#Harry styles smut image

[gucciwins]

one last message 

word count: 2.2k

a/n: love on tour has come to an end 😭 it seemed only fitting to say goodbye to it with a small blurb from the love on tour series , the story of harry styles and y/n belmonte. thank you for all the love you always give me and i hope this blurb is enough to put a smile on your face. i love you, friends 💜

+

You adjusted the camera as you had it leaning against the bathroom mirror. You had finished your skincare and knew tomorrow was a big night for Harry and the entire Love on tour crew. There was a lot up in the air for your career and what was next, but in the next twelve hours, all you could think about was your boyfriend. He would be saying goodbye to a tour he poured his heart into, but most importantly, he was stepping away from what he loved to take a well deserved break. Harry couldn’t stay away long; he’d be back. They all knew it was only a matter of when.

Harry was in bed; he had fallen asleep as you played with his hair and told him about your day. The pasta you made from scratch at the cooking lesson you found in a small neighborhood. It wasn’t advertised, but the chef took a liking to you when you asked him more about his favorite dishes. It seemed that was enough to grant you a special spot in Mr. Caruso’s kitchen. He tried to play off his nerves, but you knew him well enough that this final show would be one he wanted to remember forever.

Once you knew your phone wouldn’t fall, you pulled up Instagram and started a live. It’s been a while since you did one. Usually, you do an origami piece with your fans to catch up with them. Tonight would be a little different. You hadn’t been on for a minute, and the number was increasing by the second.

Twenty.

Five hundred.

Three thousand in under two minutes.

“Hi, everyone,” you greeted cheerfully. “Sorry, I haven’t done one of these in a while. Life has been busy.”

The comments began to flood with “hellos” and “I love you,” but also a lot of mentions of Barbie, the film you finished promoting and starred in. You moved past those comments and instead focused on one asking where you were.

“I’m in my bathroom. I finished my skincare for the night and thought we could chat briefly.” You giggled as you saw Lloyd joining in. The number was past 35k, and although you thought it was ridiculous at this hour in Italy, the rest of the world was running at different times. “Lloyd!!! Buddy!!! Go to sleep!” You tease.

You first.

Shaking your head, you try to see if he comments again, but the comments are coming in at lightning speed.

Cariñoooooooo

“Sarai, cómo va tu día?” How is your day? You ask your best friend.

Boring. Send me a flight to Italy.

You frown at the screen. “Be quiet. I asked if you wanted to come. You said you were busy.”

A cousin’s wedding. Remember.

“Right. You’re officiating for them. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you assure them knowing Naomi and Sarai will be staying with you for a week–two if you manage to convince them.

Where’s Harry?

Are you in Italy?

One last show!!!!

I loveeeee you!!!!!!

Final outfit reveal

Show harry

I love the new movie

A simple night. Though lots of questions if you would be in Italy for the final show as no one has seen you for a few weeks and where Harry was. You decided to do the live to connect with the fans, but you also wanted to go to bed and join Harry because even a room away, you missed him. You wanted to talk with the fans to share you feel the same sadness that tour is ending because Love on Tour gave you Harry, and that’s something you’d never forget. The same feeling they all feel staring at Harry while being in the crowd is one that you feel too. You can’t describe it, but you all know it well.

You think back to that night in St. Paul when you locked eyes with Harry and knew life would never be the same again. You can honestly say you didn’t expect to fall in love with him and go on this crazy journey two years later, but there is nothing you’d change in your life because it led you straight to him.

“It might seem odd, I’m here talking with you late into the night.” You laugh at people calling out your time zone. “Well, it’s late for me. Maybe even weirder to do it without my overalls and stack of origami paper,” you take a deep breath before continuing. “I know a lot of you know about my relationship. How private we keep it because not everything is meant to be shared online. I like things to be mine, but Harry has never been mine alone. A piece of his heart belongs to each of you, and it’s not something I will ever forget. I am fortunate to love him and be loved by him. I don’t ever take it for granted.” You sniffle and turn away from the camera to compose yourself, but you know it won’t work. When you look back, the comments are filled with love, and it keeps you going. “Love on tour allowed Harry and I to reconnect and truthfully fall in love. I won’t say more because it’s something special to us, but Love on Tour ending is bittersweet. It’s a tour full of love where many of you met friends, best friends, and lovers. You know what it means to love someone because of an event and because of the distance. The love will only grow stronger, and that I can promise.”

You grin at Pauli’s comment saying how much they love you. You found the love of your life, but you also met new friends and built a bigger family.

“Whether you’re a fan of mine or only following me to get an update on Harry, I want to thank you for your kindness, not to me but towards him. If there is anyone who deserves all the love in the world, it is him. Most of you wonder why I’m saying this here and not to Harry, but he knows. I can promise you he does. Think he might be fed up with all the love and support I shower him with, but I’m doing it because I want to look back at this, who knows, maybe five, ten, twenty years from now, and be glad I shared this with you all. If anything, it’s something Harry can look back at when we have to be apart for longer than a day. Harry, sé que no estás viendo esto, pero eres el amor de mi vida. Un último baile mañana y estaremos de camino a casa. Que sigas cumpliendo todos tus sueños, mi estrella.”

You thank everyone for watching and signing off, turning off your phone, knowing the buzzing will start immediately. You know it will be shared all over the internet, and articles will be written by the time you wake up in a few hours. Usually, it’s something you’re careful about, but tonight you don’t mind. You’re proud of Harry, and you’re allowed to show it whenever you wish. You turn your phone off, knowing Harry loves his morning ringtone better than yours.

Turning the lights off, you know as soon as you’re wrapped in Harry’s arms, you're headed straight to dreamland. Crawling into bed is easy; moving the covers away from Harry proves to be a struggle every night. You shush him quietly to not wake him, and it seems to work until he shuffles over and drags you to lay flat on your back while he gets comfortable on your chest. He would forever be your little spoon.

“I love you, baby,” he mutters into the quiet of the night.

It makes your heart race even after two years together. You kiss the top of his head and repeat your favorite three words to him.

+

The final show has been nothing short of magical. Harry would spend the entire night on stage if he could, but you all know the show is close to ending. Harry, from the morning, had been cheerful from waking you up with a morning orgasm that led to making love, and once he let you get clothes on a walk along the water. You know he had seen your little speech but made no move to bring it up. It wasn’t necessary because you constantly told him how proud you were, and it was evident in how you proudly showed Harry off all day to a crew that already knew and loved him. You don’t know if someone texted it to him or if he happened to see it on Instagram, but he walked all day with an extra pep in his step. It could have also been the sex. Not a hint of sadness could be detected, and it eased your worries because it meant he was ready for a well deserved break.

You spent the show with Anne and Gemma, dancing your heart out. You knew Glenne and Jeff would pull you in for a final mosh pit as Harry danced his heart out to “Kiwi.” Harry had thanked the fans endlessly throughout the entire night. His speeches always bring tears to your eyes. He thanked the band and the crew. He thanked his family for the support they offered the past thirteen years. You didn’t expect a speech dedicated to you, so it caught you off guard when he mentioned you. All your shared family and friends cheered so loud, making it easy for Harry to spot you and even easier for the camera’s to find you and show you on the screens.

“I don’t know if some of you saw, but my girlfriend gave a lovely speech last night on a live,” Harry smiles as the crowd cheers for you. “She poured her heart out to you while I was sleeping.” He wags his finger playfully. “Like she doesn’t know I love my ego to be fed. Her love is something I feel even when she’s not around, but I am thankful she’s here tonight. She’s here, and she’s been dancing and singing all night. It's my favorite thing in the world seeing her happy.” Harry can see Glenne nudging her playfully, but your eyes never leave his. “I love being on stage and performing for you all. It’s everything I dreamed of, and I can’t wait to return soon to do it again.” Harry gives you a dimpled smile, and you know the look in his eye; even from a distance, you know he wishes he could kiss you. “No one tells you how much you miss out on. Family celebrations, nieces' first steps, and even graduations. The biggest to the littlest things matter. Bel has reminded me that even when I’m not there, I can send a reminder that I’m thinking of my family and friends. That everyone understands I’m doing what I love. I love being here with you all, but I also love being home.” Harry places a hand over his heart. “Bel has made me a better son, friend, and partner. Now I know this is sappy, and maybe you’re over this, and she’s going to tell me after this wasn’t necessary, but I do want it to be known that I’m happy. I have never been happier. And while I will be going away for some time, I want you to know I’m in good hands until I return and am yours again.”

The cheers are a mix of sobs and relief, knowing he will be back even with no set date. You can’t seem to stop crying. All the comforting Anne is doing is working, but it’s as if Harry broke you open by pouring his heart out for you on stage.

“He’s a bit of a romantic, my little one,” Anne teases as she squeezes you tighter.

“You’re telling me. I’m no match.”

Anne laughs, “you flew out the entire family and act like that’s not the greatest gesture.”

It’s true. You planned with Anne to make sure everyone could make it out by planning accommodations and rides for the final show to go smoothly for them. Harry deserved a large celebration, and it was important to have his family here. Naomi wanted to be here because if it weren’t for your best friend, you wouldn’t have found Harry in 2021 though Harry liked to think your paths would cross either way. Naomi’s parents, Ruby and Phil, made the journey for Harry. They happily welcomed him into the family. Viola flew in for the celebration as had Violet, your goddaughter with her father Alex.. Your family had become his, and they were here to celebrate two incredible years of a tour filled with love and joy. He deserved to have his family here after missing them so much. There was a wonderful celebration to come after the show ended.

“Guess we compliment each other well like that,” you told Anne. Small moments that reminded you how much a perfect fit you are for each other.

Harry clears his throat, “now, I’m sure Bel is flustered and wants me to stop, so I will. Thank you for being here. Thank you for changing my life. I love you.” He points at you, and you blow him a kiss he pretends to catch and puts it over his heart for safekeeping.  “I love you, and I’ll miss you.”

You don’t know what the future holds for your relationship. All you know is that your love will guide you through it all. Whether you get married, have kids, or simply exist to love each other, everything will work out the way it needs to because your love was written in the stars.

+

thank you for reading! love on tour has been so magical and special for us all. i love you all and hope you go back and read this series if you’re ever missing love on tour. te quiero mucho 🤍

[doonarose]

Some of my university students had a debate about the homosexual subtext of a scene from High School Musical 2 in front of me today and instead of explaining to them our lord and savior Good Omens and also Our Flag Means Death, I just said something about queerbaiting, and let them think of me thusly:

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Tempted to spend my summer writing a fic based off Harry Styles unreleased music…thoughts👀

[bl00dycham0mile]

I prompted an AI art generator with inspo from my co-op fanfic, and these are just some highlights!

[sarahs-secrets2]

She (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

MINORS DNI 18+

based on She by Harry Styles

fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, daddy vibes? , phillip is cheating on his wife with reader, pet names, reader is homewrecker (sorry)

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Phillip sat in his big office staring out the panoramic windows. His head buzzed as he twisted the wedding ring around his finger. The office chair squeaked as he leaned back in it, images of you tangled up in his sheets clouded his train of thought. The red lacy lingerie was permanently ingrained into his memory. From the way it hugged your figure, to how it felt to tear it off. He fully slipped the gold band off, heavily examining it. The knock at the door pulled Phillip back down from his daydreams as he quickly slipped the wedding ring back onto his finger. 

“Come in,” he coughed, adjusting in the creaky chair trying to look as normal as possible. His secretary stepped in cautiously as she clutched her notepad. 

“You have a call on line 3 sir, they said it was important,” 

Phillip leaned back in the chair as he rubbed his temple, he had a feeling of who it could be. “Yeah, I know who it is, thanks,” he pulled himself forward from the worn leather chair before stopping his secretary just as she was about to leave, “Mind grabbin’ me a coffee doll? ‘Preciate it,” he thanked her before even getting an answer and winked as she scurried off to get him his coffee. 

A heavy exhale escaped Phillip’s lips as he picked up the phone.

“Phillip,” your voice flowed through the speaker held closely to Graves’ ear.

“Darlin’, whaddya doin’ callin’ me here? I thought we agreed on no calls at work?”

“I just couldn't help it,” you paused waiting to see what he would say but he was silent, “Don't be mad,”

Graves could almost feel your pouting through the phone. His thoughts trailed off as your voice became background noise. All he could think of was how pretty you probably looked right now, lying back on a bed while you talked to him. He hoped your hand was finding its way down between your thighs just to get off on his voice. He hoped you were in lingerie or even better the shirt he had “accidentally” left at your place last night. His dick was throbbing in his pants pushing against the seams at the idea. 

“Are you there?” 

You heard him clear his throat, “Why’d you call?”

“I missed your voice,”

“That so doll?”

“Mhm,” you hummed out, “When can I see you again?”

“Oh hell, I’m not sure,” It was silent as he thought, “I don’t want anyone gettin’ suspicious of me now, I’ll let you know when we can meet again, that sound alright?” 

His voice was low as he spoke, sending a chill down your spine. You need him just as badly as he needed you. “That sounds perfect,” you spoke slowly, “I’ll see you soon sir,” 

“Talk soon darlin’,” the phone clicked, ending the call. 

Graves dropped the phone back on the receiver before dropping his head in his hands. The timing couldn't be more perfect as his secretary knocked before marching in with the coffee, “Here you go sir,” she quickly set the cup down before scurrying out of the office. He spit out a quick ‘thanks’ before refreshing his computer in an attempt to actually get work done today. 

✩｡:*•.─────  ❁ ❁  ─────.•*:｡✩

Graves hopped out of his car and unlocked the front door. As quietly as he tried to sneak in, his wife still was able to hear the faint sound of the door shutting. 

“Phillip? Is that you?” she wiped her hands on her apron and peeked around the corner, “Dinner will be ready soon honey,” she smiled sweetly as she went back to the kitchen. 

“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” he shouted down the hall as he trudged up the stairs with his briefcase. Once he reached his bedroom he tossed the bag on the floor and flopped down on the foot of the bed. 

One hand loosened the tie around his neck while the other scrolled through his texts searching for your name. Fully removing his tie now, he typed out a message hoping you would answer before he had to go eat the meal his wife just cooked. 

Need to see you tonight

He stroked his jaw as he waited for a response, finally a text bubble appeared.

Same spot as usual? 

Phillip Graves liked your message 

“Phillip come eat,” the voice from downstairs almost made him jump as he quickly deleted the text convo and slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

“Comin’,”

✩｡:*•.─────  ❁ ❁  ─────.•*:｡✩

“I’m comin’,” his breath hitched as he continued to rut into you, his pace quickened as he felt you clench around him. “Fuckkk,”

“Oh my god Phillip,” a wave of ecstasy flooded over you as Graves pushed through both of your highs. He pulled out rolling over next to you in a wave of exhaustion, both of you panting heavily trying to catch your breaths. 

A couple of minutes passed before you finally spoke up, “I’m glad you texted me,” you shuffled in the bed as you turned to face him, propping yourself up with your elbow. 

Graves was laying on his back staring at the ceiling, his hands tucked behind his head. “M’glad too,”

“You’re not scared of getting caught, are you?

He extended one of his arms, wrapping it around your shoulder and pulling you closer to lay on his bare chest. “I don't want to think about that right now doll,” his voice was hushed as he closed his eyes, he gave your shoulder a small squeeze as you could feel yourself drifting off laying on his chest. 

Morning came fast. The sun broke through the hotel curtains, as you woke up you rolled over in bed looking for Phillip.

Gone.

Typical, especially considering your relationship. He never was there in the morning, he had a wife and kids at home. You reached over to the nightstand to grab your phone and began skimming through your texts.

Had to head out sorry, gift for you on the counter. Wear it next time I see you. 

You swung your feet off the bed and walked over to the counter finding the Victoria's Secret bag. Tossing the tissue on the floor you pulled out a scarlet red lingerie set, he always liked you in red. You smiled to yourself as you sauntered into the bathroom to try it on, making sure to grab your phone… just in case.

✩｡:*•.─────  ❁ ❁  ─────.•*:｡✩

“Have a good day guys,” Phillip shouted out the window as his kids ran into the school. Just as he was about to pull away his phone dinged.

Thanks for the gift x 

Hope you’re able to see it in person soon: Attachment 1 img.

His head fell back as he stared at the photo on his phone. It was only 9 in the morning and he was itching to see you again. Graves tried to think of a way to respond but couldn't, he was too dizzy from the feeling of all the blood rushing to his dick. 

Taking a big swig of coffee he headed to his office hoping that the work that awaited him would somehow be able to distract him from you. Little did he know that you now lived in his daydreams and it would only get stronger from here. 

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

did you guys see how i made it loop hehe

[watermelonlovershigh]

Will you put out another image soon?

Medicine (SMUT) /blurb/

AN: right now!!! a little surprise fic for you. its short but sweet and spicy.

This story contains: sex, playful teasing, mild angst

{ dadrry - husbandrry - soft!harry }

word count- 812

Harry does something rather cheeky in bed one night and when you're at his Wembley Night 3 concert, you recognize him recreating that cheeky move in front of thousands.

One week before Wembley Night 3 show:

It was a cozy evening tonight in your family home in London. Thank goodness you were in a city where you had a home because you despise staying in hotels all the time. Harry had just finished putting your three and five year olds to bed while you wrapped up your nightly shower.

Not thinking twice about it, you come walking out your shared bathroom that's located inside your bedroom stark naked with just a towel around your hair. As you were pulling some underwear out of your dresser drawer, Harry enters the bedroom but freezes when he sees you.

He looks you up and down and immediately you know what his eyes are giving. They're giving his "bedroom eyes". The eyes Harry gives to you when he's in the mood for sex. Though you joke that Harry is a horny bastard sometimes, you're just as equally horny the same amount if not more.

Somewhere between you grabbing your sleep clothes and walking over to the bed where you put on your lotions and creams, Harry stalked over towards you and pushed you back on the bed. Not in an aggressive way but in a playful way. "Harry", you giggle, the towel around your hair falling to the ground, "what are you doing?"

You know damn well what he's doing but you play dumb. Harry has you starfished out in the center of the bed. He's straddling your hips with his legs locked around your waist and his hands pinning your hands down to the mattress. "Think you can walk around our room naked and me not want to prance on you? Huh?"

Harry leans his head down to whisper against your mouth one last, "Huh?" and you being needy now, encloses your mouth around his lips. He doesn't fight back on trying to get an answer but instead just falls into your lustful kissing spell.

One thing leads to another and the clothes he had on (sweatpants and a t-shirt) has been shed off onto the floor and now he's fucking you. Well he made sure you were wet first but then, he got into fucking you. It's not rough sex but it's also not your "love making" sex either. You'd almost say its playful sex. Teasing sex. Sex where you're laid flat on the bed and Harry's on top but isn't pressed down on you. Just sitting up right with your legs around his waist and his hands on your hips as he thrusts in and out of you.

After this goes on for a few minutes and Harry can see how tired you've become, he speeds the process up but reaching a hand down to stimulate your clit. This gets you coming within a minutes time. And the feeling of you coming nearly triggers his but because he didn't wear a condom, he quickly pulls out.

As you lay there reeling from your high, Harry grabs his dick and continues his stimulation by jerking himself off. But being the cheeky man he is, he pretends to shoot his load sprinkler style where he twists his hips to the far left and slowly turns his hips to the right. His cock being held by both hands.

Once you catch sight of his doings, you hiss, "Don't you dare get cum on our duvet."

Harry laughs, "M' jokin'. M' jokin''" But his playful attitude only last a second more before he throws his head back and stills his hips. He removes one hand from his cock so that his other hand can go full force in the jerking motion. He roughly jerks the shaft of his cock until cum spurts out onto your belly. "Mhm, aghh!" he moans.

When Harry finishes coming on your stomach, he quickly reaches for some tissues that sit on your bedside table and goes to wipe his sticky cum off your skin before it dries. Then he leans down to peck your lips where you both mutter "I love you's" before actually getting ready for bed.

--------------

Wembley Night 3 show:

As you stood in the friends and family section of your husbands concert with your two kids dancing their little hearts out down beside you, you notice something familiar. While Harry is performing his unreleased fan favorite song Medicine, he suddenly holds the mic stand up to his front as if it was a dick and twists his hips side to side.

When you stare at the sight before you, you see Harry winking directly at you and that's when the memory comes to your mind. The memory of him doing this move exactly a week ago in bed, except he didn't have a mic stand. He had his actual dick in front of him, jerking it off while rotating his hips left to right. That cheeky mother fucker.....

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[petitemistletoe]

rewrite your elvis fic why’d you only call me when you’re high but with one of the marauders?

Title: Why'd You Only Call me When You're High?

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: smut, angst, drugs, old school rocker vibes

Word Count: 1.9K+

A/N: this could only be written about Sirius I'm sorry! He's so rockstar coded! happy holidays y'all :)

… The mirror's image, it tells me it's home time

But I'm not finished, 'cause you're not by my side

And as I arrived I thought I saw you leavin', carryin' your shoes

Decided that once again I was just dreamin' of bumpin' into you

… Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls and to my message, you reply

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?"

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

Sirius finished his line of coke, flipping his head up and sniffing harshly. He gave himself a long look in the mirror. He looked great, obviously: leather jacket over a bare chest, a tangle silver and gold necklaces of varying lengths cascading down his neck to his chest. Most of his tattoos were visible and his pair of leather pants were impossibly tight. His fingers were adorned with a number of rings and his hair was that perfect combination of messed up and carefully styled. His eyeliner was smudged around his eyes and he couldn’t quite tell if his eyes were so dark from the eyeliner or from the lack of sleep. 

Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he had had a solid night of sleep, but that was the nature of touring. Of course his bandmates weren’t like he was. James was boring and married with a kid, who Sirius obviously doted on, but James spent all his time when they weren’t performing or practicing with Lily and Harry. Remus was dating this guy Grant who really got under Sirius’s skin. Was it because Sirius and Remus had had a fling, an excellent mind-blowing fling, and when Remus pushed for more Sirius said no and Remus moved onto Grant? Maybe. Was it because Grant was disgustingly kind and sweet and felt like the absolute antithesis of Sirius? Maybe. Was it because Grant had gotten Remus into tea and biscuits rather than coke and pills? Maybe it was that too. And then there was Peter. Peter, bless his heart, tried his absolute best but the coke made his nose bleed, pills made him constipated, and liquor made him vomit. So most nights after a show, James would go home to Lily and Harry, Remus would go home to Grant, Peter would go home to god knows who (probably his cats or gerbils or whatever), and Sirius would go anywhere but home. 

He had liked groupies, townies, the international girls and guys, but he liked you most of all. You were a bit of a forbidden fruit, you were his brother Regulus’s best friend, but that made it all the more appealing. Sirius only went home, only spent the night in his bed, if he knew you would be there too. 

Sirius dialed your number as he made his way home in the backseat of his limo. He was rolling something that he wasn’t sure if it was a joint or a cigarette as the phone rang. He did a double take as he drove past Newt Scamander’s house. Newt Scamander was an old school rocker, a living legend basically, and even though he was a little past his prime looks-wise, he was still a sex symbol. But it wasn’t just Newt’s house that caused Sirius’s double take, it was the fact that he thought he saw walking out of Newt’s house, carrying your phone in one hand and your heels in the other. Sirius shook the thought from his brain, figuring that he was so high he probably just saw a tree branch or something. Sirius got your voicemail but he knew, despite the late hour, that you were not asleep. He dialed you again. And again. And again. Until finally he heard your voice.

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” You sounded annoyed but he just laughed it off as he walked into his house, stepping out of his boots and kicking them off somewhere, stripping his sweaty clothes haphazardly and letting them fall off his body haphazardly. 

“That’s how you answer the phone? No hi?” Sirius teased, falling back on his bed and stretching his sore muscles. 

“Hi.” You said pointedly, “why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

“I’m not high.” Sirius said, taking a long drag of his spliff. 

“It’s three in the morning, Sirius.”

“Come over baby.” Sirius crooned. 

“You’re still talking the same shite you always did.” You were rolling your eyes, Sirius knew you were. 

“It’s harder and harder to get you to listen, baby.” Sirius said, a bite of annoyance coming through. He was on the come down from his earlier line and and was getting irritated. 

“Luckily for you I’m incapable of making alright decisions. I’ll see you in a few.” You disconnected the call. 

Sirius finished his spliff and began to roll another one. There were a few messages on his phone from James, he was probably up at one of those late night feedings for Harry. He started to read through them when he heard his door open and shut and after a few moments you were in his bedroom, crawling your way up the bed towards him. 

“That was fast.” Sirius frowned. Usually it took you at least fifteen minutes to get from your place to his, even in the dead of night when no one was out on the street. 

“You complaining?” You asked, pulling your shirt over your head as you straddled him. Sirius was going to question things more but suddenly your tits were in his face and he forgot all about that. 

… Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

He buried his face between your tits and groaned,

“This is my favorite place in the absolute world.”

“Well make yourself useful, Black, and stimulate my nipples.” You said, gripping his hair harshly. Sirius obliged, wrapping his lips around one of your hard nipples and his nimble fingers flew to other one, tweaking and pinching it. You were grinding down in his lap against his hard-on until his lips moved from nipples up around the curvature of your breast, then up your clavicle, then up your neck, until he got up to your lips. Before he could connect his lips to yours, you pulled back and made your way down his body and wrapped your hand around his cock. Sirius gasped as you ran your hand between your legs to lubricate it and then started jerking Sirius off. You laid flat on your stomach between Sirius’s legs and continued jerking him as you lightly sucked one of his balls into your mouth. Sirius went from the light gasps to strangled, intense moans and he felt like his lungs were about the collapse. 

“Get up,” he choked out, “I need to be inside you.”

You lifted yourself up and without much warning you seated yourself on Sirius’s cock. Sirius groaned and held your hips hard in place, preventing you from moving. 

“Sirius, come on.” You whined, your nose touching his as you tried to move again. Sirius released his grip and started fucking up into you hard. Sirius lifted his jaw, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You pulled away harshly, pushing yourself up so you were no longer pressed against his chest. Sirius thought about saying something but then you moved your hips in the most delicious way and he forgot all about it. Sirius pulled you off of him and flipped you over, bending you over so your chest and face were pressed against the mattress and your hips were up in the air. There was a tattoo at the base of your back that had have been new. He pushed into you, his hands grasping your hips like he was about to fall off the edge of a cliff. 

He was close, so so close to finishing, but he was distracted by the tattoo on your back. It looked like a constellation, it was vaguely familiar looking, maybe it was something that he had studied in an astronomy course. One of the stars on the constellations was darker than the rest and it had a small green glow mark around it. 

“Did you snort too much or something? I’m getting rug burn here.” You said, turning and looking over your shoulder at Sirius. Sirius’s eyes snapped back up to yours and as he locked eyes with you he came. He always tried to pull out but he was caught off guard this time that he came inside you.

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

… Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?”

“Fuck Sirius!” You snapped, jumping off him and running to the bathroom. 

“Sorry,” Sirius murmured. It was weird…that tattoo was so so weird. It felt like something was sitting on chest he was so strangled by the idea that he had seen that exact constellation before.

“Fuck Sirius,” you repeated, walking back into his room and shaking your head, “I gotta get a morning after pill tomorrow.” You walked over to Sirius’s discarded tight leather pants and pulled out a few crumpled up bills that were in his pockets. “This is why I fucking hate having sex with you when you’re high.”

“I’m not high,” Sirius said weakly, still staring at your tattoo as you were bent over digging through his pockets.

“You only ever call me when you’re high.” You said, straightening up and starting to pull on your clothes.

“You aren’t staying?” Sirius felt like he was running out of time.

“I, uh, have to be up in the morning so I need to have an…early night.” You said, not looking Sirius in the eyes. 

“Am I starting to bore you baby?”

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

… And I can't see you here, wonderin' where am I

It sort of feels like I'm runnin' out of time

I haven't found all I was hopin' to find

You said you gotta be up in the mornin'

Gonna have an early night

And you're startin' to bore me, baby

“I’m fine, Sirius. I just have an early morning.” You said in a snippier tone than Sirius had ever expected to hear from you.

“What’s that tattoo on your back?” Sirius stormed across the room and grabbed you by the arm harshly. 

“It’s the constellation Leo.” You snapped back, glaring up at Sirius.

“And what’s the glow on that star?” Sirius didn’t know why he was getting so upset but his blood pressure was only continuing to rise as he looked at you and thought about that tattoo.

“You really don’t know?” You smiled cruelly. “You really don’t recognize it.”

“What is it?” Sirius could feel his nose bleeding and he wiped at it. There was a streak of smeared blood on his cupid’s bow.

“It’s the star Regulus.” You grinned.

“Why’d you have to be such a bitch?” Sirius screamed.

“Why’d you have to be?” You retorted.

“Why’d you always lie?”

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

Why'd you only call me when you're high?

… "Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?"

"Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?"

"Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?"

"Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?”

[1dcommunityficrecs]

Time Travel Rec List!

No fooling, today we have 9 time travel fics for your reading pleasure! Three are short and sweet, under 10k words; three are moderate at around 50k, and three are behemoths of over 100k! We also have a rarepair in the form of a Ziam canon-divergence time-travel fix-it fic.

Please enjoy, leave comments and kudos, and get ready for the next theme (as soon as I can decide what it is...)

The Second Hands Unwinds by kingsofeverything (51573, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

Reccer says: I think everyone knows this fic, NASA au, but how can we not recommend it? The plot is great, it's emotional, it's really good. Sp, so beatuiful, so immersive, the characters are written perfectly and it absolutely made me cry.

De amore ex tempore by Persephoneflouwers (101471, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Or: the Middle Ages AU where Harry is a philosopher, whose thoughts happen five centuries too soon and Louis is a painter, whose art happens five centuries too late. Or: the Time Travel AU where alternate versions of themselves live simultaneously in different realities and their paths collide every time, until somehow, they converge into one.

Reccer says: Much of the story takes place during the Florentine Renaissance, at the end of the Middle Ages, and it's beautiful and well-written. I was at the Louvre a while back and while looking at the Caravaggio and Trevento paintings, images of De Amore Ex Tempore came to mind. Beyond that, I also really liked the story, the meeting of this Louis from the future with a Harry from the Middle Ages. It just goes to show that, whatever the era, they're bound to find each other!

There’s Such a Lot of World to See by Crinkle-Eyed-Boo (125000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Harry dies twice, but it all works out and has a happy ending!

Doctor Who AU with Louis as The Doctor and Harry as the Companion, inspired by the Impossible Girl story from series 7.

Reccer says: It has everything you need! Thrills, angst, romance, smut, and time travel!

billow and breeze (islands and seas) by Pleasinglouis (102506, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Two words sum it up: Outlander AU.

Reccer says: And here again, two words are enough to recommend: Outlander AU...

Old Photographs & Times I'll Remember by Jaerie (53918, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

A camera, a suitcase, and a relationship forged through time.

Reccer says: It's beautifully written and poignant.

i know i've grown (but i can't wait to go home) by LiveLaughLoveLarry (7230, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Violence, murder, injury (not graphic)

Louis falls down a hill and into the past. A historical castle is suddenly full of life, including a hot prince -- and his evil twin.

Reccer says: I really enjoy the use of language and speech patterns between the modern Louis and the historical Harry!

Timeless by babyhoneyhslt (3867, General, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Based on "Timeless" by Taylor Swift. Harry wanders into an antique shop and finds himself pulled back in time, through a series of lifetimes. And in every one -- there's Louis.

Reccer says: I'm always a sucker for the idea that in every timeline and every universe these two would find each other -- and getting to have that multiple times in one story just cements that.

saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same (61352, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence

When Louis moves into the mansion he’s inherited from his great grandfather, he has a plan that consists of three things. One, he’s going to finish writing the next novel in his series. Two, he’s finally going to get over his ex-fiancé. And three, while battling writer’s block and having to resist the urge to kill off the main character in his books – the hot detective based on his ex-fiancé – he’s going to restore the mansion to its former glory. Unfortunately, Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

Reccer says: I love the way the writer manages the time/dimension travel trope!

(I pray to God I didn’t waste) all my good years by we_are_the_same (6864, General, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne) - fic post Warnings: Does "post-march 25th" count as a warning?

Liam goes to sleep in a world where Zayn has just left One Direction. He wakes up somewhere quite different.

Reccer says: The angst of it all!!

[missmielyhoran]

Tired eyes are the death of me

Little freak part 2

in which Autumn likes her twin brother's best friend, and maybe he likes her too...

[Warning- Angst (are we even surprised at this point?), Smut🤭, Making out, dry humping, thigh riding, handjob, asshole Harry as always, insecurities, depression]

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

*****

Schools have the most depressing hallways after hospitals. The bright walls and lines and lines of lockers with kids roaming around talking, pretending to be happy but inside everyone was dealing with some shit.

The bright lights and walls did nothing but give you headaches.

You walked down the hallway, your locker being the last one in the corner. At least your locker didn't look depressing. It had a bunch of marvel and Harry Potter stickers, giving you the typical image of "the nerd."

You took out the books for your class when you heard that distinct laugh. His laugh specifically. Peeking from the corner, you saw Harry with his friends except your brother standing in a group talking.

"What about Autumn?" You hear a boy ask. Your ears perk up hearing your name. You saw the boy smirk while Harry's face contorted into something borderline disgust.

"Ohh, she got nice ass." Another boy said who you didn't recognize. Your face mimicked Harry's and contorted into disgust. You wanted to puke your guts out.

"She's Asher's annoying little sister," Harry says before anyone can add anything to it, making your heart sink.

"I heard my name." Your brother sing songs walking towards the group.

"Eric was saying your sister has a nice ass." The first boy spoke, "You wanted to take her to the dance! You brought her up!" The second guy who you know now as Eric said.

Your brother's face changed colors so fast it would put chameleon to shame. He went from shocked to disgust to angry. Looking at his face, you could tell he was about to lurch onto both of them.

"Asher!" You walked towards the group of boys ignoring Harry. Asher's attention was brought to you, and he walked towards you but not without glaring at both boys and giving their shoulders intentional shove.

Asher wrapped his arm around your shoulder and started walking towards your class, "How many times I have told you to just text me, and I will come to you. I don't want you around them, and it's last time I'm telling you this, " Asher said sternly.

"Yeah Yeah, macho man always there to save me. They're not going to eat me alive" You said stopping in front of your class.

Asher turned and looked at you, his eyes hard, "Yes they will. Just do as I say, Autty. I will buy you ice cream on way back home." He sighed.

"I'm not a child." You rolled your eyes at him, "I want chocolate one, though." Asher laughed and walked towards his own class. Harry was behind him, walking towards the same class as yours. He gave Asher a wave and looked at you, and smiled.

You ignored him and walked inside.

*****

Turns out Harry is a very hard person to ignore, especially when you're consciously trying to ignore him.

It also doesn't help that he was sitting in the line of your vision. Every time you looked up towards the teacher, the back of his beautiful curly hair would be in your way.

The whole day went by like this. You never realized how many classes you two had together, mostly cause you were just happy that you got more time to stare at him, but it was torture.

It was English AP class, his seat was right next to you, and you wanted to die. He was far yet so close for you to smell his cologne, the musky earthy smell, like soil after rain.

He was green afterall.

You sat through the whole class like Edward in Twilight movie when he first smelled Bella. But the end was the worst.

"I'm passing out the assignments, and whoever is sitting beside will be your partner," Mrs. Willson said to the whole class. Everyone started mingling reading their respective assignments.

You looked at your other side where some blonde was sitting, but she had already mingled with someone else. Sighing, you turned to Harry on your other side. He was looking at you with monotone expression. You looked him in the eyes, and he sighed and stood up. "We will do this over the weekend," He said.

You thought he would leave after that, but he extended his hand toward you. You went stiff like a statue, looking up at him with wide eyes, then he took out a small piece of paper from your hair and left.

He will be the death of you.

*****

Research says lonely people take hot showers to replicate the warmth of the body they miss, and to some extent, you thought it was true considering the water you just took shower from fogged up the whole bathroom.

You went on with your usual routine, trying not to think about the day at school or that there is a mirror behind. The temptation to look was real, but you were not giving in. Not today.

You put on a tank top and loose shorts forgoing bra cause it was hot as Satan's ass and you just took a hot shower on top of that.

You walked outside calmly, taking your hair out of the towel. Just as you look up after removing the towel from your head, you see a figure sitting near your window and almost scream before they shush you.

They stood up and walked towards you, the moonlight hit his face and you saw Harry smirking cockily.

"What the fuck? What is this some kind of new prank you and Asher are pulling on me now?" You whisper yell at him cause it was late and quiet, and you didn't want to wake up your mum.

"Asher doesn't know I'm here." He shrugs and stands a step away from you. The moonlight was hitting his back, making his face glow in soft light, his hard features looking soft and playful. The green in his eyes was yet so visible in your darkened room that it knocked out all the breath in you.

Asher's annoying little sister

You took a small step back, keeping your guards up. "Then why are you here?" You turned around towards the shelf, holding all your creams and stuff. You took out body moisturizer and started putting it all over your hands, waiting for him to reply.

"We have project together," He said, making you laugh.

"And you think" You looked at the clock, "11 in the night is the right time to do it?" You turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"No, I just wanted to remind you," He said, moving closer. You took a step back, looking up at him in the eyes, your heart beating out of your chest, "You ignored me whole day." He spoke again with his eyes flicking between your then staying at your left one.

"Yeah well who cares?" you whispered, annoyed by his hot and cold behavior, "I'm just Asher's annoying little sister." You threw his own words back at him. For a second, he looked taken back, but it was gone in a moment and was replaced with a glint, like he was enjoying all of this.

He took a step towards you again, and you took a step back. Your back met the wal, and you breathed out a shaky breath. He was so close to you, the closest he has ever been. His chest was almost touching yours. You could feel his breath on your face and smell the same cologne that haunts you.

Harry brought his hand up to cup the left side of your face, and you melted in it like an ice. The warmth of his hand and the way it was almost swallowing your whole face made you whimper.

"You're annoying" He whispered, "Very fucking annoying" He dipped his head down so it was same level as you, "So fucking annoying you won't leave my head" He exhaled shakily like you.

You were looking him straight in the eye. The shock was drowned by the look of hunger in his eyes and the way your thighs were sticking together from your arousal.

You dared to remove your eyes from his face and look down on his lips. You looked back up quickly, feeling embarrassed, but you didn't have time to think cause soon his lips were on yours and you were trying to breathe properly.

His lips were soft, what started as a frantic mess of lips turned into soft, slow dance of tongues. His grip tightened on your jaw as the time went by while yours gripped his shoulders in need.

He pulled back, resting his head on your. Both of you were out of breath, panting with eyes closed. Harry opened his eyes first looking at you, and as soon as you opened your eyes too, his was picking you up and walking towards your bed. He sat at the edge of bed, and you, in his lap, you could feel the hardness near your thigh, which made you more needy than before.

You pushed your every thought and insecurities deep in and did what your heart (pussy) said.

His lips met yours again, much needier than before. You didn't even realize you were grinding on him before he let out a groan. You stopped for a second, realizing what you had done, so you did it again. The hard fabric of his jeans felt amazing over your covered clit.

Both of you were sweating and panting but not daring to break the kiss. Your head started feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the shivers running up from the core.

His lips went south to my neck, and I titled it sideways to give him more excess. His hands were now on my hips, guiding me as I rolled them.

He stops abruptly and pulls back, looking at me with swollen parted lips wet with saliva. You could see his pupils blown black even in dark, and it made you shiver in excitement.

You looked down at him with the same expression, your bottom lip caught under your teeth in anticipation. There, he was sitting in your room on your bed with you on his lap, making out. You were making out with your childhood crush! It felt like a fever dream.

"Fuck" He curses, his hand sliding up from your hips to straps of your top. You freezed at that. Although the thought was very arousing, it was scary. You haven't been with anyone ever. Hell, you even had your first kiss with Harry when you kissed him out of nowhere the other day.

Harry caught onto your inner turmoil, and his face softened a bit. You tried to relax your muscles so you won't feel so exposed in front of him but you couldn't do anything.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked, his voice not going anywhere above a soft whisper. You gave him a nod, your fingers playing with his t-shirt's neck.

"Can we leave the top on?" You asked shyly. Here you were sitting in front of the coolest boy in the whole school feeling shy to take off your clothes. Maybe that was why you never told him he was your first everything but somehwere he knew.

He smiled and pulled you closer, "Jesus christ I thought I did something wrong" He shook his head and pecked your dip of throat, "Ofcourse we can" he said and went back to kissing your neck and collarbones. He didn't leave any marks knowing you had school and then your brother, but he couldn't stop himself from sucking particularly hard at the spot on the curve of your neck when you rolled your hips again.

He pulled back his lips after some time and feathered a few in front of your throat while you kept rolling your hips. He was going crazy and the clothing between was driving him mad. He gripped your hips to stop you, which made yoh whine, and he almost came in his pants.

"Get up for a sec, Autty." He panted out, seeming to never be able to catch his breath.

You scarmbled back with confused and scared expression, "Omg, did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry, Har I-" He cut you off by pulling you against his lips again.

"You talk a lot" He rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face. Harry, while keeping his eyes on you scooted and pulled down his sweatpants. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your sockets when you saw his toned thighs with a tiger tattooed on it. You knew he had tattoos after seeing him in tanktops and shirtless if you were lucky.

Now he was here on your bed only left in his boxers with a very noticeable buldge. Life is wild.

You licked your lips and looked up at Harry through your lashes. He had a cocky smirk on his face, obviously feeling flattered by your staring.

"C'mere" He motioned with his fingers, you took shy steps forward not really knowing what he had in mind but you couldn't complain about it. When you were close enough he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your shorts.

"Can I?" He asked. You bit down on your lips as your eyes flicked between his thighs and then towards yours. The room was dark, so there was no way he would be able to see you properly unless he fixates on it.

You gave him a nod and a breathy 'yes'. He pulled your shorts down along with your granny panties softly and threw them somewhere in the room. His fingers running up your leg caused goosebumps to arise, and you shuddered.

He pulled you down, so you were straddling him again, but then he shifted, so you were straddling only one of his thighs.

"Go on baby, move those hips, take what you want," he said near your ear. You moaned, hearing his crude words, his teeth biting your ear lope, then small nips down the side of your neck. You started rolling your hips again. The lack of clothing made the sensation ten times better.

"Fuck you're so wet" Harry graoned at the feeling of your slick wet centre against his thigh. His hand went from your arm to your lower back, pulling you more towards him. You kept rolling your hips the pressure against your clit feeling euphoric.

Your head fell on his collarbone, panting against his chest while he kept his lips on your neck or anywhere he could. You opened your eyes and saw the uncomfortable bludge in his pants. The snug boxers did nothing to hide the small wet mark that was growing.

You chewed on your lips, thinking if you should go for it or not. You didn't know what to do and how to do anything, but you had watched porn and read smut. It had to help somehow. How much bad it can be?

You pulled back a bit and looked at Harry. Sitting on his thigh made both of you at the same level. You kept your eyes on his when you slid your right hand from his shoulder downwards. Harry's eyes widened when he realized what you were doing, but he didn't stop you, so you kept going.

You felt unsure, and surely your inexperienced touch was showing that. You felt his abdomen twitch a bit on your touch. You always wanted to feel his abs all the workout and basketball practice he does shows on his body. You cupped your hand against his clothed cock and applied good pressure with heel of your palm.

Harry bit down on his lower lip to mute down the moan, leaving his lips. Your brother was just next door, and neither of you want to take any risk. You kept your hand there applying pressure from time to time.

"Fuck-" He breaths out, his hand holding your wrist and removing it from his crotch. You look at him confused until he picks you up with your thighs a bit and says, "Slide it down a bit, babe."

Your hands are immediately on his waist. You still feeling unsure pulled his pants down. His length bobbed up and slapped on his lower tummy. When the pants were down to his knees, he groaned and put you back down on his thigh harshly, causing you to whimper.

He brings back his lips to yours, and you start rolling your hips again. The warmth in your core increased as the time went by, and so did your breathy moans and whimpers. Harry took this opportunity and slid his tongue inside, tasting every corner of your mouth.

You in the moment of bravery took his cock in your hand and start moving up and down and now it was his turn to moan. You were still very scared of hurting him, so you kept your touch light, but apparently, it wasn't enough.

Harry pulled back and looked down to where you were getting off on his thigh, covering it in your arousal and then to where your hand was moving up and down on his dick. "Stop torturing me, babe," He whines, throwing his head back.

You look at him confused, not knowing what he was talking about. Were you taking too long to get off? were you not doing it properly? Did he not want it now? Before you could question yourself more, he looked back at you and put his hand around yours on his length, applying more pressure.

The moan he let out was the most pornographic one you have heard. Scared someone will hear him your hand flew to his mouth covering it but that only made him moan louder.

"Har, you're going to get us caught," you whisper yelled, your own orgasm was approaching quickly, and the way Harry was twitching in your hand indicated that maybe he was close too.

"Shit- Sorry" He said against your hand. You removed his when he calmed a bit. His eyes were heavy and droopy, and so were yours, you were sure.

"Go on baby, cum for me," Harry said against your ear sensually. He started leaving kisses down your neck again, moaning against them as his own orgasm overcame him. One more roll of your hip and warmth spread all throughout your body. Harry kissed your lips to swallow all your noises.

Your hand went limp on his length, but he didn't care. When he pulled back a bit and saw you still rolling your hips to prolonging your orgasm while your eyes were closed your head tilted all the way back and a warm glow on your face he came all over his tshirt without any assistance.

Harry's release covered your whole hand and ruined his shirt while you covered his thigh with yours. Your head fell on his chest while Harry fell back on your bed. Both of you didn't have the energy to do anything.

After some time, Harry looked down at you, hoping you didn't fall asleep on his chest covered in mess. You looked up with big tired eyes shining in moonlight.

"C'mon, let's get cleaned up," He said. You sat up and he tired on to think too much about how you were almost straddling his cock and how slick your core felt or how your tits were almost slipping out of your thin strapped top but it was too late. You gasped when you felt him harden against your inner thigh.

His face was flushed with embarrassment when you realized yours went too. You carefully got off from above him. Your legs were feeling wobbly, so you held the end of the bed frame to balance.

"God you will be the death of me" He groaned and you looked at him confused until you looked down and saw him half hard again and then you saw yourself and how he could fully see your boobs from the top.

You giggled feeling sudden confidence from having so much power over him by just being there. You always thought of your body negatively and treated it negatively but now seeing him like this gave you sense of confidence and power.

"Want to take a shower?" You suggested, and Harry didn't need to be told twice as he picked you up and led to the bathroom.

*****

Next part is also smut no need to thank me🫣

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx

Please Like, Comment and Reblog!

You can talk to me here♡ I love it when you guys talk to me about it. Requests are unfortunately closed :(

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Eleven

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): PTSD/abuse themes, explicit content (18+), strong language, depictions of nightmares/panic attacks, hurt/comfort, smut, p in v sex, unprotected s*x, hehe

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Watch by Billie Eilish + Fine Line by Harry Styles inspired this chapter. Not proofread entirely, so don't mind mistakes. Enjoy!

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Watch Me Burn

“Think this is the last of it.” Simon huffs, setting down the last box.

You were finally back there, standing in the middle of the home Cal and you once shared. Selling it was too much of a hassle, and it was decently sized. Perhaps it was a calm before a storm; how tranquil you felt standing in the middle of the entrance hall. Or the kitchen, the dining room, worst of all—the bedroom.

But you were here now, and he was soon to be cremated. There was no room for dwelling, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. And Simon? His awkwardness has been well disguised if there is any left by now.

The drunken kiss—it was just that; a drunken kiss.

With the horrible shit you two had been through to land you here, unresolved tension became the new way of communicating. You began to think you both fed on the chaos like if things were too calm, the world would implode.

“Thank you.” You say, playing with the new house keys. Internally, you were showing gratitude for more than just him moving a few boxes, it was how resilient he had been, despite all your baggage and unpredictability.

He merely nods, reaching into his pocket for his carton of cigarettes. He was going to leave you to do… whatever it was you needed to do in order to be comfortable here. Simon hadn’t expected you to ever want to be back here, to want to spend your new riches on travel.

However, if Simon learned anything about you during these months; life on the road didn’t suit you, especially not with him. And in truth, he had no plans once you got settled here. At first, he was going to move straight to his next op, forget about this one.

It was abundantly clear he was well past self-control, though. That’s what frightened him the most.

You turned yourself in a circle a few times, admiring the high ceilings and decor still left behind. It was the same as Christmas Eve, only the evidence of Cal’s tantrum had been long cleaned up. He really wasn’t here when he was hunting you—he had sent a housesitter, most likely, given the fact that there wasn’t a speck of dust in the main living area.

There were only small reminders; the scuffs on the hardwood, the dents by the china cabinet, and a nasty scratch in the dining table from the night you left. You’d be lying if looking at the damages didn’t paint a vivid image of each blow that causes them.

When you gazed at the scuffed hardwood, you remembered the way he flipped the table the first time you fought. Then, the china cabinet—merely a cabinet of things for him to hurl in your direction. Worst of all, the dining table with a scratch from the knife you grabbed, scraping across the oak when he dragged you across it.

In each small area, you were rewatching the moment as a numb spectator, as if you had a third-person viewing of your fight for your life.

You hadn’t realized, but you had been literally walking down memory lane, physically tracing your fingertips along each reminder. “Found this in the truck, must’ve fallen out of your bag.” His sudden presence startled you, but it was a blessing. Any longer, and you would’ve probably ripped up the real estate papers and kept moving.

He was outstretching one of your necklaces, one you definitely didn’t want to be left behind. “Thank you,” you said it again, a double entendre barely concealed with your wavering voice. His poker face made it hard to decipher his awareness—for all you knew he could be feeling nothing towards you.

Simon’s eyes found the dent in the wall, recalling just how long your fingertips skimmed it, the nauseous look on your face. He debated on this next move, but his feet found a position behind you anyway since you didn’t take the jewelry from him yet.

“I hate the carpet. And everything in the dining room.” His subtle breath was the only thing alerting you of his close proximity, or you probably wouldn’t have even noticed. Two hands came in front of you, opening the necklace and slowly wrapping it around the base of your neck. If you hadn’t just been morbidly reminiscing, perhaps your breathing would’ve changed a bit.

He clicked the necklace in place, his gruff voice gentle and appreciative, “so get rid of it all.” It was almost a whisper like he was giving you the permission you didn’t need but were so obviously asking him for. It was your home to renovate, not his.

Simon’s breath smelled of fresh cigarette smoke, lingering in a cloud around you even after his simple words concluded. A hand lingered on your shoulder, giving it a small pat, before he retreated out to the untouched living room.

There was no sense in keeping the reminders, and none of it was to your taste. It was time to get to work if you had any shot of moving on from Cal.

Once you got started, you found it hard to stop.

Tearing out furniture and ripping up the carpet was surprisingly therapeutic, even with the emotional baggage the material things carried. The place was empty, but not understimulating. To you, it was a pleasing blank canvas you had full power to refurbish and leave the old behind. Cleaning up the mess was just an afterthought, but soothing to your soreness from all the handy work.

Of course, Simon would carry heavy things out, or assist in moving something for you. But when you were aggressively hammering a nail and grunting? He… found it beneficial to stay out of your way, with no clue whose face you might’ve been picturing while doing it.

The kitchen was shockingly tidy; the fridge was empty, as were the cabinets. You tackled that room last, disinfecting and placing the few food items you brought with you. Of course, it was a depressing sight; all those cabinets with only a few canned items and some granola bars. On the bright side, you’d only ever seen Simon eat once, so he wasn’t your worry.

Groceries would be a task for tomorrow. For now, you need to rest your legs and feet.

Simon claimed the spare room, which once was Cal’s office. You peered inside of it when you strolled down the hall—he had already laid out a blanket and pillow on the daybed. It was nice enough, for someone like him, at least.

You were taking advantage of the king-sized bed, though. Not one night in your marriage, did you ever get it to yourself. Sometimes you would snuggle in it, hopeful that this would be the night Cal didn’t come up the stairs and join you—or more commonly, that he would be too drunk to drive home.

He never was, of course; a natural buzzkill and energy vampire.

But it was yours now, the whole master bedroom. It had the nicest view of all the rooms; two large windows above the nightstand that overlooked the street, the bed in between them, and a fireplace seating area in the corner. Not that you ever needed this much room, or could even fill the space with all your belongings, but you had earned the right to spoil yourself. It was your home as much as it was his, even though it didn’t feel that way with Cal.

You practically expelled all the air in your lungs, the second your back hit the plush mattress. You sprawled out, almost in a starfish position as you looked around at your new room. The walls had always been kept white, as did the sheets—allowing you to picture it entirely renovated, to your design taste.

Though, if you had another minute of thinking about renovation, you would’ve lost your mind. You hadn’t even taken off your shoes, and your eyes were fluttering shut. In all honesty, you were too worn out to care about the position you were in, or the shoes still on your feet.

—

You sat up in the bed, feeling yourself in the exact position you had snoozed. You looked at the alarm clock to your right, red numbers being one of the only sources of light.

12:32 AM

Clearly, you needed it, because you hadn’t even moved in your sleep, or pulled the covers up. You reached up a hand, rubbing your tired eyes. Of course, you were now wide awake at midnight. Just your luck.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, embraced by the softness of the bed beneath you. A warm tingle was overtaking you like you were taking a soothing shower or bath. It was perfect… Too good to be true, right?

The bedroom was the same, nothing disturbed. But, as comforting as it was, something was off balance. There was no faint sound of the TV downstairs or the occasional clearing of his throat, only the white noise of the AC.

Now that you’ve moved and gathered your bearings—it was icy cold, more than what could be blowing from the vents. And… there was a mumble growing louder; a man’s voice you couldn’t decipher from your room.

Your legs swung off the edge of the bed, taking an instinctual look over your shoulder as if searching for the source of this ill feeling. There was no monster in the shadows, or a hand from under the bed grasping at your ankle. Not even the feeling of a presence—but you knew there was one. Who was talking, at this hour? The confusion made your brows knit, and your mouth hang open slightly.

Normally, you would’ve just got up and investigated the sound. But, getting to your feet was taking some courage right now, and you were moving about half the speed you would any other time. When you turned your head toward the bathroom, the door was still open—the washroom was nothing but a pitch-black abyss right now.

And the closet? You were too shaky to go in that direction, shaking your head at the idea immediately. That left the door in and out of the bedroom, where the muffle was coming from somewhere in the home.

You fingered the brumal knob, feeling it sting against your steaming flesh. The air was cold, causing goosebumps, but you were simultaneously burning up from a feeling of impending doom. The hinges cracked, almost sounding similar to the low-octave male voice still audible.

The door opened and it was… the hallway. The same way it was when you went to sleep, only illuminated by one of the sconces. Still, the sound was coming from the spare room. When you looked, there was a near-blinding light coming from under the door.

A hushed, growly whisper went past you—no, through you, like a stranger passing you on the street while speaking. You shivered again, eyes darting down each side of the hall. Down the steps, it was like the master bath, a dark abyss you didn’t want to trek through.

That left the spare room in all its blinding glory, and whoever, whatever was behind the door. This time, you pushed forward with all the speed you could muster. Not even a light jog, as if you had the weight of the Earth constricting your joints.

The muffle got louder, even overbearing when you opened the door to the spare room. It wasn’t the empty room with stray boxes and tools—it wasn’t your house at all. You squinted and held up your forearm to shield the light, taking several seconds for your eyes to adjust. It was the large windows—those large windows from the office building. And now, you could hear the voice clearer now.

You turned the corner and saw yourself. The moment Cal was creeping up on you, touching your waist. Though you were watching it from a different angle, seemingly watching it play out the same way it happened—it wasn’t. The woman you were watching, she wasn’t moving, not budging against his hands. She was… just standing there, white-knuckling the glass of whiskey her husband poured for her. He leaned closer, and as he tightened the grip on her waist, you felt two hands on yours, two that felt very lucid. So tight you felt like the assailant had sharp claws.

You could smell him; the stench of whiskey and cruelty warm on your neck. But you couldn’t speak, not scream, or resist. Just like the replay of the day he died, you were standing there like her, the guilt of being weak-kneed made you sick.

He could’ve clawed you in half, how harshly he was holding you in place. It was like a mockery of watching what would’ve happened if you didn’t break the glass over his head—and he was making you watch. Every second, every struggle, every cruel thing Cal would’ve said if you let him touch you.

This wasn’t you. You wanted to bellow at her to fight him, and more so at yourself for not making a run for it. Why couldn’t you move? Despite his hands feeling like they were going to tear you in half? It was pure humiliation—the woman in front of you that once got off the kitchen floor on Christmas Eve, now a face of blood and bone.

You turned around slowly, feeling salty tears go from your face all the way down to your lips.

His sneer would’ve been seen for miles—the sadism written on Cal’s face as if he was still feeding on your tears, even in death, even in your dreams. It wasn’t just his mortal face, it was the one he was left with in death—a spewing bullet wound through the forehead soaking you in his blood.

You could taste it after a few seconds, the metallic taste coating your face and body the closer he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, just like the day they did in the office. The crimson was filling your mouth, causing you to hack and reach for your throat.

Your shoes squeaked against the marble floor of the office, looking down and seeing gallons of the stuff pooling. You could feel his blood trickle and seep into the fabric of your clothes, in the whites of your eyes with an excruciating burn.

As badly as you wanted to call out his name, your mouth was too coated to get the words out. It was hot, so hot it made you stumble. Your vision was gone—replaced by the blood that flooded your irises. You felt yourself nearly fall, as you ripped yourself from his grip.

You were palming through the ruby of your vision, arms outstretched. Though you couldn’t see, you could still feel him looming over you, watching in amusement as the pools of blood squelched under your feet.

Then, you felt your hands grip something, or someone. You hung on for dear life, blinking away the currant that washed your vision. It still seared, still coated your throat and face, but you could finally make out the figure; Simon.

You blinked rapidly, a chest cough followed by more blood as you watched him. He was staring straight ahead at first, until he felt you beating on his chest, yanking on the fabric of his clothes, just like you had done when strangled. The lifeless version of Cal, he had fizzled out the second Simon approached, nowhere to be seen in the shadows of the office anymore. As well as the alternate version of Cal and you—they were gone too.

Left in the room, it was you and Simon. One soaked with blood, gasping for breath. The other was tattered and seething at the sight.

Simon’s eyes widened as if he had just now noticed you. His hulking, veiny hands are outstretched, cupping each side of your saturated face, taking a step closer to you. Under the mask, you could see the fabric move, like he was speaking to you—but your sound was muffled again.

You plummet from a great height. Adrenaline-fueled rush courses through your veins, instantly jolting your senses awake. The wind roars past your ears with an ear-piercing howl. Your stomach clenches and churns, a sensation that feels like a roller coaster taking a wild descent. The feeling of weightlessness washes over you as if gravity has momentarily lost its grip, leaving you suspended in a free-falling void.

The pit of your stomach seems to drop with each passing moment as if trying to catch up to the plummeting rest of your body.

The blackness seizes hastily—your view is of widened amber eyes, and you can feel the same hands cupping your cheeks, just like the nightmare. The burn in your throat wasn’t from blood, it was from your screaming. The searing in your eyes, it was stemming from the tears streaming down your cheeks.

For the first few seconds, you were still half-in, half-out, pounding on his chest with all the shaky strength you could muster.

“Look at me, look at me.” Simon kept repeating it, only gripping the sides of your face faster. If he wasn’t restricting you, you were surely going to hurt yourself or him, so he had to. You were hyperventilating, still stuck in that dream-like state of terror and the threat of him attacking you. His pressing weight was caging you in place, no matter how much you yelped and thrashed to get running.

In a swift movement, Simon tugged at the edge of his mask, pulling it entirely off his head. “It’s me, it’s me!” He raised his voice, his identity now in your full sight. When he was wearing the mask, he probably appeared more like a masked intruder than a comforting soul—he had to snap you out of this, even if it meant breaking his own rules.

You could see him now; a chiseled jaw and protruding eyes cloaked by years of dark circles, a faint stubble across his chin, and that scar you had touched a few nights ago. It wasn’t an assailant or Cal, it was Simon.

Your hollers halted, now only quiet sobs against his chest. Everything in the dream felt so vivid, so real, lucid enough you were controlling your every movement, but not enough to rid yourself of the threat. The adrenaline you felt during the night terror left you unable to shut your eyes or stop wailing as if you were being actively hunted for sport.

“I’m sorry. It felt too real, Simon.” You whispered against his chest, one hand digging your nails deep into his bicep. His knees were on either side of your waist, anchoring you up enough to use him as a pillow. It seemed the only way he could successfully wake you was to straddle your frame, to cup your cheeks.

What he had done in the present, injected its way into the night terror—perhaps the reason it all felt too real.

“I know.” A calloused thumb stroked your cheek, his head resting against the crook of your neck. He didn’t need to ask the source of the nightmare, and he wasn’t going to. It was a natural reaction, being in this house all day reminded of your worst memories. You tried to hide it throughout the day, but Simon was too observant for his own good.

When he heard your shrieks in the next room, half-asleep on the daybed, he knew. This would’ve happened eventually. Just because Cal was dead, didn’t mean he was dead to you. His ghost still loomed in every room of that place, a constricting weight on your shoulders.

He had witnessed his fair share of adrenaline highs and experienced plenty on his own too. Only then, he didn’t have the luxury of a shoulder to cry on. There was no way in hell he would damn you to that same loneliness he had, no matter how much his inner voice bellowed at him to put the mask back on.

“Sit up, you won’t be so shaky.” Once hovering over you, he eased up, a gentle tug on your wrist to get you sitting up. Eyes still wide, tear stains on yourself and the fabrics of the bed. He looked behind him, seeing the armchair by the fireplace. Simon guided you to it, allowing you to sit down somewhere other than the bed occupied with memories.

He dropped to his knees in front of you slowly, a fist finding your ankle. You flashed a look of confusion, but you weren’t in any position to protest. It felt safe, despite the outward appearance Simon had—broody and dripping with masculinity.

His fingers found the tongue of the shoes you fell asleep wearing, pulling them off slowly.

“Better?” He asks, figuring out the answer quite quickly based on your silence. You nodded in response, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. It felt the same as it did when you were younger; embarrassed for being afraid of a nightmare. It was just that—a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel every bit of it.

The light from the hallway was the only thing allowing you to see his face; washed out by the golden tint of the light bulb, but pleasing to look at. “Thank you, Simon.” God, how many times you said it that day, probably too many times. He would never accept it, not since the beginning of this road, and especially not after what happened at the apartment.

But, without his mask, he didn’t have his usual safety net of anonymity. His face was as blank as you expected it would be, aside from the slight scowl on his lips. “Stop sayin’ that.” He wanted to get up, but his palm remained wrapped around your calf, gazing at you with confliction.

You tilted your head to the side, leaning against the backrest of the armchair, “yeah, but I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he replied, his speech still a mumble even without the mask, “that’s why I said not to.” Simon didn’t deserve the gratitude, as far as he was concerned. Especially not from you. The last thing on your mind should be thanking him, being kind to him, and even looking him in the eye. But you did—every single day.

“You know you don’t have to stay, right?” You asked, the flicker of the hall light still concealing his pout slightly. You didn’t mean here, you meant in general; he didn’t have to, but he always did. You inhaled sharply, feeling his thumb still caressing your calf soothingly. “And… I’m not upset with you. You have to know that, at least.”

Perhaps it was the fog in your mind or the nerves still working overdrive, but his silence was too still for your liking. It wasn’t distaste, it was his old habits keeping him from indulging.

The hand was removed quickly and placed back on his own knee. You heard the shuffle of his pant fabric like he was going to stand up and leave the bedroom. But he didn’t—his head dropped in the direction of the floor.

“Simon?” Your tone was hushed, eyes squinted with unsettle.

“Stop it.” He grumbled, the whites of his eyes still glowing within the dim lighting. Simon blinked slowly when he met your gaze again, unable to accept the perturb. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t. That much was obvious.

He heard you stammer, a sentence cut short when he spoke so firmly. “Stop being so fuckin’ nice to me.” Though the words themselves were harsh, it was nothing more than a defeated whisper—a plea to halt your tenderness before he lost all self-control.

What he desired was to find the mask he flung only minutes ago, slip it on, and slam the door behind him. His presence remained; a commanding voice, despite being the one kneeling in front of you. And you? Ever persistent, and he despised it with every fiber of his being.

You scoffed, but it was coming from a place of intense empathy.  “Am I supposed to scream at you? Beat you bloody?” The question hung in the air for a few seconds, followed by a snappy retort. He would never let himself relax, even feel, could he?

“No, you need to stop treating me like someone you deserve. You’re not that stupid.” Simon hissed with a slight roll of his eye. You clutched each armrest tightly, mouth slightly hung open from his self-pity.

His shell was breaking—the umbrage was just the last futile attempt at restricting you before it shattered completely. When that happened—and it would—he had but a clue about his next step. Why had he remained in this spot for so long, kneeling so closely to you?

“Why did you stay then? The night at the cabin, after Cal?” It surely wasn’t because he had to. You were onto him, and you weren’t going to let him go now, not unless he packed up and left right this second.

His stammer said enough, the tightened grip on his own appendage as if he was squeezing the reply from his own body. If he said what he wanted to, it wouldn’t be something cruel. He couldn’t be cold to you. That’s what frightened him the most.

You hunched forward slightly, a hovering hand on his shoulder. Simon tensed out of reflex, but didn’t physically stop you—he couldn’t anymore. Tonight was a breaking point, and his face had been in your sights for several minutes now.

“Don’t do this.” Finally, he gathered his bearings and clamped a hand around your wrist, the sheer size of his hand swallowing yours entirely. He let out a heavy breath, his glowing eyes burning holes into yours.

Your reply was as simple as blunt as you could muster; a one-worded question you’ve had for a long time. “Why?”

His fingers clenched a little tighter, expecting you to squirm. But you didn’t. “Because I won’t be able to stop myself,” he blinked slowly, eyes drooping with the small sliver of weakness he was showing you right now. Who said you wanted him to stop? In fact, nothing about you did. Not even your reddened eyes, or the tension you carried. It was a simple concept to grasp, but someone as stubborn as himself hadn’t. Yet.

This time, it was you who initiated the intimacy. It wasn’t sensuality; it was reassurance—something Simon needed desperately. You pressed your forehead against his, fingers finding the stubble you could finally touch.

He breathed heavily into the kiss, an instinctual hand protecting the back of your head when he pushed your weight back into the armchair. Somewhere in it, he had stood up again, able to deepen the lip contact by hovering over you. Simon should’ve fought it, but he didn’t. He wanted you to pull away and realize how ridiculous he felt against you, but you did not.

His lips pulled away with a moist squelch, still a hand on the back of your head. The drunken kiss was messy and heated. This was stone-cold sober—much needed and full of feelings. Simon seemed to be searching for hesitance, any excuse to halt his desires. You only breathed heavily from the loss of air, unblinking and desperate for more.

You nodded slightly, an unspoken plea for that part of him that couldn’t stop himself. Though it seemed like you were leading things, you didn’t have a clue what the hell you were doing either. It just felt right at the moment. After the nod, his free hand clasped the collar of your shirt, pulling you to your feet. He scanned the room around him, though he already memorized the layout the first time he walked in. It was as if he was searching for prying eyes that weren’t there—an instinct when his face was visible.

Instead of the sides of your head, his fingers found your waist, digging into them as he backed you against the dresser. Without a struggle on his end, he lifted you on top of it so he could stand between your parted thighs.

It couldn’t be the bed; it was too domestic for the both of you. He needed somewhere you could easily pull away from him and walk away, as he’d convinced himself you were going to. There was no way this act would carry out completely, right? The rational portion of you had to be buried deep in your lust.

Simon’s fingers gave your waistband a tug, pulling your bottoms off entirely. His eyes remained trained on yours the entire time, expecting some sort of resistance. Hell, he was expecting a slap on his cheek that never came. You wanted this; you wanted him.

The pad of his finger found your swollen clit, rubbing paced circles on the nerves. You felt your breath hitch at the sensation, a clench around the wooden edge of the dresser. Despite how much you wanted this, it was like an out-of-character blur. Simon, being the face to match the lustful hands? You never thought of that as a sight you’d see, never in a million years.

His heavy breathing was just as arousing, how lustfully he was watching despite not being the one being touched. Words weren’t coming out, but the language of stares was all the two of you needed right now. Simon could keep searching for refusal, but he wasn’t going to find it. Not while he was massaging your clit so intimately.

The pleasure built rather quickly, as did the pace of your hips rocking against his hands. It had been so long since you touched yourself, let alone a sexual partner doing it for you. When his finger ceased, you let out a small mewl from the emptiness.

From the moonlight illuminating his features, your eyes wandered at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He did it with such haste, such experience. He unzipped his jeans next, pulling them down to his knees to allow access.

Instinctively, you outstretched a hand to palm him through his boxers. It was what you were used to: I do something for you, you have to do the same for me.

“No.” Simon hissed, placing your hands back at your sides. It wasn’t because he didn’t want you to stroke him—he didn’t want the focus on him. You seeing his face was all the focus he could handle right now.

You kept your hands on either side of you, respecting the boundary he had put up, though you didn’t understand its purpose. He pulled down on the waistband of his black boxers, stroking himself for a few seconds, followed by another hiss. Simon stepped back to his original position between your thighs again, only he pulled them further apart—enough for his wide frame to fit comfortably.

You felt his length pressing against your folds, the knuckle of his hand on your inner thigh as he guided it into position. Before he did, he searched for a nod again, or anything, really. You obliged, bracing yourself by clamping down on his shoulder. It had been a long time since you had sex, so it wasn’t going to be particularly comfortable at first. A man of Simon’s stature, no matter the amount of arousal that pooled—you would have to be eased into it.

He guided the tip in first, eyes darting up and down as he slowly pushed his hips forward, his length coated in the lubricating slick caused by his fingers. You let out a pleasured gasp, not yet feeling the stretch that was coming.

When he was sure of the next phase, he placed his lips against your gasping ones, silencing the inevitable whine of discomfort. Still at a snail's pace, he entered even deeper, enough that you needed to sit with him like that for a moment. It was just that; discomfort, not pain. Yet another factor of intimacy you weren’t accustomed to as of late. “Is that… good?” He whispered against your mouth, still only thrusting a portion of himself out—and slowly.

Since he’d given you time to adjust, the discomfort did fizzle away. “More,” you replied, a slight nod of your head. Now, you were arguably enjoying the sensation more than he was.

This time, he didn’t wait for a refusal.

With an abrupter thrust, he bottomed out inside you. It wasn’t roughness, not yet—just his way of ripping off the bandaid. His lips found yours again, allowing you to bite down on his lower lip at the sudden stretch. The angle he was at; you sitting on top of the dresser with your hips slightly raised, and him standing, it felt euphoric, not agonizing.

“Shit…” A guttural groan fell from his lips as his movements began, methodical and pleasuring for both of you. Every sound you made, every little reaction; it made him twitch deep inside you. This is what he wanted when you two finally gave in—you, writhing in front of him and forced to do nothing but enjoy it.

His tip kissed your cervix with each pump, just enough to make your eyes roll slightly. What the hell you two were doing, the consequences tomorrow, none of it mattered. Lust truly did cloud the two of you this moment, and he wasn’t going to stop unless you asked him.

You felt tears prick at your eyes, but it wasn’t from pain or repulsion. It was from how long you had gone without this shared feeling of desire, the closeness of two people. Simon slowed his movements, wiping away the tear with his thumb. He could tell, it wasn’t a fear of him or the past that haunted you—it was pure satisfaction.

You needed this, no, deserved this from someone who truly deserved you.

His experienced hands found your hips, tugging you closer so your chests were touching. You let out another sharp gasp, holding onto him just as tightly. The tug allowed him to hit a deeper spot inside your walls if that was even possible.

The change in position allowed you to raise your knees higher against him, so much you probably could’ve placed your feet up on the dresser. Simon grunted and increased his speed, one hand on your thigh, and the other a flat palm against the wall in front of him. The furniture piece hit the wall with each relentless thrust, the thumb masked by your shared moans of delight. And they were becoming desperate ones, plain desperate.

Your stomach was doing flips, tightening and churning the longer he went at it like this. And Simon, his head leaned back ever so slightly, he was close too. There was no turning back now, too deep in the sensations. But still, you iron gripped him—as if pleading for him not to pull away—something he had no intention of doing.

“Let it out, love.” He rasped in your ear, his hips still going an uninterrupted pound. Love. The unexpected pet name made your already shaking knees turn to putty. You truly would only last seconds at best, especially with that accent smothering you.

What once was a moan with each thrust, now became a growing holler. That breaking point that had been bubbling, the one he gave you permission to, finally struck you—destructively. Each muscle in your abdomen constricted, your head thrown back against the wall at the feeling of euphoria hitting an all-time high. Simon’s hand, once gripping your thigh, was now protecting the back of your head as it thrashed against the wall. His tongue traced along your jaw and chin, the combination of sensations only prolonging the interval.

His fist balled in your hair, just enough to only cause an enjoyable sting. He leaned back slightly to have a better view of his length going in and out of you. The sounds of your high delighted him, the final permission for him to enjoy his own climax.

When he felt a more violent twitch, he pulled himself out, using his hand to finish the rest. Still, he wouldn’t allow you to touch him, you were sure of that. You panted heavily, mouth still agape in awe of the attraction you felt towards this. Your fingers clenched the sides of the dresser once pulled away, feeling the spew of his cum land on your folds.

Simon trembled slightly, giving one of your clothed breasts a yearning squeeze as he drained himself of his seed.

Then, clarity hit him as quickly as his climax did. “You wanted that, right?” He whispered, eyes now full of searching rather than lust. God, his cluelessness would be the death of him before any enemy. You quickly nodded, now slightly more slumped than before. You thought it was obvious, but he did always have a way of shocking you—in more ways than one, now.

Inside, you were shaking your head and smacking sense into him for his own stubbornness.

“Simon,” you panted, tightening your thighs around his waist, “just shut up. Please.” You pushed your head against into chest, using it as a surface to catch your breath on. The sensations you felt replayed already, leaving you sensitive and breathless, but heinously calm in spite of what you two had just done.

It happened so quickly, but it wasn’t regretful or dissatisfying. It was the exact opposite.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery @ramadiiiisme

[onlyangellucifer]

Morning, Baby - Part 1

Summary: Y/N wakes up in a bed next to her dad's bestfriend, Harry one morning. Confused at where things lie, she wrestles with if the relationship is worth the risk.

Warnings: smut, angst, age gap (Harry is 30, reader is 23), alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you do it!)

Authors Note: This part is 1268 words long, so sorta short. No smut involved this time yall, i'm so sorry. I'm a bit rusty at writing but any feedback is welcomed and encouraged! (please be kind). You can read the sneak peak here. There is a time jump, however, it's noted with a line!

dad's bestfriend!Harry

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The birds chirping while the sunlight made it’s appearance through her sheer curtains was what y/n woke up to every morning. She used to love the way it woke her up, but lately she’s grown irritated with it. Then again she wasn’t out until all hours of the night in the past like she is now. She wasn’t much of a partier, in fact she loathed being there. She hated how the room always reeked of weed, sweaty bodies, and booze. However, since she was in college now and had adult friends, she went. She was a shy person, never really talked to anyone and kept to herself. Her friends dubbed her the “mom friend” and it was fitting. She would nurse the same drink all night, if she even drank, or she’d fill a red solo cup with water and tell people it was vodka. She made sure everyone got home safe and had everything they needed for the hangover that was sure to follow. However, with it being summer time and college was on a break, that meant her friends wanted to go out more and she would be dragged with. Too nice to say no or tell them she wanted to have an early night.

That’s probably why she groaned, flopping a pillow over her head before looking over at the clock, 8am. She normally would sleep till noon, seeing as she got home at 4am. Her parents were trusting, never gave her a curfew due to the fact that she never really broke their trust or gave them a reason to. Today was her birthday, turning 23. Her parents insisted on throwing her party, she was an only child so her birthdays were always extravagant. Her dad was a CEO at a major law firm and her mom owned a flower shop in town, so they were pretty set on money and anything y/n wanted was what y/n got. Well, not anything per say. There was one thing or one person that she wanted but never had the balls to actually make a move on, Harry.

Harry was always around, for as long as she could remember. He was one of the most successful lawyers at her dad’s firm and thus her dad took a liking to him very early on. Despite being 10 years younger than her own father. Her dad was always inviting him out. Whether it be golfing, out on the lake on their family boat, or to family dinners, Harry was there. She wasn’t sure when she started to gain an attraction to Harry, she just knew she wasn’t crazy for feeling that way. All of her friends always gawked over him. His tan skin was complimented with the dark ink of his tattoos, the cross necklace dangled on his chest and his abs were toned perfectly. It was like he was a walking Greek statue and the god’s made him a sin walking. She does remember the first time she masturbated to the thought of him though, or the image of him more or less.

She was 17 at the time, she wasn’t a very sexually active teenager, which her parents were thankful for, but she still had needs like anyone else. It was Summertime, the sun was beating down on their backyard as people were gathered in groups or in the pool. Her dad had thrown a pool party to celebrate the first day of summer and the big win of the company, which of course was achieved by Harry. Harry showed up wearing patterned button down shirt, overtop laid a sweater vest, while his toned legs were hidden by plaid trousers, which hugged him in all the right places. His hair was styled perfectly, but also messily which lead her mind to think about how it would feel between her fingers as she tugged on it, his name rolling off her cherry red lips. The real torture came when he was eating watermelon and the juice dribbled down his chin, his ring clad hand wiped it away. She was trying not to gawk but all she could think of was her juices dripping down his chin. Her thighs rubbed together, trying her best not to drip on the chair, clad only in a red bikini.

Needless to say, she touched herself that night thinking of how his hands or more so his mouth would feel like on her.

He never flirted with her though, he always kept things innocent and polite, well at least while she was underage.

She sighed loudly into her empty room, deciding it’s time to get up before her mom came to drag her out of bed. While it was her 23rd birthday, she still had to help setup and these were the times she wished she had siblings to do that instead. She heard voices downstairs, footsteps rushing around and then she heard him. His accent echoed through the halls and a smile spread on her face.

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The night was filled with drinks, laughter, birthday gifts and a cake with her face on it. She tried to keep her eyes to herself, but how could she when Harry was dressed in only olive green swim shorts, the July air was still humid and the theme was pool party. She wore her olive green bikini, not meaning to match him but happy regardless. He had shown up wearing a white tanktop, backwards cap and navy blue shorts. So, there was no way to tell that they’d be matching. Y/N couldnt keep her eyes off Harry, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

He’s had an attraction building since she turned 19 and lately it’s been harder to keep his eyes and hands to himself. He was unsure if she’d have any feelings back, but the vodka redbull her father handed him was clouding his mind. Y/N laid in that olive green bikini next to her two other friends, Mary and Char. She felt eyes on her and was pleased when her eyes caught Harry’s before he looked away. Her own alcoholic beverage was clouding her mind.

That’s probably how they ended up here. In her room, her back pressed against the door as his lips found her neck and her hands found his hair. The chocolate curls felt smooth and soft in her fingers as she tugged him back to her mouth. His lips tasted like orange chapstick and his breath smelled like mint and vodka, which was instantly her favorite smell. She cursed softly as he pulled away, both of them painting before he let out the first words since they entered the room;

“I hate to interrupt this, baby but.. I think we should get back to the party before they come looking for us and find us in a compromising position.. Continue this at my place?”

She wanted to whine, wanting this to continue but she knew he was right. They were only supposed to be gone to get extra towels and had been gone for a good 10 minutes. She nodded her head reluctantly before responding with a simple kiss to his lips before they pulled away from each other, straightening out their clothes and unlocking the door.

They grabbed the towels from the hall closet outside her room, both of them eagerly awaiting the end of the party to continue what just happened. Both of them were still unsure if it was the alcohol that was making this happen or that they both shared mutual feelings, but that was half the fun.

[gimmethatagustd]

let me adore you | kth + pjm

Jimin can’t bear to look at himself in the mirror, but he’s all that Taehyung has eyes for.

↳ pairing: taehyung x jimin

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | established relationship | hurt/comfort | smut | fluff

↳ wc/date: 8k | October 2023

↳ warnings: mental illness, depression, jimin has body dysmorphic disorder, very hurtful inner thoughts, the plot is basically nonexistent it's just smut and soft feelings lmfao, anal fingering, blowjobs, unprotected anal sex, body worship

↳ notes: pls be gentle with yourself as you read this story cuz jimin is very tough on himself, and it could be uncomfortable to read if you relate to his body image struggles. this fic was a submission for the AO3 BTS Hurt/Comfort Fest

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? adore you - harry styles

Jimin’s clothes don’t fit. 

His lavender silk button-up keeps slipping off his shoulder, exposing his collarbones to the cool night air. It makes him tremble slightly, and Taehyung must notice because he pulls Jimin tighter against his chest. 

“How’s it going, love?” Taehyung hooks his chin over Jimin’s shoulder and turns his head to the side when he whispers the question. His voice is raspy from talking all night, and the deepness of it warms the pit of Jimin’s stomach, even in his sour mood. 

Jimin shrugs, and Taehyung lets out an amused huff at his boyfriend’s indecisiveness. His breath tickles Jimin’s neck. 

“Bored?” 

Taehyung smells like vodka and ginger beer from the Moscow mule he’s been nursing all night. He holds the copper mug in the hand that isn’t splayed against the lower half of Jimin’s tummy. As much as Jimin loves being in Taehyung’s embrace, the pressure of his hand is making Jimin’s skin crawl. He hates it when Taehyung touches his stomach. 

“I’m not bored,” Jimin says flatly. He’s not bored, but he’s not entertained, either. 

Going to Euphoria used to be the highlight of Jimin’s weekend. It’s Seoul’s most elite rooftop bar. Slipping past the bouncers guarding the glass elevator that takes patrons to the roof is possible thanks to being friends with Seokjin. Taehyung had met him through his best friend, Jungkook. It has been a little over two years since Seokjin came around, but he fit into their friend group almost immediately, even though Jimin and his friends are nowhere near as impressive as an actor. Seokjin is attractive, gregarious, and rich, but it’s his goofy personality that molds well with Taehyung and Jungkook's often childlike sense of wonder. 

Taehyung brushes his lips against Jimin’s neck as he murmurs, “Tired? Wanna go home?” 

The sensation makes the hairs on the nape of Jimin’s neck stand up, and the fire that seems to always burn in the pit of his stomach when Taehyung’s around flickers once again. It’s frustrating how easily Taehyung can make Jimin’s heart race, even when he isn’t in the mood for kisses and that velvety voice whispering in his ear. 

Jimin does want to go home, but he knows Taehyung and their friends are having fun. The whole reason why they’re out is to celebrate Taehyung graduating from his Ph.D. program and securing a position as a therapist. It would be rude of him to force Taehyung to leave his own party. He’s being a shitty boyfriend, bringing the mood down. Taehyung shouldn’t have to check in on Jimin while he’s celebrating such an important achievement. 

“Hyung, stop being so gross!” A voice cries out from Jimin’s left, and he turns to see Jungkook walking away from his conversation with Seokjin and a few people Jimin doesn’t know. 

Taehyung mumbles something into Jimin’s neck before straightening his posture. He finally lets go of Jimin, leaving his place behind Jimin to instead stand next to him. Ordinarily, the loss of contact would leave Jimin feeling cold, but tonight, he’s relieved. 

It makes Jimin feel awful. 

“Excuse me, I didn’t realize giving my boyfriend attention was gross,” Taehyung counters with a roll of his eyes. 

“The two of you are the worst about PDA!” Jungkook presses on with exaggerated exasperation. “You’re disgusting.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Taehyung parrots back. He reaches out with lightning speed to pinch Jungkook’s nipple through his shirt, twisting it with his index finger and thumb hard enough to make Jungkook squeal. 

“Aw, hyung, what the fuck!” Jungkook swats at Taehyung’s arm. He covers both nipples with his hands and turns to give Jimin a pout. It’s ridiculous. 

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Jimin mutters. He brings his drink to his lips, a gin and Coke that Taehyung nearly spit out when he took a sip earlier.

Jimin’s response isn’t what Jungkook was looking for, so he resumes harassing Taehyung about being “too whipped for his own good”. 

Normally, the playful altercation would make Jimin smile. It’s true; Taehyung is undeniably head-over-heels for Jimin, and they all know it – even before they started dating, back when Jimin and Jungkook were roommates, and Taehyung was simply “Jungkook’s best friend”. Taehyung had crushed on Jimin so hard it wasn’t a shock to anyone when he grew the courage to ask Jimin out. 

Taehyung’s love for Jimin is painfully obvious. It’s in the way Taehyung watches Jimin with such soft, kind eyes like Jimin is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It’s in the way he holds Jimin in his large hands like he’s afraid Jimin might break. It’s in the way he melts under Jimin’s touch, even after five years of dating. Their honeymoon phase never ended. Despite how annoying, frustrating, and utterly terrible Jimin is, somehow, Taehyung still loves him. 

To avoid staring at Taehyung any longer, Jimin turns his attention to Jungkook. He looks good tonight, though he always does. 

Jungkook is big. What he lacks in stature, he makes up for in muscle. His biceps are getting thicker, and the buttons on his shirt strain when he moves his torso a certain way. He’s been working out more. 

Taehyung has gotten bigger, too. He has started going with Jungkook to the gym, mainly on the weekends, because Taehyung often offers late appointments for clients who can’t speak with him until after they’re off work. 

Over time, Taehyung has filled out, muscles developing in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been prominent before. When he wraps his arm around Jimin’s waist, Jimin notices the raised veins that run along his forearm, exposed from his sleeves being rolled up. 

It’s hot, but Jimin can’t enjoy his boyfriend’s developing physique. 

He looks down at his body as Jungkook and Taehyung bicker, their voices mixing in with the music playing from overhead speakers. 

Jimin is small. 

He can see his hip bones protruding from his skin-tight black jeans. He should’ve worn looser pants, but Taehyung likes Jimin in these jeans. He’s not sure why. All they do is accentuate how frail he is. 

It’s disgusting. 

Jimin shifts uncomfortably in Taehyung’s embrace. He can feel Taehyung’s fingers against his ribcage. When Jimin adjusts, Taehyung’s hand slides down to hold Jimin’s hip. 

Jimin’s waist is tiny enough that Taehyung can wrap his hands around him. When he inhales, he can see his ribs poking through his skin, and he knows from countless hours of staring at himself in the mirror that the knobby vertebrae of his spine are visible, too. 

Jimin prayed for his “adult body” to show up for years. He figured as he got older, he’d fill in a bit. He tried working out, but he’s not confident enough to lift weights at the gym with all the gym bros watching him, waiting for him to embarrass himself. And when he does cardio, he just loses more weight.  

All he wants is to be less… plain, bony, and unattractive. Not a stick, easily knocked over and bent in half. He wants to be soft and pretty. He wants hips and thighs for Taehyung to squeeze and hold onto. He wants to fill in his jeans and for his shirts to fit against a chest that isn’t so flat. No one wants to touch and kiss and fuck a skeleton. 

And he really wishes he could grow taller, though that obviously isn’t in the cards for him. 

He looks up at Taehyung and watches his side profile while he talks. His eyes are bright from being a bit tipsy, and he talks animatedly, swinging the hand holding his drink. Luckily, it’s nearly empty, or he’d have spilled it all over himself by now. 

Taehyung is gorgeous. He’s tall, all legs, with beautiful tan skin and beauty marks that make Jimin want to kiss him all over. Even when he was a little on the skinnier side, it made sense on him. He looks like a supermodel. 

Jimin can’t understand why Taehyung, someone so perfect, would want to date him. Especially when Taehyung could have anyone he wants. 

One of those anyones chooses now to saunter over to where the trio are talking. Leaning against the rooftop balcony’s glass railing, Jimin watches the man with growing irritation.

“Tae! Congratulations, my friend. I’m so happy for you.” 

And there’s that blinding smile so large it pushes deep dimples into the man’s cheeks. He’s just as tall as Taehyung and absolutely gorgeous, with tan skin and muscles that rival Jungkook’s. Jimin forces himself to take another sip of his drink to avoid scowling as Taehyung’s arm slips from his waist to wrap around the newcomer’s body instead. 

“Namjoonie hyung, thank you!” 

“I’ve got a gift for you, but it wasn’t ready yet. I’m sorry.” 

Taehyung waves Namjoon’s concerns away. “Ah, hyung, you didn’t need to get me anything at all.” 

“Don’t be silly, Tae,” Namjoon insists. “I’ll find a time for you to come over to my place so I can give it to you.” Namjoon brushes his shoulder against Taehyung’s. Although the force is light, it makes Taehyung take a step backward, and he bumps into Jimin. 

“Sorry, love,” Taehyung apologizes with a smile that makes Jimin’s head spin. 

Taehyung doesn’t look at Namjoon the way he looks at Jimin, but maybe one day he could. And why not? Namjoon fits Taehyung better. They look perfect together as Namjoon lifts his phone up to take a selfie, his cheek pressed against Taehyung’s. He and Taehyung met in college, years before Jimin moved in with Jungkook. Taehyung never said anything happened between the two of them; he always referred to Namjoon as a close friend. But he never said nothing happened, either. Just thinking about it makes Jimin’s stomach churn. 

Fueled by jealousy that he doesn’t feel like addressing, Jimin’s fingers pull at the sleeve of Taehyung’s leather jacket. 

“What’s up, baby?” 

“Can we go home?” 

Taehyung nods immediately without asking why, and warmth blooms in Jimin’s chest even as he feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have fun,” Taehyung mumbles the apology while he looks down at the space between where he and Jimin sit in the backseat of the taxi. He plays with Jimin’s fingers, paying particular attention to Jimin’s pinky, which is equally endearing and annoying. 

Their hands look pretty intertwined, Taehyung’s long and tan, the fingers of an artist and musician, while Jimin’s are short and stubby. It’s funny how even Taehyung’s fingers are perfect, whereas Jimin’s are just as ugly as the rest of him. Life works in mysterious ways, Jimin supposes. 

“I did have fun,” Jimin lies. 

He watches the city fly past them in streaks of white light and doesn’t look at Taehyung. If he does, Taehyung will know the truth. He probably already knows. It’s soulmate behavior, Seokjin would say. Jimin and Taehyung are tethered in a way no one understands. Jimin swears they’re so deeply connected that his soul aches when Taehyung is unhappy. 

Taehyung swears he feels the same way, which makes Jimin feel even worse.

Time passes strangely in the middle of the night. A twenty-minute car ride to their apartment feels like an eternity, yet hardly anything has changed once Jimin and Taehyung scoot out of the backseat. The air is chillier now, though Jimin’s sensitive response to the temperature may be due to the taxi driver blasting the heat on the drive over. He also doesn’t have any body fat on him to keep him warm, a thought that further sours his mood as he follows Taehyung into the lobby, where they wait for the elevator. 

Once inside, Taehyung hooks his finger through Jimin’s belt loop and pulls him forward until their fronts are pressed together. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, baby,” Taehyung murmurs into Jimin’s fluffy blonde hair with a squeeze of his hips. “I know you weren’t thrilled about going out, so I appreciate that you still went with me.” 

Despite his mood, Jimin melts into Taehyung’s embrace. Taehyung hugs like he’s trying to absorb the tension Jimin holds inside his body. Jimin breathes in his cologne, oak and spice, and the bite of vodka as he buries his face in Taehyung’s chest. None of the antidepressant medications lining the nightstand on Jimin’s side of the bed can give him the sense of relief a hug from Taehyung gives him, even if Taehyung’s hugs remind Jimin of how different their bodies are. Even if Jimin knows he can’t find a cure for his problems in another person. Taehyung feels good; some things are as simple as that. 

The sob that shudders through Jimin’s chest is abrupt and unexpected. He knows it catches Taehyung off guard because Jimin feels him suck in a deep breath, and his arms reflexively tighten around him. 

Honestly, it catches Jimin off guard, too. He cries so infrequently that Taehyung has commented on it. Something about occasional tears being psychologically good for him. 

Jimin doesn’t understand how crying can ever be a good thing. Embarrassment and shame ripple through him with each sob. There is a level of helplessness that comes with crying episodes. Losing control of one’s emotions is disheartening and sometimes even scary. It’s upsetting to know that Jimin will never be okay, no matter how hard he tries. 

“Oh baby,” Taehyung murmurs as he cups the back of Jimin’s head to hold him against his chest. “Will you tell me what’s wrong? Please?” 

“I f-f-feel…” Jimin’s whimpers prevent him from speaking clearly, though Taehyung has always been the more patient of the two. “I’m so ugly , Tae. I hate myself.” 

These aren’t words Taehyung hasn’t heard before, but he’s sincere when he asks, “What makes you say that?” Because the answer is always different, even when it’s the same. 

Jimin shrugs in Taehyung’s embrace. The ding of the elevator reaching their floor punctuates his silence. 

Bending slightly, Taehyung grabs the backs of Jimin’s thighs just below his butt and lifts him. Taehyung’s ability to easily carry Jimin has always been hot, though Jimin hasn’t dared to admit that out loud. Not that Taehyung has ever made him feel bad about his interests; it’s just that there are many things Jimin is too afraid to say to anyone. 

Jimin quickly wraps his legs around Taehyung’s waist and hugs his broad shoulders as Taehyung carries him out of the elevator. It’s late enough that the hallway is empty, though Taehyung wouldn’t care if someone saw them like this. Jimin keeps his face buried in the crook of Taehyung’s neck so he wouldn’t know either way. It’s safe here, breathing Taehyung in with his eyes squeezed shut. 

Taehyung adjusts his hold on Jimin to input their apartment passcode and kicks the door open. He doesn’t speak as he carries Jimin to their bedroom, though Jimin tunes into his steady breathing and attempts to mimic it to calm himself down. 

Once in the bedroom, Taehyung gently sits Jimin down on their bed. His thumbs swipe across Jimin’s closed eyes, brushing tears from his eyelashes. It’s gentle, far gentler than Jimin has ever deserved. 

“Jagiya,” Taehyung calls out to him softly. 

Jimin slowly opens his eyes and does his best to meet Taehyung’s. His expression is gentle; eyes crinkled at the corners as he looks at Jimin with so much love and adoration that Jimin feels he’ll combust from the warmth. 

“Which Taehyung would you like me to be tonight?” 

Jimin smiles despite his bleary eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It may be an odd question to an outsider, but for Jimin, it’s everything he loves about Taehyung. 

It’s a habit they’ve fallen into after five years of dating, developed after Jimin snapped at Taehyung for “psychoanalyzing” him one too many times, as a way for Taehyung to understand what Jimin needs from him in a moment of distress. Occasionally, Taehyung goes into Therapist Mode, as Jimin calls it. Therapist Taehyung can be helpful when Jimin is desperate for relief from the horrors of his mind. Still, sometimes Therapist Taehyung can make Jimin feel like he’s being poked and prodded, evaluated, and assessed, even when Taehyung doesn’t mean to come off that way.  

Boyfriend Taehyung doesn’t go into Therapist Mode. Boyfriend Taehyung is gentle and understanding without being judgmental. 

“I need Boyfriend Tae,” Jimin replies once he clears his throat. 

“Alright, Boyfriend Tae, it is,” Taehyung confirms with a boxy smile. “Boyfriend Tae needs to shower, and he’d like you to join him. Is that okay?”

Jimin nods and takes Taehyung’s outstretched hands, allowing Taehyung to pull him up from the bed. In one sweeping motion, Taehyung lifts Jimin into his arms, carrying him bridal-style into the bathroom. 

“I hate that you can manhandle me,” Jimin grumbles once Taehyung places him on the counter. 

“That’s very interesting,” Taehyung remarks in a sing-song voice as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Inch by inch, golden skin on display. “Usually when I pick you up and throw you around, you’re babbling about how much you love how str–” 

“Shh!” Jimin presses his finger to his puckered lips, cheeks pink and sufficiently embarrassed. For a moment, his insecurities are forgotten, replaced by heat simmering in his stomach when Taehyung’s pretty hands begin unbuckling his belt. 

He watches Taehyung’s eyes zero in on his finger and knows he isn’t looking at his mouth but instead the tattoo of a seven on the inside of his finger: July 7th, their anniversary. When Taehyung strips out of his slacks once his shirt is discarded on the floor, he reveals his matching tattoo on his thigh. They got them on their first anniversary – a decision most of Jimin’s friends warned him against. Rightfully so. Getting matching tattoos after only a year of dating seems like a risk, but Jimin knew Taehyung was his forever since their first kiss. 

“You don’t have to shower with me if you don’t want to, jagiya.” 

Taehyung stands between Jimin’s legs, grabbing the counter's edge on either side of his hips. While Jimin was lost in his thoughts, Taehyung finished undressing. The only thing remaining is a thin gold chain resting on his pronounced collarbones. The chain matches the dangly earring hanging from his left earlobe. Taehyung looks so pretty in dainty jewelry yet still holds onto his particular brand of elegant masculinity. 

“Chim?”

Jimin blinks, forcing himself to stop thinking about how pathetic he looks next to Taehyung.

“Hmm?” 

“Are you going to shower in your clothes?” 

“No…” 

Unable to meet Taehyung’s dark eyes, Jimin tucks his chin to his chest. While Taehyung reaches behind his neck to remove his chain, Jimin wiggles off the counter to remove his clothes. He keeps his back to the mirror, afraid to look at what he knows he’ll see there. It’s bad enough that he can watch the front of his body as he sheds his clothes, each one a protective layer, like a snake shedding its skin. But Jimin isn’t strong beneath the fabric; the more he takes off, the smaller he becomes. 

“Can I help?” 

Taehyung’s fingers brush against Jimin’s neck as Jimin steps out of his jeans. The touch makes him shiver. He nods, and Taehyung gently removes Jimin’s diamond stud earrings, placing both silver hoops on the counter alongside Taehyung’s chain and dangly earring. 

“There you go.”

“Thank you,” Jimin whispers. 

“Of course, baby.” 

Stepping away, Taehyung slides the glass shower door open and sticks his hand under the running water. Jimin’s not sure how he keeps losing track of reality; he only now realizes that the shower is running. Perhaps it’s his way of stalling, of avoiding what’s about to happen. 

A shower is never just a shower. 

“C’mon, love.” 

Showers are easier with Taehyung. Jimin gets to close his eyes and lean his head back as Taehyung’s nimble fingers massage shampoo into his hair. He doesn’t have to look at his body because Taehyung washes him with a sudsy washcloth. When it’s time to get out, Taehyung wraps Jimin in the fluffiest towel they own and whisks him away before he can catch a glimpse of his naked body in the mirror. 

Jimin keeps the towel wrapped around his body while he sits on the bed and watches Taehyung. Nudity disgusts him when it’s his bare body, but he can never grow tired of the beauty of Taehyung’s naked body. Taehyung saunters around the room with confidence Jimin could only dream of. Even with his wet hair and soft cock, he looks like a god among men as he puts away their jewelry for safekeeping. 

Catching Jimin’s eye through the mirror, Taehyung grins, boxy and wide. 

“Were you checking out my ass, Park Jimin?” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jimin tugs the towel tighter around his body. Such a ridiculous question doesn’t deserve a response. 

Taehyung, however, is stubborn. Kneeling on the bed, he invades Jimin’s personal space as he leans forward, his hands resting on either side of Jimin’s thighs. He’s wearing the mischievous grin that makes Jimin’s stomach flip. 

“Do you know how cute you are?” Taehyung asks, cocking his head to the side as he admires Jimin – what on him, specifically, he has no idea. “So fucking cute. I could eat you.” 

Jimin shivers. He leans back as Taehyung crawls forward until he’s eventually flat on his back. 

“Boyfriend Tae is turning into Menace Tae,” Jimin mumbles, unable to meet Taehyung’s eyes. They’re dark and lidded. 

“Hmm.” Taehyung presses his palms into the mattress on either side of Jimin’s head, just above his shoulders. 

Jimin naturally parts his legs so Taehyung can fit between them, causing the towel to hike up. When he shifts slightly, he can feel Taehyung’s cock rest against the inside of his thigh, warm and heavy – and a source of comfort, as odd as that may seem. The feeling is difficult for Jimin to explain. Having Taehyung so close that nothing separates them has always shaken Jimin to the bone. Nothing is so pure or sure of a reminder that Taehyung is here . He is alive, perfect, and present – all for Jimin to drown himself in the vanilla scent of his body wash and the fruity tartness of his shampoo. To be suffocated by such warmth would be more than Jimin deserves. 

“Menace Tae would like to kiss you. Would that be okay?” Taehyung wets his lips as he waits, eyes gentle even if he does look like he wants to eat Jimin whole. 

“Yes,” Jimin says with an exhale. 

Gently cupping Jimin’s face, Taehyung leans down and slots their lips together. Jimin feels his stomach swoop, an exhilarating energy thrumming through him when Taehyung sighs into his mouth. Despite the drag of Taehyung’s tongue along Jimin’s bottom lip and the light nibble he gives it, the kiss is relatively chaste.

Taehyung gently runs his fingers through Jimin’s hair, tugging the ends with the slightest force needed to tilt his head to the side. The new position allows him to deepen the kiss as their mouths move together effortlessly. Taehyung’s lips are soft from the lip balm he always uses after a shower. It tastes lightly of strawberries and cream and easily makes his lips glide over Jimin’s. 

Being with Taehyung is always like this: easy. Love flows from him effortlessly, and Jimin takes takes takes. They don’t part until Jimin whimpers into Taehyung’s mouth. Taehyung pulls back slightly, just enough to give them space to catch their breath – as if Jimin could possibly be anything other than dizzy in such proximity to him. 

Jimin can’t remember the last time they kissed like that. He can’t remember when they last kissed at all, aside from the (usually) innocent little kisses Taehyung likes to cover him with. Rarely is it that Jimin’s cheeks, forehead, and nose escape Taehyung’s kisses. Physical intimacy was once a love language they both shared. 

Eventually, Jimin became distant. And Taehyung, sweet Taehyung, never pushed him even though it meant little to no intimacy with the love of his life. 

All the more reason for Taehyung to find someone new. 

“I love you so much.” 

Taehyung's whispers are the crackle of embers simmering in a fireplace. Jimin can taste their smokiness on his lips if he concentrates hard enough on his words and less on how scared he is that Taehyung will touch the ugly parts of him. 

When Taehyung leans further back, Jimin’s startled to see a small, sad smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Do you not love me anymore, Jimin?” 

“W-what?” Jimin swallows around the lump forming in his throat, apprehension building inside him. 

He watches with bright, glossy eyes as Taehyung reaches out to skim his fingertips along his jaw. It tickles as Taehyung starts just below his ear and glides like a ghost along the sharp edge until he reaches the curve of Jimin’s chin. 

“Just tell me,” Taehyung commands softly, pressing his thumb against Jimin’s plush bottom lip. He pulls down on it slightly, forcing Jimin’s lips to part. “Please.” 

The answer is so obvious Jimin wants to scream. He wants to take Taehyung by the shoulders and shake him until his pretty hair is in disarray and his cheeks are flushed. How can Taehyung not know? How can Taehyung hover over Jimin, damp hair haloing his bent head, honey gold skin glowing in the soft bedroom lighting, and think that there could be a universe in which Jimin doesn’t love him? 

Tears prickle at the corners of Jimin’s eyes as he struggles to maintain eye contact. His hands shake when he presses his palms against Taehyung’s cheeks, their arms interwoven like the rest of their bodies.

“Of course, I love you,” Jimin whispers. 

Taehyung hums, leaning into Jimin’s touch. “Say it again.” 

“I love you,” Jimin repeats. He shouldn’t say what comes next, but he does. The confession tumbles out of him just as haphazardly as his confession in the elevator, though this one isn’t one Taehyung is familiar with. “I-I don’t deserve your love, Tae.” 

Taehyung’s reaction is expected. His eyes fly open, hard and blazing, and a sharp wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. 

“What did you just say?” 

Jimin lets his hands fall from Taehyung’s face. He lowers his gaze and tries to turn away, but Taehyung grasps his chin to keep him in place. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Tilting Jimin’s chin, Taehyung returns his thumb to Jimin’s mouth, this time pulling his bottom lip away to stop Jimin from chewing on it. 

“You deserve even more than I could ever possibly give you, Park Jimin,” Taehyung murmurs. 

The praise is too much for Jimin to bear. He wants to be defensive, to tell Taehyung that he’s being ridiculous. There can’t possibly be truth to what he says. He even opens his mouth to say so, but Taehyung’s lips lock with his before any self-deprecating words can come out. 

It’s impossible not to fall into the trap of Taehyung’s sweet taste. All it takes is the slight pressure of Taehyung’s tongue swiping against his bottom lip for Jimin to melt completely. Parting his lips, he lets Taehyung lick at the inside of his mouth. Their tongues brush against each other before Taehyung bites Jimin’s plump bottom lip and tugs, sucking on it lightly before he finally lets go, only to dive back in to press an even more bruising kiss to Jimin’s lips. The words are unspoken, but Jimin feels them through the electricity that passes between their bodies: I love you, mine, mine, mine. 

Jimin’s stomach flutters as he feels Taehyung’s hand slip beneath the fluffy folds of his towel and slide along his hip bone. His touch is cold compared to the heat of Jimin’s skin from being snuggled in the towel. 

“It hurts me to hear you talk about yourself like that, jagi,” Taehyung’s voice cracks with emotion. He speaks against Jimin’s lips. “Please don’t say those things.” 

Their eyes remain closed as they breathe in each other, the dizzying feeling of having Taehyung so close to him making Jimin need to hold onto something. He grips Taehyung’s biceps and relishes in the feel of the muscles flexing beneath his fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin apologizes, meaning to say even more, but Taehyung hushes him because no apologies are needed. Only change – the promise to be kinder to himself. It’s something Taehyung practically begs of Jimin, and it seems like it should be so easy. Yet they’ve gone through this before. 

“You are so beautiful, Chim,” Taehyung speaks into the air they breathe between them. “Not just your body, but your soul, too.” 

Squirming at what feels like unearned praise, Jimin tries to scoot up the bed to get from under Taehyung. “Okay, Jesse McCartney.” 

“Shut up. I’m trying to be serious here.” The biting words are paired with a lopsided grin as Taehyung stalks Jimin up the bed, his hands caging in Jimin’s head and his knees spreading Jimin’s thighs. “Let me appreciate my baby for a second, okay?” 

“I would rather appreciate you,” Jimin mumbles. 

“Ah, none of that. No diverting the attention away from yourself, Jimin-ssi.” 

In response, Jimin lets out a shuddery breath when Taehyung traces his fingers along his inner thigh. It’s a sound that Taehyung notices because they’re both in tune with each other’s bodies. It scares Jimin sometimes, even as delicious as it is when Taehyung uses that connection to touch all the right spots to light Jimin up. Taking advantage of how Jimin’s eyes have fluttered shut, Taehyung leans down to press a kiss at the corner of his jaw and then trails them, hot and open-mouthed, down Jimin’s neck. 

“I don’t want to talk about me,” Jimin finally manages to get out, his voice nearly breaking when Taehyung dips his tongue into his collarbone. 

“Talking about you is my favorite thing to do,” Taehyung gently scrapes his teeth against Jimin’s clavicle in a playful bite, “aside from kissing you. Loving you. Fucking you .” Taehyung whispers those last few words, and Jimin can feel him smirk against his skin when he shivers. 

“Such vulgar language,” Jimin scolds, yet he loosens his grip on his towel to let it slide off his shoulders, exposing more skin for Taehyung to plant kisses against. Heat pulls in Jimin’s gut as Taehyung sucks a hickey on his throat. He throws his head back against the bed, long, pretty neck on display. 

“Not vulgar, just honest.” Taehyung presses his finger to the underside of Jimin’s chin and gently coaxes him to turn his head in the opposite direction so he can have access to the other side of his neck to devour. 

A quiet moan slips from Jimin’s plump, parted lips when Taehyung’s semi-hard cock brushes against his own. At some point, the rest of his towel fell away, and Jimin realizes he forgot how powerful Taehyung’s attention is. As long as Taehyung has been kissing him, he hasn’t thought about the self-conscious embarrassment of being naked. 

Taehyung rests his forehead against Jimin’s, his pretty eyes fluttering closed. 

“Let me worship you, jagi,” Taehyung murmurs. “You deserve to be worshiped. I’m so sorry I haven’t done a good enough job showing you just how divine you are. ‘Cause that’s what you are, love. Divine. Heavenly.” 

“It’s not your–” 

“Yes, it is. It’s my job to take care of you, just as you take care of me. And you do so well, baby. You’ve been there for me, even when it’s been hard for you. I can’t begin to express how much I appreciate you. So, please, let me show you?” 

Taehyung watches Jimin with an intensity that makes Jimin feel like he’s flayed, raw, and waiting to be consumed. But, rather than feel scrutinized, Jimin feels safe under Taehyung’s undivided attention. 

Waiting for Jimin’s response, Taehyung sits back on his heels, knees still spread with Jimin’s thighs resting on the outside of Taehyung’s. He rubs his thumbs along Jimin’s hip bones in a swirling pattern that gives Jimin something to ground himself in. 

“I love you,” is Jimin’s response, and the lopsided grin returns to Taehyung’s face. He licks his lips and runs his palms flat against Jimin’s sides, gliding upward to his chest. When his thumbs brush Jimin’s nipples, Jimin lets out a little gasp that makes Taehyung’s grin widen. 

“So sensitive,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice thick with desire. He drags his hands down Jimin’s torso until they rest on his spread thighs. “Can I suck you off, jagi? Will you let me make you feel good?” 

Instinctually, Jimin tenses his thighs and squeezes Taehyung’s legs. “Y-yes, please,” he whimpers. 

“Always such good manners, hm, jagi? Such a well-behaved boy for me,” Taehyung praises as he lies between Jimin’s legs. He looks so pretty with his broad shoulders keeping Jimin spread open. The sight makes Jimin’s cock throb. 

“Tae,” Jimin whines, hands flying up to cover his face. It’s been so long since they’ve been intimate, and Jimin has always been shy about sex. Dirty talk never fails to make his cock twitch and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“Hmm, baby? What was that?” Taehyung teases. He flicks his tongue against Jimin’s balls and releases an appreciative giggle when Jimin whines again. 

“Stop teasing me.” 

There is no denying that Taehyung has always given Jimin what he wants. It’s his weakness, his biggest character flaw. He can’t say no to the boy with fluffy blonde hair and pouty lips who looks at Taehyung with round eyes as Taehyung licks a stripe up his cock from the thick base to the wet tip.

“Anything for my soulmate,” Taehyung murmurs, his lips brushing against the head of Jimin’s cock, bottom lip sticking to the tip from the precum dribbling out. It’s beautifully sinful, filthy and loving, seeing Taehyung’s lips stretch around Jimin’s cock. 

Taehyung suckles the head, massaging his tongue against the underside where the nerves are sensitive. More precum leaks from Jimin just as quickly as moans spill from his lips. 

“Look at me,” Taehyung commands in a voice thick with lust. His tone makes goosebumps prickle across Jimin’s arms. 

Raising up on his elbows slightly, Jimin watches as Taehyung slowly takes Jimin’s cock down his throat, his dark eyes never leaving Jimin’s. His mouth's warm, wet heat is enough to send Jimin’s head back as a loud, broken moan rips from his throat. A hard pinch to the inside of his thigh has Jimin snapping his head back up, just to see Taehyung narrow his eyes and hum as he begins to bob his head. 

Look at me . 

Jimin has to behave because he said he would, and Taehyung likes it when he does what he’s supposed to. So he keeps his hips flat on the bed and watches Taehyung take him all the way until his sharp, pretty nose presses against Jimin’s pelvis. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Taehyung groans as he takes a moment to breathe. “You have the most perfect cock, jagi. So thick and pretty.” Taehyung dips his tongue into Jimin’s slit, and Jimin thinks he might cum already. 

Of course, Taehyung can tell. He’s teasing him on purpose, flicking his tongue against the tip of his cock repeatedly before suckling it, swirling his tongue around the ridge of the head. It’s maddening that he won’t take more of him into his mouth again, but Jimin knows Taehyung is trying to work him up. 

“Please, Tae,” Jimin tries to beg, knowing it won’t work. All he receives in response is a devilish smile as Taehyung tilts his head to pepper Jimin’s cock with open-mouthed kisses. 

“Pretty cock for a pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“But you should know how pretty you are.” Pulling away from Jimin completely, Taehyung licks his lips free of precum and spit. “You’d look even prettier split open on my cock.”  

“Taehyung!” 

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?” 

Groaning with both hands covering his face again, Jimin gently kicks Taehyung in the thigh when he kneels on the bed to reach for the bottle of lube neglected in their nightstand drawer. His hands remain on his burning face when Taehyung settles back between his legs and he hears the bottle cap open. 

“Hey, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung calls out. His voice is gentle, and when Jimin peeks through his fingers, he finds a soft look has replaced the dark lustfulness of Taehyung’s eyes.

“Yes?” 

Something about Jimin’s straightforward response makes Taehyung chuckle. He shakes his head, making his slightly damp dark curls sway over his forehead. “I think we’re kind of horny.” 

“Stop being nasty!” Jimin tries to kick him again, but Taehyung presses his hand to the inside of Jimin’s thigh. 

“I’m serious!” Taehyung insists with a laugh. “I just mean, I don’t want us to rush into this when our emotions were so high earlier. I want to make sure you are okay with this since it’s been a while, and you’ve been sad...” 

It’s so sweet how Taehyung cares for Jimin. It may be unhealthy to think that there isn’t anything wrong with Taehyung, but Jimin truly believes it. Perhaps selflessness is his one red flag. Regardless, it hurts Jimin’s heart from how cared for he feels as Taehyung stares down at him with adoration that he still can’t believe he fully deserves. 

One day, he thinks. One day, he’ll be convinced. 

“Don’t make me say it,” Jimin complains with a pout and puppy eyes. It typically doesn’t work, but he tries it just in case. 

“You must.”

“Why?”

“Consent is sexy, love.” 

With a huff, Jimin spreads his thighs a bit wider and does his best to put on a brave face when he looks Taehyung directly in his eyes and says in his most polite tone, “I would like you to fuck me, please.” 

“Mmm, that’s what I like to hear.” Jimin gives him another kick. “Hey! You better watch it.” Taehyung’s eyes sparkle with nothing but love, and Jimin knows that despite his insecurities, his eyes sparkle like that, too. 

Taehyung was right, though. They haven’t had sex in a while due to Jimin’s insecurities, and Jimin certainly hasn’t fingered himself recently. It’s evident in how tight Jimin is as Taehyung presses a lubed finger past his rim. It isn’t uncomfortable, but Jimin tenses anyway. Too many thoughts circulate in his head. Will he be too tight? Will he make Taehyung uncomfortable? What if they can’t have sex at all? What if it hurts Jimin? What if Taehyung thinks Jimin is being too difficult and gives up on him? 

“Jagi, can you relax for me?” Taehyung is gentle when he pushes a second finger in. Jimin watches him pour a little more lube to help with the slide. “You’re doing so good, just lie back, okay? Let me take care of you.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin rushes to say, dropping back onto the bed. He holds one leg to his chest while Taehyung pushes back the other with his free hand. “Can you keep talking to me?” 

“Dirty talk? Like how badly I want to fuck you? How I was thinking about it all night during the party because you looked so sexy in that outfit, wearing my favorite jeans on you that make your ass look–” 

“Oh my god, Taehyung.” Jimin smiles at the ceiling when he hears Taehyung chuckle. 

“Is it working?”

It is, but Jimin doesn’t want to tell him that. Besides, Taehyung already knows it’s working; he has three fingers in and is applying light pressure to Jimin’s prostate. Jimin trembles as Taehyung massages his most sensitive spot. Even though it’s slow and barely much of a caress, Taehyung’s skillful fingers work Jimin into a whimpering mess, coaxing moan after moan out of him until the room is full of Taehyung’s name and the squelch of lube. Jimin’s free hand fists the bed sheets above his head to give himself some semblance of self-control when Taehyung reaches up to circle a lubed finger around Jimin’s perky nipple. 

“Your nipples are so cute,” Taehyung muses, dragging his wet finger across Jimin’s chest to swirl around the other nipple. 

Jimin tries to scoff, but instead, he moans when Taehyung pinches his nipple. “N-nipples aren’t c-cute,” he stammers. 

“Yours are.” 

“They look, oh fuck,” Taehyung leans forward to suck one of Jimin’s nipples as he continues tweaking the other, “T-the same as, ohh god, as yours, fuck.” Distracted, Jimin doesn’t tense when Taehyung slowly thrusts four fingers inside of him. 

“So you think my nipples are cute?” 

“Taehyung, please, I’ll cum,” Jimin hiccups, moisture gathering at his eyelashes. Taehyung’s teasing is too much for Jimin to handle. His thighs quiver uncontrollably, and his cock leaks onto his stomach as Taehyung massages his prostate with the slightest of touches. 

Having mercy on him, Taehyung slowly removes his fingers and uses the excess lube to stroke his neglected cock. It hangs thick and heavy between his legs. Jimin can’t help but admire it as Taehyung applies a bit more lube, drizzling it directly onto his cock and hissing at the temperature. There are plenty of reasons for Jimin to adore Taehyung; his cock is most certainly on that list. 

When Taehyung’s hand pauses its stroking, Jimin flits his eyes up to see a slight smirk playing on Taehyung’s lips. 

“First, you were checking out my ass, now you’re checking out my dick.” 

“Kim Taehyung,” Jimin tries to scold, but then Taehyung is pressing the fat head of his cock against Jimin’s rim, and suddenly he can’t seem to make his mouth form words. All he can do is let it hang open as Taehyung slowly pushes forward. 

“Fuck, you open up so beautifully for me, jagi.” Taehyung squeezes the back of Jimin’s thigh and adjusts the angle to open him up better. He slides into Jimin slowly, mindful of any potential discomfort, though Jimin can tell by how Taehyung clenches his jaw that he’s just as affected as Jimin. 

And, fuck, is Jimin affected. His arm gives out before Taehyung is even halfway in, and Taehyung has to throw Jimin’s legs over his shoulders because Jimin can’t hold himself open anymore. 

“S-sorry,” Jimin moans, scrambling to hold onto the sheets when Taehyung lifts his hips to pull him the rest of the way onto his cock. His big hands squeeze Jimin’s hips, thumbs massaging Jimin’s stomach as he slowly begins to thrust into him. 

“This okay?” Taehyung reaches out to brush a few strands of hair from Jimin’s face. His pace is slow but measured, each thrust hitting deep and sharp. 

“S-so good, Tae, you feel so good,” Jimin babbles, his entire body pulsing with desire as Taehyung hits his prostate with every thrust. 

“You deserve to feel good,” Taehyung whispers against Jimin’s leg when he turns his head to the side to press a kiss there. “And all I want to do is make you feel good. For the rest of my life.” 

“Fuck,” Jimin whimpers, blinking back tears. “Stop being so sweet. Go back to the dirty talk.” 

Taehyung tosses his head back in a deep laugh that rumbles from his chest, and it makes Jimin feel good to have a partner he can cry and laugh with during sex. 

Sex isn’t always so emotional with Taehyung. Sometimes, it’s sweaty and fast-paced, just skin slapping, scratches, and bruises. But tonight, Jimin has to hold himself back from crying as Taehyung whispers praises into his skin and rocks into him like it’s the only thing he wants to do. 

This is the embarrassing part where Jimin starts telling Taehyung how much he loves his cock, how full he feels, how special Taehyung treats him. It does nothing to help with Taehyung’s ego, of course, for he just grins down at Jimin and caresses the side of his face, and tells him, “My cock was made for you, baby. Made to fill up your perfect little hole and make you cry my name so prettily.��� 

Taehyung’s thrusts are intentional; neither of them will last very long, and Taehyung knows that. He purposefully focuses on Jimin’s pleasure, fucking into him at the perfect angle. There’s something tender about how he places his right hand on Jimin’s lower stomach and presses down slightly. The pressure forces Jimin to relax his muscles while heightening the feeling of Taehyung’s cock diving deeper inside him with each snap of Taehyung’s hips. Years of being in a relationship have given Taehyung the time to learn Jimin’s body, but Taehyung’s care for Jimin makes him know his body. 

Even though Jimin hates his body more often than not, he can’t deny that Taehyung treats it with so much care that sometimes he thinks he can see the beauty Taehyung sees. Taehyung makes him beautiful. 

“God, you’re incredible, baby,” Taehyung says after he inhales sharply. “You take me so well, make me feel so good.” It’s hot how he looks down at where they meet as if he’s seeing them connected for the first time. 

Jimin feels lightheaded as Taehyung praises him, each languid declaration of adoration and love matching the easy roll of Taehyung’s hips against his. He squeezes the bunched-up bed sheets in his fists even tighter and tilts his chin in a silent request. 

Taehyung leans forward, pressing Jimin’s thighs against his chest to capture his lips in his own. They’re sloppier this time, Taehyung drawing Jimin’s tongue into his mouth and sucking it at the same smooth pace he’s fucking him. 

“I’m close,” Jimin gasps, quickly letting go of the bed with one hand to reach for his cock. 

“No,” Taehyung swats at Jimin’s hand, grabbing his wrist and holding it against the bed, “I’ve got you, jagi. We’ll cum today, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?” He smears the precum leaking from Jimin’s tip down the length of his cock and begins to pump his fist at the same pace as he fucks into Jimin. 

“Y-y-yess, please, Tae, I can, for you,” Jimin cries, and Taehyung has to hold him against the bed to stop his hips from bucking and throwing off Taehyung’s already slipping rhythm as he fucks them toward their release. 

It’s hot, letting Taehyung jerk Jimin off as he fucks him. It allows Jimin to give in to the pleasure without having to concentrate on getting himself off. He can let his brain turn to static, white noise enveloping him as he cums all over his stomach and chest with a silent cry. His mouth falls open in a perfect O-shape, and every muscle in his body constricts. 

The only sound that breaks through the static is Taehyung crying out his name in the sweetest of songs as he cums inside of him. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung groans, his grip on Jimin’s waist bruising as he lazily fucks his cum into him, sliding all the way out to watch the thick head of his cock push it back inside. It’s messy and wet and makes Jimin’s legs shake, but he relishes the oversensitivity because it’s been too long since he’s been brave enough to share his body.

It isn’t until Taehyung fully pulls out that Jimin begins to cry. It doesn’t help that the sweet praises and whispered promises of care from Taehyung increase tenfold when he scoops Jimin up into his arms and cuddles him, cum and all, against his chest. 

“Baby…” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Jimin groans, frantically wiping away the hot tears sliding sideways down his face. “I swear, I’m not upset.” And he isn’t. There’s just… pressure inside his chest, and the longer Taehyung holds him in his arms, the less pressure he feels. 

“Crying is natural,” Taehyung begins, dangerously close to turning into Therapist Taehyung, but the roughness of his after-sex voice makes it hard for Jimin to pay attention to much else. 

Ignoring Taehyung’s comment, Jimin nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck as Taehyung runs his hands over his back. “Why are you so perfect?” 

Taehyung snorts. “Perfection doesn’t exist.” 

Jimin pulls back far enough to look into Taehyung’s eyes. They’re no longer dark with lust, but the intensity of his love for Jimin will always be there. 

“I thought you said I was perfect.” 

“Oh, hush.” With a roll of his eyes, Taehyung crushes Jimin into his chest and swings his leg over his hip, sufficiently locking him into place. “You are the only form of perfection that exists. Is that better?” 

Jimin doesn’t believe Taehyung, not entirely, not yet. But he smiles against Taehyung’s warm skin and thinks he will one day. 

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do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[gurugirl]

In the Beginning | Prequel to Forgive Me, Father

Summary: This prequel details Harry's slow sexual awakening up until he meets Y/n.

A/n: Just a little something extra - much of what is here was pulled from the original story when I felt it was getting too long but I was told I should have left it in - so here it is! 4k words

Warning: Religious themes, sub/dom dynamics, smut, blasphemy, cheating

| Read on Wattpad | Priestrry Masterlist |

The story of Harry’s awakening is something he thinks of fondly now that he allows himself to enjoy his sexual appetite. Especially now that he’s found his pet. The guilt that surrounded his sexuality and his preferences at the beginning was something he gradually learned to embrace.

When he was a boy, he attended Manchester Grammar, a large, all-boys school where Harry was always one of the top of the class and played multiple sports. Harry had always learned to do things the right way and how to be one of the best, if not the best.

Harry's Father was a churchwarden and would often welcome in the new parish priest, offering dinners and taking care of things to make the job easier on the priest. Harry would tag along at times, with his father, and over the years he became quite enamored with the life of priests and the catholic church. His mother never worked, but she supported Harry's father and took care of Harry and his older sister.

The Styles were very much involved in church life. It was what Harry knew during his youth. When he graduated from Manchester Grammar, he knew he wanted to train to be a priest. He went to an all men's religious college and during his second year, he started attending seminary when he settled on the path of his love for religious studies and the priesthood.

In his third year at college, he got his first tattoo. It was easily hidden. It wasn’t strictly forbidden to have tattoos as a priest (though very uncouth and quite rare), which is why he chanced getting one in the first place. But even then, he still didn’t want many knowing he had one. However, one led to another. And then another. The more tattoos he got the more he wanted. It became easy to hide them as no one would ever be seeing much of him without clothes anyway. He enjoyed the little secret and the way it felt when the needle punctured his flesh and pushed ink into the dermis, staining him with a covert story that only he knew about. It was also his first experience in finding satisfaction with pain.

During his final year in college, before he graduated to begin taking theology, he met a young man named Darren. Darren was in Harry's group of friends and it was the first time that Harry realized he was attracted to men. Darren had something about him that opened Harry's eyes and he had been able to ignore his attraction until he awoke in the middle of the night from a dream about Darren.

Harry had a roommate in the college dorm but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his fist around his cock and finishing himself off to the image of Darren's mouth on him. In Harry's dream, he had his fingers in Darren's hair and was pushing and pulling Darren over his dick, up and down, forcefully.

The guilt Harry felt about masturbating in general was bad enough. He'd been taught by his mother (when she caught Harry wanking at the age of 14) that it was sinful and could invite Satan into their home and into his heart. So Harry rarely ever let his sin or his lust take over in a way that led him to masturbate.

But the guilt he felt when he masturbated to the image of Darren, a man, was almost unbearable. Harry cut off contact with his friend completely after that because he knew he couldn't control himself. Harry never let himself be put into a position where he'd act on his carnal feelings. And Darren was someone he lusted after so he did what he needed to do to completely suppress his feelings.

When he studied Theology and philosophy after graduating from seminary he was also training as a deacon in a church and met a young woman called Ally. She was so sweet and bright and thoughtful. And she always blushed and looked away from Harry every time they spoke. There was something so gentle and meek about her. She was shy but she was quick to help and assist when needed. Harry found her personality appealing.

Harry began fantasizing about bossing her around a little. It started, maybe not entirely innocently but not in such a way that Harry recognized his fantasies as sexual at first.

He'd imagine telling her to turn the page on his Bible while he read aloud so he could keep his hands clasped together. Or have her pull his chair out for him and wait by his side for further instructions. He'd wonder what it would be like to have her on her knees next to him and praying to God while Harry critiqued her prayer.

Slowly his fantasies became more sinful and he imagined her doing these things with less clothing until he imagined her naked and crawling to him, begging him for tasks. Every time he saw her he found her more and more appealing. She was cute, certainly. But Harry was always doing his best not to look too closely.

But Harry did recognize the dreams he'd have that began regularly when he became the transitional deacon on his way to becoming a priest. Lusty, sinful, sexy... Harry hated waking up with a hard-on and he didn't always take care of himself. He was able to push his desires down and it only made him feel stronger and more pious.

On an evening after late Sunday mass, most people had left the church but Ally stayed behind to help clean up when she didn't need to. Harry couldn't help himself when he told her to adjust her ponytail as it was falling from the band, "Straighten that up a bit. You look messy." Harry watched her take the hairband from her hair and then smooth her hair out before putting her hair back into a tighter ponytail while she looked at him, "Like that?" She asked with big innocent eyes.

Harry excused himself to go to the men's room after that. He couldn't help himself. She'd only readjusted her ponytail but the fact that she'd done it at his command and while looking at him like she had he nearly lost it.

After relieving his dick and praying for forgiveness he went back to Ally and told her she was done for the day. Ally left with no remarks or questions, just nodding and smiling shyly. That was even a turn-on for Harry and he didn't know why.

On another occasion, Ally was next to him during a luncheon. Everyone was in line to pick up a plate and she smelled so pretty.

Harry asked her if she was wearing perfume and she told him she was. Harry watched her plate some potatoes for herself and then before she could scoop up anything else Harry took her plate from her, "Plate mine."

Ally looked up at him as Harry gave her his plate and he held hers. She looked confused but she did as he demanded. He told her what he wanted on his plate and she listened to him as she filled it. When they got to the end of the line, Harry gave her her plate back, with only the potatoes as she handed him his, "You shouldn't wear such strong perfume at church. Now get back in line to get your food."

He didn't know why he'd done that either. It just felt natural. He didn't know why he wanted to punish her for wearing such pretty perfume, but she didn't make a peep about it, going to the back of the line and then being one of the last to eat.

But with each new thing Harry discovered about himself, he would also dream about doing such things to her, or someone unknown. But in his dreams, things were more sinful. Quite a bit more sinful. Many he'd wake up from having the most shameful feelings in his heart. Dreams of tying someone to his bed and playing with them, leaving them and having them still there for him after coming back from a long day of school and work.

One morning, when Harry was at church Ally came by, unexpectedly. She sought Harry and confronted him, "Why do you demand things of me? Have I done something wrong?" She'd grown tired of the way Harry would treat her. He wasn't mean, but he was bossy and he certainly wasn't nice either. He was surprised that she’d found the gall to ask him.  

Harry didn't know how to answer her. She looked so soft on the morning she arrived to speak to him and he wished he could understand it himself. When he was tempted to lean down to kiss her he realized he needed to keep his distance from her once and for all. She was too tempting and too sweet. She'd only continue to do what he wanted and he didn't know how far he would push it, because, in his dreams, he was taking her virginity (which also meant he was losing his own virginity) in a rather filthy way.

From then on he avoided Ally, even though he caught her often looking at him with her big innocent eyes and a pout on her face.

His dreams continued to get nastier. He dreamt of men and woman and spankings, floggings... He began to flog himself as well as a way to receive penance. But he learned after a handful of self-floggings that he liked it. He'd even get an erection from it. He thought he was damaged or perhaps the few times he had masturbated did invite Satan into his heart and so he was suffering from the sin of being possessed.

When he met with his elders and leaders to get council about his dreams (he didn't go into detail because he would have surely not been allowed to continue his path) they only told him it was normal to have lustful dreams but that he must resist the temptation to act them out while he was awake.

So Harry did just that. He'd wake from disgusting and depraved dreams, wet in his underpants from coming (he didn't even need to have his hand around his cock he was so horny from all the denied orgasms) and he'd ask forgiveness and put it out of his mind.

When he moved to Wisconsin to his first true priest's parish, he continued to keep his urges a secret. He pushed them down, flogged himself regularly, and prayed to God to deliver him from his own carnal thoughts.

He recognized it when he saw attractive men and women but his guilt always did him in at the end of the day. Floggings became a pleasure and replaced masturbation for him. He didn't need to have an orgasm to feel relief. He would strike his back and let the leather cut into his skin and it redirected him, but he always got an erection from it. There were times Harry considered leaving the priesthood so he could finally know what it was like to carry out his fantasies.

The day Mrs. Brockton invited him for dinner he was having a rough day. He'd woken up with his cock drained of his come after the lewdest dreams so he flogged himself to ask forgiveness and his cuts went deeper than normal, causing tears to leak from his eyes from the pain. But it didn't stop his dick from hardening up. But, being the good and holy man that he was, he ignored his lust and didn't touch his plumped penis for relief of any kind. He ached to have his balls emptied again, but he felt powerful knowing how he could still deny his flesh.

So, when Mrs. Brockton revealed they were alone, Harry knew he should leave. He knew Mrs. Brockton found him attractive, he could tell by the way she flirted. And Harry noticed it because he found Mrs. Brockton very attractive. She was ten years older than him with no children, but she was married. And she was gorgeous with big lips and big tits and a nice round ass Harry tried to not imagine spanking.

That day, in particular, had been difficult for Harry so he grew hard in his pants at just the touch of her hand on his knee. It was embarrassing.

But he needed to take care of his problem before she knew what was happening and when she found him in the bathroom pumping himself and on the verge of coming, she took him down her throat, and it was as if Harry wasn't even the one making the decisions. The very second she fell to her knees in front of him he turned into a man who wasn't a priest, but a man with a need and a desire that was so strong it could no longer be ignored.

He pressed her head down over him as she bobbed on his cock and she looked up at him with a bit of surprise when he forced her down and she gagged. He released her quickly and tried to apologize but she just smiled and went back to work to finish him off and it was the first time Harry had ever felt anything like it. To come at the hands of another.

He left quickly after with apologies and shame. The guilt that struck him was nearly enough to make him fly back to London and leave the priesthood for good. He cried to God and didn't allow himself to sleep in his bed or eat for three days.

He tried to avoid Mrs. Brockton but the following week she came to him in the confessional and he knew it was her when she uttered her first word. He would never forget her voice or her perfume.

"I've sinned, Father. I've cheated on my husband. Took an attractive younger man's penis into my mouth and swallowed his seed down. And the worst part is how much I enjoyed it and how much I wish it could happen again."

He listened to her describe the blowjob and his breathing deepened. He became angry but he was horny too.

"Enough. Stop it. You've been very bad and you've tricked a young man into sinning. You are like Eve in the Garden of Eden. A temptress and a sinner."

Mrs. Brockton stayed quiet as Harry's demeanor changed from his usual kind and warm manner to something darker and dominating.

Harry's mouth was nearly watering at the lustful things he was thinking and his dick was hard. God if only he could have controlled that side of himself at that moment. He continued, "You will need to pray on your knees to God for your salvation and for the young man who you've tempted and tricked. Right now."

It happened so fast. Harry was unlocking the little hook to the door and pulling Mrs. Brockton into his side of the box. He pushed her down and made her pray in between his legs (the little confessional box was a tight fit so Harry had to open his legs up to allow Mrs. Brockton space to get on her knees). She pressed her hands together and began praying as Harry took his penis out and wrapped his hand around himself, pumping his cock as she kept her head down.

When she began to repeat a prayer of forgiveness Harry yanked her by her hair and brought her mouth to the crown of his cock, "Keep praying," he said as he pushed her down onto him and threw his head back. She licked and sucked as Harry kept his hands in her hair to control her pace.

Before he could come she shoved at him and gasped when his dick was pulled out of her throat, "Father Harry, please..." she said as she stood and lifted her skirt and climbed into his lap. She took his hand and brought it down to her panties, "Feel this. Have you ever felt a woman when she's wet before? Wet from lust?"

Harry was speechless. He let Mrs. Brockton guide his fingers under her panties and feel her pubic hair and her wet crease. She moved his hand up and down so he could really feel it and he let out a small gasp when she brought his hand up to her mouth and sucked on his finger.

"Would you like to feel it on your big cock?" She said as she rubbed his foreskin and squeezed his shaft in her palm.

Harry shook his head no so she began to move off his lap at his answer, but he grasped her hips and held her still so she couldn't move off of him. He closed his eyes as he pulled her up to him and she rubbed herself on him. He felt her hair meet his shaft and then the wetness it left behind. Harry grasped onto her bottom and pushed her in closer and he let out the smallest whimper.

Harry was fighting with himself. An internal battle that had begun years ago, and now, it would be so easy to let it just happen. But the guilt was not as strong as the lust and the need he had at that moment.

"May I Father?" She said as she brushed her mouth on his and lifted herself upward. He didn't respond so she only brushed his tip into her folds and placed him at her entrance, never sinking down onto him but letting him feel his crown at her wet hole, "All you have to do is push it in, that's my opening and it's wet and warm, and ready for you."

He had been so close but he pushed her off at the last second. He was not the same after that.

In fact, the next time they saw one another it was Harry who went to her. He'd gotten condoms (he stole them actually, as the person at the register knew who he was and he couldn't get caught with condoms - just another thing to add to his list of sins) because he had planned for it this time. He couldn't deny it any longer and he knew Mrs. Brockton was willing and wouldn't say a word. Mr. Brockton had left town and when Harry showed up at her door she smiled and knew why he was there.

She sucked him off first and he came in under two minutes. Then she laid herself out on her bed and spread her legs for him and walked him through cunnilingus, “I’ll show you how to eat, Harry.” Harry was eager and horny and he was good. He didn't make her come the first time, but he got her nice and wet, and then she showed him how to put the condom on.

The moment he sunk his cock inside of Mrs. Brockton he coughed out a moan and his heart pounded out of his chest.

She praised him as he pushed in and pulled out, slowly then a little harder and a little faster. She complimented his big dick and moaned his name loudly. She encouraged him to look down at where they were connected and when he did he came into his condom with a groan.

But their affair didn't stop there. Harry visited Mrs. Brockton often and she knew where to find him as well. When he learned to control his orgasm, to hold out longer he became even kinkier, reliving all of his dreams and fantasies. Mrs. Brockton encouraged him to put his hand around her throat in his rectory when he fucked her against his desk.

The first time he spanked her she was surprised because he'd done it without being prompted. She liked it. So did he.

They maintained a quiet affair for about six months. Harry wavered between hating himself and loving his new self.

On an evening when Harry was very needy and horny Mrs. Brockton couldn't see him because her husband was home. That was the first time Harry began researching where he could go for sex without it being a proustite situation. There were clubs in Milwaukee and Chicago and even Kenosha, Wisconsin. His research led him to a sex club in Chicago where he found many willing participants. Chicago was nearly two and a half hours away but the club was discreet and far enough away that he felt like he'd never run into anyone that went to his church.

It was at the club that he learned he was dominant and preferred his partners to be submissive. He learned a lot from Mrs. Brockton, but in the years following their affair, he learned even more by going to the club and meeting people.

Occasionally he'd bring them back with him. He'd tell them his situation, that he was a priest, and some really liked that. Others wouldn't touch it. But the ones who liked it and still wanted him only gave him more confidence to do what his worldly self desired.

The longer he could keep someone around (which was never very long because most had jobs and lives to get back to) the easier it became for him to forgive himself.

And the more he forgave himself, the more he enjoyed himself. He realized he had very little resistance when it came to people wanting to fuck him. He learned he was very appealing and attractive to most which fed his ego.

He would go through short periods of fasting from sex and his desires, but each time he went back into it, he got deeper into the things he enjoyed. He bought a cage and a bar with cuffs that hung in his room. People liked when he punished them. Harry liked to punish people and tell them what to do.

One young man, Arthur, he kept for much longer than the others. Arthur didn't need to work because he was born into money. And Arthur was very pretty and submissive. He connected well with him, but every now and then, Arthur would do something that Harry just didn't like. So he would punish Arthur but he never seemed to learn. Harry didn't mind the occasional brat, but Arthur was a brat more often than not. In fact, one time, Harry had a small group over as he normally did on Sunday afternoons and occasionally during the week for prayer. Arthur was tied up and gagged and placed in the cage during the hour-long meeting. But Arthur thought it might be funny to make a little noise in hopes of getting a really bad punishment.

Harry knew Arthur would get risky sometimes so tying him up and gagging him was necessary when he had guests.

But Arthur was able to push his elbow against the back wall of the cage, making a muted thudding noise.

The guests could all hear it and one of them asked what the noise was. Harry was hoping they wouldn't notice it.

He made up a quick lie about a water pipe that began knocking, which would be fixed soon.

The moment his guests left, Harry stormed into his bedroom, untied Arthur, and drove him to the train station to go back to Winnetka where he lived. He explained that it just wasn't working.

Arthur was quite upset, but so was Harry. Harry really did like him a lot. They got along well and the sex was better than he'd ever had so it was very disappointing that it didn't work.

But then, he met Y/n. Harry had gotten pretty good at recognizing when someone was naturally submissive. He saw her in the congregation and felt something immediately. He wasn't sure until he learned more about her and got to know her, but he had not been disappointed at all. Y/n turned out to be exactly what he'd been searching for.

And Harry was exactly what Y/n needed just the same.

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[aethon-recs]

HP Rec Fest, Day 30 ❄️

Happy new year!! This is the last post for the @hprecfest daily prompts for which I'll be reccing fic, so the complete list of Tomarrymort daily recs for this month is listed in its entirety below! The 31st prompt is "a fav amongst favs", which I am physically incapable of narrowing down to a handful of fics, so I'll just end on Day 30 🤍

Thank you to the fest mods for suggesting such lovely prompts and running such a well-organized fest — what a great idea to celebrate the fantastic writing found in this fandom, and I found myself with tons of great new fics to read, particularly in other ships and rarepairs that I would have never come across otherwise!

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Day 30: A Pre-Canon Fic

Reconciling with Death by Madame_Psychosis (M, 26k, complete)

Summary: Featuring a dead girl in a forest, little-soldier-boys, some tenuous grasps on reality, straw mothers, a ghost in a bathroom and, slowly and sadly, kindness from a boy who’s just passing through time. Why I rec it for this prompt: A really unique take on Harry travelling back in time to 1941 to Tom's school days. I love the non-linear style that this fic is written in, which really enhances the build-up of the murder mystery and all the psychological suspense.

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Animus, Anima by @maiathoustra (M, 145k, complete)

Summary: In limbo, Harry doesn't choose to go back to the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort. He makes another decision and finds himself in a baby's body: little Tom Riddle. Years pass that intimately bind the orphan and his imaginary friend into a hopeless and incestuous relationship. Indeed, all the odd events of Tom Riddle's life happen in spite of Harry's presence: could he be the one who provokes them? Why I rec it for this prompt: Another unique take on Harry being sent back in time, this time as a disembodied voice in Tom's head as the most important part of his journey from childhood to when he becomes Lord Voldemort. An incredible exploration on what it means for two souls to love each other so intensely, and the ending is absolutely gutting in a beautiful way. Definitely have tissues on hand for this long, beautiful, angsty read!

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HP rec fest December recs:

Day 1: Favorite under 5k | Such a Noble Villain Day 2: Comfort Fic | In Somno Veritas | Ouroboros Day 3: Podfic | a taste so good (i'd die for it) Day 4: Fic with Art | A Soulmate Like You Day 5: A Non-AO3 Fic | The Anti-Midas Day 6: Unreliable Narrator Fic | Anabiosis Day 7: A Canon-Compliant Fic | In Your Soul is Sealed a Pleasure Day 8: A Canon-Divergence Fic | Thirst Day 9: A Rare Pair Fic | dust in your pocket | A Breed Apart Day 10: A Fest Fic | In Your Image Day 11: A Dark Fic | As Portioned from a Whole Day 12: A WIP Rec | Lover's Spit | Revolution of Configured Stars Day 13: A Fic >100k Words | One Year In Every Ten | if we were lovers Day 14: A Favorite Series | The Immortal Duties of Lord Voldemort Day 15: The Most Recent Bookmark | Creatures of the Dark we are Day 16: A Fic that Made You Laugh | Make a Wish | Do You Want Fries with That? Day 17: A Fic that Made You Cry | We Still Have Time Day 18: A Fairy Tale-Inspired Fic | Until Midnight Comes  Day 19: Fic with the Hottest Smut | Prison Blues Day 20: A Fic Rated 'G' | Fingers Crossed Day 21: A Thought-Provoking Fic | on the other side Day 22: An Unfinished Fic | In Death, Standby Day 23: A Soulmate Fic | the demiurge, the leontoeides Day 24: A Holiday Fic | A Sky Full of Stars Day 25: A Fic Rated 'T' | Accidents happen Day 26: A Fic with a Memorable Ending | i’ve missed you, my boy Day 27: A Muggle AU Fic | found Day 28: An Underrated Fic | your love is like rhinestones (falling from the sky) Day 29: A Post-Canon Fic | The Other Path Day 30: A Pre-Canon Fic | Reconciling with Death | Animus, Anima

[tpwkwriter]

helloooo, you are like one of my fave writers!! I am requesting one with lhh where the reader feels very insecure and harry is comforting her and telling her she is absolutely beautiful and how in love he is with her and how he remembers the first time he saw her he knew she was the one and that he had never seen any one so breathtaking. And then they start kissing and it slowly escalates till harry tells he "let me show you how beautiful you are" or smth like that i dont really know and then the after careeee!!! OMG I WOULD DIEEE. Could you please write that?? THANK YOUUU!!!

Baby your perfect.

Omg! Thank you for your lovely words it always means the world 🤭

And yessss! This concept!! 🫢 and lhh 😩

Im a tad sucky on writing smut/smutty-ish stuff so I hope this works for you and you enjoy! 🤎

Also this absolutely no hate to any of these women mentioned!!!! Especially Kendall Jenner/kardashians for story purposes only!! 👑

*Warnings*- struggling with body image, low self esteem, language, hint towards smut and adultish themes! ✌🏻

Y/n’s Life had felt like it’s been on the right track for a while now.

She’s finally enjoying her career, her friendships have never been better, her relationship with H is the her pride and joy, hence them nearing there 5 year anniversary.

The only downside to all of this is her social media.

Ever since a young age y/n struggled with social media and unrealistic beauty standards.

And when your boyfriends exes include the Looks of: Kendall Jenner, Taylor swift, Camille rowe, that feeling of ‘Not good enough’ Never really goes away.

Y/n found herself in there shared bathroom gazing at the mirror before her wondering why she looked the way she did.

She really wondered what H saw in her, all the models and actresses and he chose her.

She examined her body, suddenly getting this feeling that she felt when she was 15 wondering why she wasn’t as pretty as the other girls in school.

Apart from she was and she didn’t even know.

She spotted every insecurity, from the stretch marks around her hips, to the scars and marks she developed on her body.

Tears begun to form in the corner of her eyes, her reflection became unbearable.

She wanted to forget this night had even started like this.

She cosied in her shared bed awaiting Harry’s return from the studio, she pulled out her phone ready to text her love, when her twitter notifications distracted her.

Mistakenly she clicked on the app, and was left feeling lower then she already had.

“Former kardashian and Jenner star admitted to pleading for another chance with singer and songwriter Harry styles!”

She clicked on the thread to be greeted with many images and gifs of her.

Her perfect figure, eyes, face, everything, she had everything.

And that’s what Harry deserved, he deserves it all.

Without even thinking y/n finds herself angrily throwing her brush against the wall out of anger.

“Baby?” A familiar voice called.

‘Fuck’ she though to herself.

He’s home

“Y’alright darling” he said, voice getting louder and closer.

“M’Fine” she sighed, trying her best to hide her tears.

There shared room door gets pushed open.

“Baby” he gently Said.

“H”

“What’s going on?” He said placing his jacket on the back of the vanity chair and toeing his trainers off.

“Nothing” she said forcing a smile to persuade the man.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing” he said raising an eyebrow and joining her next to her on the bed.

She remained quiet, thinking of how to play this out.

“Baby, Jus’ me y’know its okay” he said running a hand through his long curly locks.

“I don’t understand why your with me” she breathes, avoiding eye contact.

“Y/n?” He asked confused as hell.

“Baby, where is this Coming from? What?” He asks placing his ringed hand on her exposed thigh.

“You don’t deserve me H” she said finally breathed making cold eye contact with him.

“You deserve someone prettier, skinner, and overall better, than..whatever i am” she Said tears threatening to leave her eyes.

“Baby Girl” he asks manoeuvring his palms up to girls cheeks and pulling her in closer.

“Where is this coming from?, y’my girl, my gorgeous girl” he said heart almost breaking at the sight and sound of his girl.

“Kendall” she mumbles, tears finally falling.

“Kendall?” He asks eyebrows knitted together.

“She wants You back H, and now the whole world knows it” she quietly cries leaning her forehead on his.

He finally gets it, it adds up all in his head.

“Baby” he speaks, pressing a kiss to her cold lips.

“Fuckin’ hell” he says kissing her cheek replacing the salty tears.

“Y’really think, I want her huh?” He smiles

“My silly girl” he sniffs, trying to make light of this situation.

He removes his hands and opened his arms signalling for her to get in.

She sits on his lap, almost koala style with both legs wrapped around his waist and both arms over his shoulders.

“Now that you’ve got me, y’won’t be getting rid of me” he said dancing his fingertips on her back.

“I just…I don’t get it” she sniffed

“Why me” she mumbled, snuggling her face into his neck.

“Why you huh?” He breathed

“Well, the first time saw you, the thing I saw was not only y’beauty, but m’future, m’life, Ive Never met someone as breathtaking as you m’love Call me a sap, but y’my muse now” he gently said.

“Not Kendall, Not no one else, jus’ you” he said kissing the side of Face.

“Can y’look at me darling?” He whispered.

She happily complied, lifting her face from his neck and revealing her beautiful glossy eyes but now with a small smile to her face.

“I love you” he says kissing her lips hard and straight forward.

“Y’never to forget that”

“Love you too H, I’m sorry for being silly” she smiles

“None of tha’ i get it”

Without being able to finish properly, the girl crashes her lips on his.

“I’m so in love with you” she mumbles against his lips.

“Y’make me crazy baby” he smirks

“Please Baby, let me Show you How much y’mean to me” he says going in again.

“Show How beautiful You Are angel”

“Mmhmm” she nods

— — — — —

The Girl lies hazily in there bathtub of there en-suite bathroom, reminiscing on tonight’s events.

God she was grateful to have H, no matter what rut she finds herself in, he manages to no matter what pull her out.

“Hey beautiful girl” he said coming in pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Fresh sheets and tea on the bedside” he said while placing the girls fresh Pyjamas ( his hoodie and Boxers) on the closed toilet lid.

“Thank you baby”

“I’ll join you in a sec” she added

“Take y’time love”

Once y/n’s bath was done, she slipped into her boyfriends clothes he prepared for her, and reunited with her lover in there shared bed.

“Y’feeling okay m’honey?” He asks putting his phone down and leaning into his girl.

“Mmhmm” she hummed slipping under the soft sheets.

“Y’the best” she sighed.

“Mm certainly am” he smirked.

“Ugh great I just fed your ego more” she joked playfully rolling her eyes.

“There’s my y/n back” he smiled pressing a kiss to her temple.

— — — — —

Again thank your for your request and please, please tell me of this is any good! 😩 again I’m sorry for skimming the smutty Part Bit im so awkward writing it 😭 love love loveeee you all ❤️

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina! A lot of Larries say that Louis' public image is fake and is the result of being closeted, and that the real Louis is who we saw back in 2011. They say that his smoking, drinking, manspreading, fashion, interests, inspirations, friends etc are all tied to his chav image. That he lies in interviews (like about not wearing nail polish, about drinking alcohol), that him hanging around with The Smuts and idolizing Liam Gallagher is part of his chav image. They seem hopeful that one day he'll change and go back to 2011 Louis. But could it be that Louis' early 1D image was exaggerated? They all had roles and he was marketed as 'the gay one'. He is still flamboyant and he has gained a lot of confidence over his tour but I don't know if he will ever go back to how he was because maybe that wasn't entirely him. His 'chav' image is part of him, people who grow up in Doncaster tend to act like that.

Hi sugar. “A lot of larries” is an exaggeration, in my opinion. There’s a very loud group of people (most of whom I see regularly on Twitter, but maybe they’re here, too) who think this way. As far as I’m concerned, it’s ignorant and super insulting to Louis.

To a certain extent, every celebrity’s public persona is fake. They’re products to be sold. We know a version of Louis Tomlinson. Who he was in 2011/12 was an aspect of who he was at the time. He was also 18-20 years old. He’s closing in on 31 now. If he was still the same as he was a decade ago, I’d really be concerned about him.

Louis was never marketed as “The Gay One”. He was allowed to be much more stereotypically flamboyant at the time, but I think that really was who he was then. He might have been allowed or encouraged to continue with that if Simon saw having a gay member of the band would be profitable. But his relationship with Harry changed everything.

Regardless, I think some people believe a guy who drinks and smokes and curses and wears tracksuits and hangs out with rock bands can’t possibly be who Louis is because that’s not their idea of what a queer man is. Or that’s not how they want him to be because they like the idea of bratty loulou in a crop top and belly ring. Or they’re comparing him to how Harry shows his queerness. Or they think who he is now has to be something enforced on him because he was different in the early days of the band and seemed to have his flamboyance curtailed through media training.

Louis has spoken often about being proud of his Doncaster background, proud to be working class, and yeah… that sort of background fits the image of the sort of music he’s making now, but I still feel like it’s very much an authentic part of who he is. That’s not to say that he’s not still flamboyant. But from what I’ve observed over the years, Louis’ flamboyance has never been shown by wearing dresses or painting his nails, and even when he was at his “twinkiest”, he was never that sort of flamboyant gay man. It just bothers me that so many people think that that would be the only way to authentically show his queerness when, in fact, we know that his “chav” style of dressing is actually very, very queer.