#harry ofc

[justsmth2]

I was rereading poa and got carried away

[bbugspray]

Harry being possessive of his satellite is so…. Heh.. heheheee. I know that when they partied, they partied HARD

[trashy-raccoonz]

kimharry getting groceries tgt but instead they melt because of the heat, send post

also i might have gotten carried away and did a lil follow up comic....

[stareggie]

james: go big or go home

remus: i’m begging you. james. for once in your life, go home. please, just this once. go. home.

james: *whispering* i’m going big

[coffinwoodx]

couple of screenshots of kim’s wikipedia page that i felt so deeply in my soul

[that-bitch-kat3]

sirius calls lily red and lily calls sirius black and they are besties

[fury161]

portraits for a de au i think about a little bit

[sleyu]

no thoughts just mean!bf remus mocking your cries n whimpers as he fucks into you n tells you how desperate you are for him

i genuinely needed to sit down and stare at my phone for a good two minutes to process this i am going crazy.

he would be so, so, so mean. the gag is that he’s the one who initiates everything and is, in fact, equally if not more desperate. but, mean ! remus loves ignoring this and instead, mocks you for your every cry and whine.

remus’ cock is so big, both in length and width. every time he’s inside you, it feels like the first time all over again because his size is just so overwhelming. remus sometimes feels bad for doing this, but his cock throbs at the sight of you struggling to take him and he often loses self-control and meanly laughs in your face when you cry out at the feeling of him suddenly pushing into you. every time you would tell him to slow down, he’d only go faster, laughing breathlessly at your whines and the tears on your cheeks.

‘telling me to stop but i’m sure you like this, don’t you, baby? cunt’s so fuckin’ wet.’

‘does it hurt, dove? thought you said you could take me?’

just imagine remus calling you his fussy little baby; every time you paw at his thighs, attempting to tell him that you need him while he’s studying, he’d just sigh in annoyance and bend you over his desk to fuck you stupid :( i don’t know if remus would slap you or not, but he would definitely tug your hair to force you to look up at him every time he takes you from behind !

‘is that what you needed, hm? all you fuckin’ think about is getting filled up—is this what my baby needed? such a fuckin’ brat, no patience at all.’

he genuinely has to control himself from busting inside you at the sight of your wobbly lips and furrowed eyebrows, paired with your teary eyes and the quiet mewls coming out from your mouth. you just look so fucked out and cute, he has to resist leaning down and peppering kisses all over your face.

i know this is a little unhinged but all i’ve been thinking about is remus fucking you in your childhood bedroom and calling you gross and disgusting for enjoying it when he ruins you as your parents are downstairs.

‘fuck—imagine what they’d say when they see their little girl slutting herself out like this. i’ve completely ruined you, haven’t i? no longer their innocent baby, are you, honey?’ BRRRRR i need psychiatric help.

[gottabewolfstar]

wonderful commission I made for @lexithwrites ♡

[loopnoid]

scoobies + a little spike i left in my little sister's sketchbook >:)

[incorrectquotesconaisseur]

this being the only time harry calls dale by his first name is actually diabolical and it breaks my heart

[lokischocolatefountain]

Not Interested | A Materialists fic

Fandom: Materialists

Pairing: Harry Castillo x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2.2k words

Summary: Some people don’t want more. Hearts broken from previous relationships, you and Harry are not interested in more. But in each other…? That’s a different thing.

Tags: Meet cute, Reader is grieving, Harry got dumped, mild angst, Reader is bi and has hair, canon non-compliant since the movie isn’t even out

A/N: Finally! Pedro in a romance (SWOL scenes were shorter than I hoped). It’s late considering he has the perfect face to make literally anyone fall in love with him. I got the idea for this fic when we all breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing his name is Harry Castillo and not Randy. This is set in a world where Dakota Johnson chooses Chris Evans over Pedro.

⌘ ⌘ ⌘

“Listen… Randy, right? I’m not interested in you.”

“It’s not Randy,” he said, turning around in his bar stool and looking you up and down. His tongue darted out, licking his plush bottom lip and he gave you the faintest smile. “But thanks for letting me know.”

“Shit,” you cursed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sorry. I thought— My friend set me up with someone and I was supposed to meet him here and I thought it was you. Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he said, still not turning away from you. He looked good under the golden light of the upscale bar where your friend told you to meet Randy. ‘You’ll know him when you see him’ was her response when you asked for a picture of the guy. Dude was probably ugly or old.

“So…this Randy is so terrible you’ve already decided you aren’t interested?”

“It’s not really about Randy,” you said, climbing into the chair adjacent to his for no reason. You had no intention of picking a guy up at a bar that night, set up by a friend or not. It was a week night and you should’ve left. Your suit was uncomfortable, your hair was a mess from being under a hard hat and your shoes had traces of sand from the work site. If you weren’t a regular there, you would’ve been denied entrance. Politely.

The man raised a hand and waved a bartender over. “A drink for the lady on me.”

“Oh I can’t—”

“Can be water or a cola. For the trouble you went through to see this guy.”

“Oh well. A gin and tonic, please,” you said, knowing it was a much better choice than a glass of wine all alone in your house with your girlfriend’s cat that hated you.

“Tough day?” He asked.

“Tough week.”

“It’s Tuesday, darling.”

“I didn’t have a weekend.”

“Yet you look stunning.”

“Uh huh?” You said, studying him. “That work for you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t use the same line all the time. I work on a case by case basis.”

“Mmm. So you admit it’s a line.”

“Randy’s loss, my gain,” he said with a shrug.

He was fucking beautiful, you realized when you relaxed into your seat, your feet no longer attempting to drag you away. He had dark curls styled neatly, a greying beard that was charming despite being patchy. His eyes were a deep brown, shiny like those bobas kids had in their teas these days. The only other person with eyes like— well shit, if that dipshit cat Scooter knew you thought of it as a person, it would only lord over you even more. Scooter had similar dark eyes it used to manipulate you into doing absolutely everything.

When he turned, you caught the shape of his nose and fuck if it looked good. Big and bold with a curve that made him look like a statue unearthed from the ruins of Ancient Rome. A good place to sit if you were looking for one.

You scoffed, looking away from him as you accepted the gin and tonic with a quiet thanks.

“What are you hoping to gain, exactly?”

“Nothing you don’t want to give,” he said, his eyes darting down to your lips. You gripped the glass tight in your hands. It had been a while since you were around such attention. Well. There were some but none you bothered registering as attention.

“I’m good just seeing your pretty face until we finish our drinks and never see each other again.”

Simple enough. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but you appreciated the honesty. “To never seeing each other again?” You said, raising your glass.

“To never seeing each other again,” he said, raising his.

“So… why are you here drinking alone? At least I have an excuse.”

“You’re not drinking alone,” he said. “You’re drinking with me. And your excuse is that you came to a bar to reject a guy you can’t even find?”

“It’s rude to stand someone up. I have manners. And clearly, Randy doesn’t. And what kind of name is Randy anyway,” you huffed, taking a sip of your drink. Here you were as agreed upon despite being tired and wanting to do nothing but drink enough to fall asleep so you could work tomorrow. But fucking Randy was nowhere to be seen.

You knew everyone at the bar. It was the exclusive sort, entry restricted to people in a certain tax bracket— those who made enough to be taxed little to nothing. No one you could meet there would be interesting outside of work. It was the sort of place you went to for networking, not for fucking. Or romance. Not that you were looking for it. Something Gemma really wanted for you when she set you up.

“You’ve only talked to me since you arrived. Randy could be anyone here.”

“Oh, I know this place,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “And I know everyone here. Black shirt there holds enough shares in Blackrock to be guillotined for the impending housing crisis. Bald guy flirting with that poor girl in the corner has a trad wife content creator who funds his failing businesses.”

“She looks young enough to be his daughter.”

“He’s not that old. Just unbelievably ugly.”

He snorted, “What about the old guy in the leather jacket?”

“He owns the building so he comes over all the time. Tried to hit on me and my girlfriend poorly once. And he’s old enough to actually to be my father.”

He asked you about others at the bar and you briefed him. At some point, you bought him a drink. Whiskey, neat. Same as what he had in hand when you very rudely mistook him for your date.

“And that’s why you were so sure I was Randy? Because you know everyone else here.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Take the debriefing as making up for my rudeness.”

“I would, but you haven’t told me about everyone in this bar.”

You scrunched up your nose at that, looking around the bar to see if you’d missed anyone.

“Who? I’ve told you about everyone here except the staff.”

“You haven’t told me about the beautiful woman in the navy suit,” he said, nodding to you. You should roll your eyes. Be rude or refuse to tell him about yourself. But your behind remained glued to the seat.

“I run a construction business. What about you, stranger?”

“Real Estate. Maybe we could do business together.”

“Yeah? Is this how you find people to do business with?”

“Not very sustainable to only find business with women who reject me.”

“Are you always this cocky?”

“Oh always, but especially when a woman rejects me before introducing herself.”

“I was rejecting Randy.”

He whispered your nickname, a name only your friends and family used. You hadn’t told him that. Hadn’t introduced yourself at all. He smiled apologetically, his big brown eyes in full force to endear you further to him.

“It’s Harry, by the way. Harry Castillo. Gemma calls me Randy because of an unfortunate incident in Intro to Project Management.”

“You lied to me!”

“And you were very rude. What a way to introduce yourself to someone,” he said with a shrug.

“I did say it’s not about Randy— you. I was in a long term relationship until recently and I’m just not looking for anything serious now.”

“I’m not either. I’m fresh out of a serious relationship and I came here only because Gemma insisted.”

“She’s allergic to staying out of people’s business.”

“Tell me about it,” he scoffed and the two of you shared a laugh.

You sighed, eyes darting all over his face. And elsewhere. He was built well. Tall enough, broad chest narrowing into a V at his waist. Arms that didn’t seem to be for vanity’s sake. He looked strong, not like a man getting a personal trainer and steroids for his mid life crisis. His hands were fucking huge. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he was holding a small glass. His fingers were thick and fuck it’d been so long and your vibrator was good but you missed a warm body against yours.

“So… what did a woman do to fumble you?” You asked.

“Cheated on me with a bartender ex who still has roommates.”

“Shit, that’d do it.”

“He turned out to be the love of her life, so…” he shrugged, his sad smile tugging at your heart. “How did you fumble yours?”

“Ouch. You think I fucked up?”

“Yeah. I don’t see anyone fumbling you,” he said, his thumb brushing his mustache as he gazed at

you appreciatively. “I mean, look at you.” He touched his bottom lip with his thumb and nodded towards you. From anyone else, the gesture would’ve felt sleazy. You shuddered under his eyes, a part of you glad that you could still feel things like this but another part feeling guilty. Like you were cheating.

“She fumbled me, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah? What did she do?”

You shrugged, a sad smile finding its way to your lips. “I proposed and she went and got cancer about it. I would’ve just accepted a no, like jeez what a drama queen.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low but not laced with the icky sympathy that made you angry and uncomfortable.

“It’s okay. Time has passed since she…” you trailed, clearing your throat and looking away. It felt strange talking about her to someone who never knew her. Strange to be talking to someone in a situation you wouldn’t have been if only she was still there.

“So that makes it two women I know who rejected you,” you said, needing to say something to clear the air of the dead girlfriend conversation. The more it lingered, the more uncomfortable it made people.

“Still only one, same as you. You rejected Randy, not me.”

“You are Randy!”

“You were having fun with me until you realized I’m Gemma’s friend. And what kind of name is Randy anyway,” he said, repeating your own words back to you.

You wanted to know what how he earned the name. Randy. You wanted to coax him into telling you his little secrets. See if he was just as interesting inside as he was outside. “Gemma isn’t such a terrible friend after all. Maybe we should listen to her.”

“That line often work for you?” You asked.

“Yeah, I tell pretty women we should fuck because my friend said so. Works out great.”

You laughed, but looked down at your lap, guilty you laughed so easily for someone who wasn’t her.

If Gemma trusted him… It was a safe option. One night and never see him again.

You leaned towards him and ran your hand up his arm from elbow to bicep. You stopped and gave him a squeeze, biting back a whimper when you felt how firm he was. You tilted your head a little and regarded him carefully, your voice low and sultry when you said, “I think we should fuck, Harry. My friend said we should.”

“Line works when you say it,” he said, bridging the distance between you. He looked into your eyes and then your lips and back at your eyes, a silent request for permission. Fueled by your two gins and tonic, you moved to kiss him.

Harry was a gentleman but was no prude. He kissed slowly but without hesitation, soft lips firm against yours. His mustache poked and tickled, a novel sensation not wholly bad. You allowed yourself to cup his cheek, your thumb drawing patterns into skin. A patch of skin without hair found you and you traced its shape as you relished in the taste of whiskey on his lips. It was different from kissing women, kissing her. It’d been so long since you kissed a man and you found you didn’t hate it. A large hand came up to your knee, caressing gently, and you gasped softly. For your part, you slid one hand over his arm, the other busying itself with the back of his neck.

You wanted to be closer, sit on his lap and press yourself against his chest. Soon, your hand made its way down his neck, landing on his chest. He moaned into the kiss as you explored him, all broad and hard muscle beneath his sweater that contradicted him with its softness. A tingle ran through your body when he touched a sensitive spot in the back of your neck. A whimper escaped you despite yourself and he seemed to have caught on. His thumb went over the spot slowly, repeatedly, and you gasped softly from the feeling. You pulled away, the first to need air. He smelled good, you realized when you remembered to breathe.

His eyes were studying you, really looking in a way that was too much. Too deep. You looked away, your heart beats hammering away in your ears.

Too much. Too much. Too much. But you resisted the urge to up and run.

She wouldn’t want you drinking yourself to sleep every night. Told you as much herself. Asked you to promise you’d try.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly and the space between them scrunched up, showing off lines of his age but also making those brown eyes more lethal.

“Harry?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you drive here?”

When he nodded, you said, “I’m going home now. You can follow me. No staying the night. Just…drive off when we’re done. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

⌘ ⌘ ⌘

Pedro Pascal character fics masterlist here

Follow my sideblog @chocofountain-notifs and turn the notifications on to be notified when I post fics

My ask box is open for Harry Castillo thoughts and headcannons

[becauseheartsgetbroken-hs]

🤨🤨

[nectorbruise]

Alternative Sophie Foster arrived in my dreams one time and I had to draw it. Thought that posting such an au on april fools day was a fun idea, so here y’go. Couldn’t decide on one strict style, so I just did whatever. Sorry i havent been posting that much, life has been eating me alive. And like, canonically, before the elvin world, she was basically emo. She only wore grey and black and listened to screamo. This is just an au of…she kept going with the dark aesthetic.

[siriuslygay1981]

Sirius-This is my best friend

Regulus-Oh haha you should hide him from me if u don't want me to flirt with him

Sirius -He's older than you?

Regulus-He don't gotta know that

Sirius-He's literally right here listening

*James making heart eyes at reg*

Regulus- We don't gotta tell anyone bbg

[tom-riddle-conoisseur]

Harry is the only person to love Tom's Cockney accent. He can't get enough of the accent slipping inadvertently when he was feeling sleepy or agitated, or apoplectic with rage. The sound of a desperate Tom whispering "Me 'Arry" in his ear when they are both about to come never failed to drive him into ecstasy.

The no-nonsense, unfiltered East End boy who was reduced to a skeleton in Tom's closet, vanquished, subdued and battered after years of steady and relentless gentrification, sometimes raised his pretty, defiant head, especially in Harry's presence. Much to Tom's mortification.

That, and Cockney had the word "cock" in it. How could it be anything other than hot?

P.S: Tom is astounded that Harry thinks his cursed Cockney twang, not his Parseltongue, is hot. Not for the first time, he wonders if he was dropped on his head when he was wee.