resting his head in his hands. “I’m not proud of it, okay? I was pissed out of my mind. I’m not even a big drinker. Obviously you can tell that. I haven’t even finished this glass of wine yet.”

You grinned, lifting your own glass. “Neither have I.”

When Harry gave a half smile, you leaned forward. “Harry, it’s okay. I’m not trying to make you feel worse about it. You’ve already made it up to me. I was only curious. Because…honestly, ever since you helped me get a new job, you’ve been nothing short of fantastic. And that includes this evening…so far.”

Harry’s grin widened, a little twinkle in his eye. “I’m having a fantastic time, too.”

“Just one more question,” you said, twisting the spaghetti around your fork. “Did you end up selling your art?”

“No,” Harry snorted. “Turns out they didn’t have the money. Bigger phonies than I was.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to laugh.

“Go ahead,” Harry chuckled. “I deserve it.”

“It does make me feel a little better.”

“Believe me, I learnt my lesson. I’m just sorry I hurt you in the process.”

With a tight smile, you adjusted your napkin in your lap, then pushed your hair behind your ear. “Harry. What do you think would have happened if you and I had met in a different way?”

“I dunno,” he grinned, his eyes dancing as he stared into yours. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

The evening air was cool, blowing a pleasant breeze across your skin that was much needed after the wine. You and Harry had ended up staying for a second glass, and as you walked to his car, you were starting to feel the small effects.

“Where to now?” Harry asked gleefully when he got behind the wheel.

“What do you mean?” you teased, knowing full well what he meant.

“Night is still young. I have nowhere to be.”

“Hmm. Can’t really go to my place.”

“Right, the roommate. Was she staying there for her date?”

You shrugged. “I never know with her.”

Harry chuckled. “Alright. We could go to mine.”

You turned in your seat to face him. “Is this how it’s gonna be, then? I forgive you, you take me out to a nice dinner, I sleep with you and I never see you again?”

“Well, you’ll still see me. I go to the cafe a lot.”

“Harry!” you playfully shoved him.

“I’m joking, Y/N! And no, that’s not how it’s gonna be. We don’t even have to go to my place. We can do whatever you want. How about a movie?”

You made a face.

“Okay, veto,” Harry chuckled. “What would you say to a walk? We could make a quick trip to my place to drop off the leftovers so they don’t spoil, then go for a nice walk. My flat isn’t far from the tattoo shop. We could stop by there if you like.”

“That actually doesn’t sound bad. It’s nice out, and I could walk off all that spaghetti I ate.”

“Alright,” Harry grinned, pulling out of the parking lot.

His apartment was in a tall building. One of those fancy ones with a garage and an elevator to take you up. He held your leftovers in one hand while his other hand held yours. He’d done it so nonchalantly too, like it was the most natural thing in the world. When you got up to the fourth floor, you’d already decided you liked how it felt.

“Let me just put these in the refrigerator,” he said when you stepped into his apartment.

“Okay. Mind if I use your restroom?”

“Of course, right there to your left.”

It was a tiny apartment, very compact, but also very clean. The only “mess” you noticed was a display of art supplies in the corner of the room as you crossed it to head to the bathroom. When you shut the door, you were greeted with a lovely painting of a moon reflecting on the beach. It was very serene. You wondered if Harry had painted it, until you noticed the HS initials in the corner.

He was leaning against his kitchen counter, looking down at his phone when you walked out. He looked up and smiled at you, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

“My turn.”

You perused his small apartment while he went to the restroom, most notably the easel in the corner you’d seen earlier. Propped on it looked to be a finished piece, though you weren’t sure. It looked to be another moon, though it was black and the background was white. The bottom of the moon appeared to be melting and at the bottom, the drops had made the shape of a heart.

“Alright, you ready?” you heard him ask, making you jump.

“Oh. Yeah,” you turned to see him. “This…this is gorgeous.”

“Oh. Thanks,” he said, stepping closer to you. “It’s not quite finished yet. It’s part of my moon series.”

“Ah, yeah, I saw the one in the bathroom. Beautiful. But…I really like this one for some reason.”

“It’s definitely more abstract than the other. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.”

“Why not? I think it’s great. It would make a cool tattoo.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe.” Then he reached his hand out to take yours.

As you strolled along the sidewalk, grateful you’d worn your flats instead of heels, you wondered why Harry had quickly dismissed your idea of the moon tattoo, but decided not to press. Maybe he was one of those artists who didn’t like their own work until it was completed.

“So how many art exhibits have you had?” you asked instead.

“Just the one so far. The gallery has some of my pieces there to sell. But I’m still trying to get my name out there.”

“How long have you been doing tattoos?”

“About…seven years?”

“Really?” you raised your brows. “Is that your favorite? Like, your true love?”

“Eh, I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I mean, I love it. And it’s definitely a good creative outlet. And it pays the bills.”

“And you have a following,” you added.

“Yeah. But is it what I wanna do forever? Probably not. I know a lot of people kind of look down on tattoo art as not legitimate art. Just something to do ‘on the side’ or ‘until something better comes along’,” he said, using air quotes. “But it’s never been that for me. At least not until recently. The painting and drawing were usually my side projects. But now…I dunno. I reckon I’ve gotten a taste and I want more.”

“Well, for what it’s worth - which is probably not much because who the fuck am I? - I think you’re extremely talented. No matter what you choose.”

“Yeah?” he smiled at you. “Thanks, Y/N. It’s worth more than you know.”

Instinctively, you squeezed his hand, and he squeezed yours back.

“What about you?” Harry asked, surprising you.

“Me?”

“Do you have any hobbies? Anything you’re passionate about?”

“No. I’m pretty dull,” you sighed.

“I seriously doubt that.”

You laughed. “It’s true. Before I started working at Zelda’s, I used to like to read and write a lot.”

“What would you write?”

“Poems mostly. Song lyrics. An occasional short story.”

“What made you stop?”

You shrugged. “Just didn’t seem important anymore. Kinda silly.”

“Nothing about that is silly, Y/N. Did it make you happy?”

You looked up at his profile, the streetlamps casting shadows.

“Only when I had something worth writing about.”

Harry stopped then, giving you a grin. “You wanna go in?”

“Sorry?” you muttered before you realized you’d reached the tattoo shop, the closed sign in the door. “Oh. Yeah, we can do that?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, love. I’m the owner.”

“Oh,” you blushed. “Right.”

Digging a key from his pocket, Harry unlocked the door, pushing it open. When you followed him inside, he pressed a few digits on the keypad, turning off the alarm. Finally, he switched on the lights, illuminating the lobby area.

“It’s so quiet,” you whispered.

“Yeah. But you don’t have to whisper, sweetheart,” mimicked Harry.

You giggled softly, covering your face with your hands. Once again, you couldn’t explain how or why Harry was affecting you this way. He just was.

“Would you like something to drink? Water? Soda?”

“Water’s fine.”

Harry walked around the back of the counter to the cooler where he retrieved two water bottles. Then handing you one, he gestured toward the back.

“C’mon. I’ll show you my station. I know you saw it already, but…”

“I was still paying attention, Harry,” you remarked.

“You were?”

“Yes.” You took a swig of water. “I was just being a bitch because I hated you.”

“Ouch,” Harry grimaced.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really hate you. I hated who I thought you were.”

“I see. And who do you think I am now?”

Biting your lip, you considered his inquiry as you made your way around his tattoo chair.

“Someone I’m interested in getting to know better.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice somehow two octaves lower.

“Mmhm. Someone I really hope to spend more time with.”

“I like that.”

“And someone who’s already making me feel things I didn’t think I would feel.”

Stepping closer to you, so close you were almost touching, Harry gazed into your eyes.

“What kind of things?” he asked.

You swallowed hard. “Like…how bad I want you to kiss me right now.”

With just a tilt of his head, Harry slid his hand around your neck and covered your mouth with his. His lips were soft and warm, giving gentle kisses before he slid his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a gasp as you eagerly allowed his access, your tongue meeting his. You heard a deep groan from him as he gripped your waist with his other hand. Your own hands had a firm hold on his biceps until you lifted one hand up to his hair.

“Y/N,” he breathed as his mouth began to travel down your jaw to your neck. “You drive me fucking crazy, baby.”

“I do?”

“Yes!” he growled, his teeth nibbling on your earlobe. “Ever since that first day at the cafe. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

Astounded, you leaned back to look at him. His eyes were dark and wild, and if you didn’t have questions, you would have kept going, letting him do whatever it was he was doing to you.

“The day you got me the job?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, his voice raspy. “I know it sounds insane. I think I was attracted to you already. But when you looked at me when I handed you your umbrella…something happened. And you’ve been on my mind ever since.”

“Really?” your face softened.

“Mmhm,” Harry nodded, his eyes darting from yours to your mouth.

“Is it crazy that you’ve been on my mind too?”

“Absolutely mad,” he murmured before his lips found yours again.

As the kiss deepened, you felt Harry’s hands travel down your back. When he reached your ass, he squeezed it, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him beneath his pants, especially with just your thin skirt and panties covering you. You moaned against his mouth, earning one from him in return. When his fingers began to tug on the fabric of your dress, you didn’t stop him, wanting nothing more than to feel him touch you. And when you felt the cold chill of his rings against your bare skin as he lifted your skirt and cupped your bum, you almost came unglued.

“Ha-Harry…” you breathed when your lips separated.

“These are nice,” he smirked, his fingers running across the back of your panties. “Lace.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Mm, I do. Too bad we don’t need them.”

His gaze turned animalistic, and you nearly moaned out loud when he licked his lips and bit his bottom one. Then grabbing the sides of your delicate garment, he slid them down your thighs, letting them drop and pool down around your ankles.

“Whatcha got under there, baby? Hmm? A pretty pussy for me?”

You merely nodded, so incredibly turned on, you couldn’t speak. His hands slid up the backs of your legs and under your dress until his fingers found what he was looking for.

“So wet for me already,” he praised you. “Love it.” Then kissing you hard, one hand slipping around the front to get better access, he began to rub your clit. “I’m gonna make you even wetter, babe.”

“Holy fuck,” you threw your head back, your knees already threatening to buckle.

“You like that, baby?”

“Yes,” you mewled.

“Do me a favor,” he instructed, pointing behind you, “and climb on that chair for me.”

“Harry…” you gasped. “We’re not…gonna…”

“Relax, sweetheart. I wanna lick you.”

If it was possible, Harry’s declaration made you soaked. With a little assistance from him, you sat on the tattoo chair. Then taking a seat in his own chair, he adjusted yours the way he wanted it before pulling you almost to the edge, causing your dress to hike up.

“Perfect,” he growled, sliding his hands up your thighs. “Now open those gorgeous legs and let them fall on either side.”

You did as he said, your bottom half completely exposed.

“Fuck, yes,” you heard him mutter before kissing your inner thigh.

You heard his chair squeak slightly as he scooted closer just before his breath blew across your pussy. Nearly coming up off the chair, you let out a whimper.

“Oh my God…please…”

“Please what, baby?”

“Put your mouth on it, Harry. I need it.”

You heard him make a sound that was a cross between a groan and a chuckle. But he didn’t oblige right away. Instead, he teased you some more with his fingers, running his thumb between your folds and back up. Then licking his pointer and middle finger, he placed them right over your clit, careful not to put too much pressure as he moved in circles.

“Harry…please…”

This time you did hear him give a sly chuckle, no doubt enjoying his play. Your thighs were already shaking and he hadn’t even used his tongue yet. Curling your toes, you whimpered more as he continued his teasing.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he complimented, his eyes on you. “I can’t wait to do more things to this gorgeous pussy. But right now…I’m gonna eat you so good.”

You cried out as soon as his mouth covered your clit, sucking gently. You felt as though you could come already, but you wanted to savor the sensation. Releasing your clit, Harry used his tongue, moving in the same gentle circular motion. Grinding your hips, you urged him to go faster, harder. But he grabbed you, holding you beneath him, continuing his petting the way he wanted.

You began panting, desperate to feel his tongue do more. Finally, seemingly reading your mind, Harry flicked his tongue against you, and you cried out his name. You reached down and grabbed at his hair, needing him more. It was then that Harry decided to include his fingers again, slipping one, then two inside, pumping slowly but just the way you wanted.

“Oh God! Harry…right there, baby. Don’t stop….”

“Not gonna. You taste so good, Y/N,” he growled against your pussy, rubbing his mouth all around it, his facial hair scratching you. “Wanna make you come so hard.”

You felt your eyes roll back in your head then as his fingers continued their magic, hitting just the right spot as his tongue devoured your juices. You cried out his name once again, your nails raking through his hair as your legs trembled. Harry continued to lick you through your orgasm until you came down. Then sliding his fingers out of your pussy, he kissed it one last time.

Your breaths were heavy, shaky and uneven. And you were pretty sure you felt a stream of sweat between your breasts. You hadn’t come like that in…a long time. Too long.

With a hum, Harry pulled you up to a sitting position. You felt like a rag doll, boneless. Harry chuckled as he wiped his chin and looked at you.

“You alright, love?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you breathed.

“Good,” he beamed at you. “You are so sexy. I’ll be right back. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then I’ll take you home.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Don’t look so disappointed, baby,” he chuckled. “It’s late. And you’re worn out.”

“Hmm,” you nodded.

Placing a hand on your face, he cupped your cheek, then pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“When’s your next day off?”

“Tuesday,” you replied with glassy eyes.

“Perfect. Only three days away. Can I see you?”

You managed a smile and a nod. “Yes, of course. Maybe I can get my tattoo then?”

Harry laughed, a sexy low laugh that sent your heart aflutter all over again. Then he leaned in to kiss you.

“Maybe. We’ll see. I have other things in mind…”

Thoughts and feedback are appreciated :).