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cherrixpie · 2 months ago

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HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part three of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it. only, theo was starting to get reckless with your secret.

↬ sfw; angst + hurt/comfort; wc: 3.0k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor! reader

thank you for all the supportive comments! wait for part four for the big showdown...

( masterlist )

The streets of Hogsmeade were blanketed in a soft layer of snow, the air filled with the mingling scents of spiced cider and chocolate wafting from the shops. You tugged your scarf tighter against the biting wind, walking beside Harry while Ron and Hermoine trailed just behind, arguing about the practicality of enchanted earmuffs. The (way too) early christmas decorations hung from every storefront, casting warm, golden light onto the snow-covered cobblestones, and the faint sounds of caroling witches and wizards drifted down from somewhere near the Three Broomsticks.

“Can we stop at Honeydukes before we head back?” Ron asked, cutting off a string of heated reasons for her argument by Hermoine who glared at him darkly. “Honestly, Ron, that is your biggest concern? Buying chocolate frogs?”

Sharing a glance, both you and Harry rolled your eyes at their bickering. You chose to defend Ron, partly because if he hadn't proposed the trip to Honeydukes, you’d have. “It’s a valid concern. Not everyone can survive on determination and revision schedules, Hermione.”

The only response you received was a long sigh, audible even over the whistling wind. When a particularly strong squall almost knocked him against a house front, Harry cursed, glowering at the restless sky. “If the weather stays the same ‘til tomorrow's game, we’ll be knocked off our brooms before we can make Malfoy lose.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes at him. “Don't you mean, before we can win? Honestly, Harry, I think you’re approaching this very unproductively.” Ruffling a hand through his unruly hair, you smiled at his grim huff. “On the other hand, if petty hostility makes you fly better-”

“You’ve done this a lot lately,” Ron cut you off, earning another pissed look by Hermoine. “Defending them snakes.”

You had? Not that you had noticed, but yes, you may have subconsciously been a little defensive when your friends had badmouthed the Slytherins, seeing as you were dating one of the most sensitive and thoughtful people you knew, who happened to also be a Slytherin. “I am merely advocating for proportionality,” you mumbled, but your voice was picked up by a gust of wind, carried to the wrong ears.

You heard them before you saw them- a drawled out voice from behind, having the four of you turn on your heels. “Advocating for proportionality, are you, Potter? How very noble. I’m sure the world is thrilled to hear another Potter lecture.” A large group of Slytherins had been approaching from behind, unnoticed by all of you. Though shielded by green-bronze scarfs, you could make out the faces of your Slytherin classmates, as well as some sixth years. Flickering over the group, your eyes found Theo's and they locked in silent understanding. If you weren't mistaken, he gave you a little wink, but that might just as well have been a product of your imagination.

“That's rich,” Harry snarled back, ignoring your tugging at his robes to keep going. “Coming from you, Malfoy, who loves to hear himself talk so much he gets himself friends as silent listeners that applaud everything he says!”

Sensing an approaching conflict, you quickly counted the heads of the Slytherin group- you were looking at a four to ten ratio.

Red shot up into Malfoy’s cheeks and you caught a movement of his hand, sliding towards his wand. “Better be careful talking like that, Potter, didn't your parents ever reach you not to pick fights when you’re outmatched? Oh, wait,” he laughed gloatingly and you buried your hands in your brother’s robe in a preventive manner. “Guess they didn't have the chance before they were blown to bits!”

But your warning glare didn't only fix Harry, you had caught a dangerous look in Theo’s eyes as well. As if he had felt his eyes on you, he returned your gaze and his expression softened slightly. You breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

“LISTEN HERE, YOU TWAT!” Ron bellowed from next to you, shaking his clenched fists. Both you and Hermoine shot forward to hold him back, but you made the fatal mistake of letting go of your livid brother, who barged at Malfoy, not even bothering to pull out his wand. His fist collided with his face the moment Ron followed hot on his heels, tackling a surprised Zabini.

“Merlin,” Hermoine muttered and pulled out her wand. Neither of you got to join in the brawl, though, because a very exasperated Theo had strode forward, separated Blaise and Ron and jinxed both Drace and Harry in one move, making both of them jump back and stumble. Some of his friends groaned at him, deprived of the easy victory, but his infamous death glare brought upon them silence in an instant.

Before they could cause any more trouble, you ushered Ron and Harry back on their feet with Hermoine's help, hastily steering them away from the group.

“Hey, Potter!”

Both you and Harry turned around, but the Slytherin sixth year that had spoken was looking at you. “Spare us the moral superiority in the future. You’re as self-absorbed as your little Gryffindor gang. The way you talk, it’s no wonder you don’t have many friends outside Gryffindor. Who could stand you?”

Ouch.

The hurt must have been visible in your features for a second, because his friends howled and patted his shoulder in appreciation. Harry tensed under your grip, but you tightened it and pulled him along as you walked away, Hermoine and Ron hot on your heels.

The whistles and cackles of the group followed you all the way to Honeydukes. Neither of you spoke, Harry seemed to be fuming and you didn't dare say anything to set him off.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You weren't, and you looked at Hermoine apologetically. Instead of listening to whatever your friend had to say, your gaze had gotten lost somewhere at the Slytherin table. Particularly fixed on the dark haired boy in between Riddle and Malfoy, with the face of a brooding storm. Even from the far end of the great hall, you knew the expression as not simply his moodiness but simmering anger, meticulously controlled.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely and fixed your attention on Hermoine. “What were you saying?”

Sighing, Hermoine flipped open the evening edition of the daily prophet. Some snowflakes were still caught up in her hair, relics of your visit to Hogsmeade. “You’re awfully distracted. Is it because of what that idiot Langley said?”

“Who?” you asked, even though you knew exactly who she meant. His comment had hurt you, but it was nothing you wouldn't get over. No, what held your attention in a vice-like grip that felt oh so gentle was your dear secret boyfriend who, at this exact moment, rose from his seat at the Slytherin table, undoubtedly going for a smoke to the astronomy tower.

Hermoine passed your question over, opting to pretend to read the newspaper as you could feel her careful eyes on you. “He’s in the hospital wing, you know? Langley, I mean.”

“Did he choke on his spite?” You asked absentmindedly, swirling your fork through your soup as your eyes followed Theo leaving the Great Hall. The elegance of his long strides, his upright posture, the bounce of his dark curls. It was probably as good a time as ever to realize that you were utterly and irreversibly in love with that man.

“He got hexed, nobody knows by whom. But they contemplated sending him to St. Mungos, seems like he was hexed within an inch of his life,” Hermoine explained and a realization dawned on you. An image flashed before your waking eye- Theo's expression when you had shoved Harry away. You did believe him capable of hexing Langley into St. Mungos. But you also believed him capable of a high level of intelligence that was missing from this situation.

“Was he?” you asked in a neutral voice and Hermoine nodded, no longer pretending to be interested in the newspaper. “Rumor has it that Nott hexed him, but no eye witnesses have confirmed it to the teachers. Too scared of him and his friends, probably.”

You gave up on your fruitless attempts to transport the soup to your mouth. Abruptly, you stood up and shouldered your bag with a little more force than necessary. “I think I’m going to head to the astronomy tower, I still need to finish some star charts for Professor Sinistra.”

The heavy wooden door of the astronomy tower slammed open when you marched through forcefully, the sound echoing through the chilly, starlit space. Theo didn't flinch as you slammed your bag onto the ground. He was, of course, already there, leaning against the stone wall, cigarette perched between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the dark. It illuminated his face that was calm, almost indifferent. But the sharp line of his jaw gave him away. He’d been waiting for this.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” you snapped, marching toward him with a heaving chest, partly from your run up the stairs, partly of fury. “What were you thinking, hexing Langley in broad daylight, in front of half the school if you can believe the rumors? Are you trying to get us caught?”

Theo exhaled slowly, smoke curling around his face like a shield. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, voice low and infuriatingly composed. “That guy deserved worse for what he said to you.”

You’d be lying if his dangerous dark eyes and the gravely tone of his voice didn't do something for you, paired with the fact that he had sent someone to the Hospital wing for you. But that wasn't the point right now. “You were reckless, Theo. What will your friends think? That you just snapped on a whim and decided to hospitalize the guy you hung out with?”

“They’ll trust that I have my reasons,” Theo said smoothly, making not attempts to step closer to your heaving form or meet your eye.

“And what if they believe that reason is me?” you challenged him. When he looked up, your eyes locked and the intensity of his gaze knocked the breath right out of your lungs.

“Then they do,” he simply said, making you gasp in protest. With a flick of his wrist, golden embers rained from his cigarette. “It would not be the end of the world. You wouldn't care, would you?” His gaze grew sharper and you felt utterly disarmed. “You only care that your brother and your Griffindor friends don't find out you’re dating a Slytherin.”

“I know where you’re going with this,” you pressed through pursed lips. “And it's not fair. If you were ready to admit to everyone you’re seeing the Chosen One’s sister, you’d already have.”

The force with which Theo stepped forward caught you off guard. Stopping in front of you, he leaned down and a cloud of smoke pulled you in. “I’ll do it,” he whispered to you, watching your reaction closely. “I’ll go right now and shout it from the fucking rooftops.” Crooking his head, he took a step back. “But you wouldn't want that, would you?”

You didn't answer, because you knew he was right. It was you who was trying to keep this relationship quiet, but it wasn't like you didn't have your reasons. One of them being how your friends would react, sure, but since Theo’s father was a death eater, the Order could see you as a liability as well.

Theo called your name and as if on command, you looked up at him. The cigarette lay glowing on the floor, he hadn't even bothered to smother the embers with his boot. “Are you ashamed of me?” There was a guarded vulnerability in his voice. So rare that you could do nothing but stare at him for a few seconds. Theo waited patiently, but he watched every little change of expression.

“I’m not,” you finally managed to say after you found your voice. You took a pleading step towards him, but he took one back as if on chance. “Are you sure?” he asked and a hint of bitterness laced his composed voice. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re fine with me being your dirty little secret.”

“You’re- you’re not-,” you stammered, your insides were squeezing painfully with the look he gave you. “Theo, you have to understand my situation here! I mean, you didn't even attempt to! You don’t understand what it’s like, Theo. I can’t just… parade this around. Harry, Ron, Hermione-they’d never let it go. And don’t get me started on the rest of Gryffindor!”

A humorless laugh escaped his throat. “You’re an idiot.” Flinching at his tone, you took a step back, but he stalked towards you predatorily. “Do you think you’re the only one who is under pressure here? Last time I checked, the people you answer to aren't ruthless murderers.”

He was right, you knew he was right. But there was a small, defiant part of you that just didn't want to accept it. “Just because you’re ready to tell them doesn't mean I am. They all see me as this perfect girl. I don’t get to make mistakes.”

This goddamn raised eyebrow that managed to stun anyone to silence appeared on his beautiful face. “And I’m the mistake, is that it? Great to know where I stand, Potter.”

“I didn't say that!” you protested, running your hands through your hair in frustration. Theo smiled bitterly. “You didn’t have to. You’d rather keep this quiet, pretend it’s not happening, because being with me doesn’t fit your perfect Gryffindor image.”

Anger started to bubble up in your chest once more and you clenched your fists, infuriated by his seemingly indifferent calm. “You think this is easy for me? Sneaking around, lying to my friends? If they found out about us, they’d never trust me again!” Your breath got caught in your throat as your voice grew quiet. “You don’t get it, Theo. I can’t afford to mess this up. People expect me to be perfect, and being with you… it’s not the safe choice. But it’s my choice, okay? Doesn’t that mean something?”

With an abrupt turn, Theo walked towards the railing and turned his back to you. A ruffle, a click, a soft golden glow and finally, a cloud of smoke rising from his figure as if he was burning from the inside. His voice was so hushed you had trouble understanding it, drawing closer but still keeping your distance. “You know, for someone so stubborn, you’re really bad at fighting with me.”

“That’s because I don’t want to fight with you.” you said imploringly, taking tentative steps toward him. Though he most certainly noticed even the most quiet of sounds, he didn't turn around. A long sigh left Theo’s lips and a large puff of smoke rose up to the stars. “Neither do I.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” you asked, fiddling with your fingers. “I know I’m not handling this the way you deserve.”

Finally, Theo turned around to you and you were taken aback by the sudden vulnerability in his expression. Theo’s features were often closed off, hard to read, unmovable. But now, his eyes were heavy with emotion- a mix of regret and sadness, though a light smile played along his lips. “I’m not asking for perfect. I’m just asking for you to … trust me.”

You closed the distance between you and Theo exhaled the last puff of smoke into the chilly night air before he stepped on his cigarette. His arms reached for you and you almost threw yourself into them. You hated fighting. Once around you, his hold tightened and you felt your face pressed up against his warm chest. The tremble of an exhale left your lips as you closed your eyes and relaxed in his hold. “I do, Theo. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I wouldn’t be doing this- any of this- if I didn’t think you were worth it.”

You only got a soft rumble of his chest in response. His smell surrounded you, clouded you, and you thought to yourself you might get addicted to cigarettes if he kept smelling like them. “This might be a bad time for stuff like that, but… I've never felt like this about anyone.”

When you lifted your head from his chest, you found him already looking at you. And you had to appreciate how he must have turned down every wall he had so carefully constructed around himself to look at you with such a raw expression. “Me neither,” he almost breathed, locking your fingers. He shook his head disapprovingly. “Tesoro, your hands are ice bricks.”

“Why don't you kiss them better, then?” you asked hopefully, relieved to see a smile appear on his face. Theo brought your locked hands up to his lips and pressed slow, gentle kisses to the back of your hand. The soft tingle that followed his touch warmed your whole body.

“We’re going to have to actually talk about this, you know.” he said and you nodded slightly.

“I know. Just… not tonight.”

tag list: @annaisabookworm @empath-bunny @k0z3me @slutfordpr @aespaslut @kiarst @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @fakem0net @sammyreid @tulipsc @yasmin-oviedo @lazycrazyme

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you

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tyrantisterror · 8 months ago

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For whatever reason, I found myself thinking about the theme of heritage/inheritance in Harry Potter and how it's, like, catastrophically broken in the text.

The villains in Harry Potter are almost unanimously racist and classist - they believe they are entitled to behave however they wish and live at the top of the social hierarchy because they were born to rich, pureblooded families, and anyone who wasn't is filth to be exploited and/or purged. That's the philosophy of evil in the book - "I deserve everything because I was born in the right family with the right genes and the right social standing. My heritage makes me better than you."

All the injustice and evil in the books is rooted in this belief in entitlement by way of heritage. People are abused and die because of it. Inherited wealth and status, and more specifically the unfair priveleges it affords, is the root of evil in Harry Potter.

So you'd think the protagonist would present some sort of strong contrast to it, right? That they'd be born poor, or mixed race, etc. But no, Harry is from a rich pureblood family, with the vast wealth and social status that affords.

Well, that's OK, we can still make a contrast. Maybe Harry differs in how he acts with wealth - perhaps, realizing his inheritance is an unfair privilege, he gives it away? Maybe he works to give the underprivileged their due? Again, no, not really. He sometimes buys stuff for his poor friend Ron, and defends his "mudblood" friend Hermione from racist criticism, but he sees no reason to change the system that dehumanizes them in the first place, and by the end of the tale is pleased to exploit his privilege for his own gain.

The whole house elf subplot illustrates this failing well - we have a race of slaves who are frequently shown to suffer from abuse. One of them, the property of a rich racist, risks his life to save Harry, and Harry frees him in return. Oh, nice, finally fighting the system, eh? Except no, not really - while Harry frees that specific slave, he's content to leave the others in bondage, especially when he inherits a slave of his own.

The contrast Harry Potter puts up against its rich, racist, privileged villains is "Hey, being rich and higher in the hierarchy is awesome and just, but you can't be a dick about it." That slaves belong in the dirt, but masters should be polite while putting them in their place.

Voldemort posits himself as the heir of Slytherin - claiming his inheritance is vital to his rise to power and villainy. And Harry opposes him by... also claiming inheritance from a rich old dead guy. Hell, the final battle comes down to who rightfully inherits a specific rare Wand!

The fact that Harry and Voldemort have shit in common is not a flaw on its own - villains and heroes are often foils for each other. But in this specific tale, the relationship the villain has with inherited power is so central to the conflict that the hero having the exact same relationship is a major failing. The story is just shy of saying "Voldemort was basically right, but he shouldn't have been rude about it." It's bad from both a moral and a writing skill perspective.

(The only inheritance Harry fully rejects is parseltongue, i.e. the ability to talk to snakes, which was accidentally given to him by Voldemort, and could be argued to be a symbol of trauma rather than inherited wealth. Also I'm still salty about how that series turned on snakes so cruelly, but that's a whole other rant.)

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hollowed-theory-hall · 6 months ago

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We don't talk enough about Ron's mean streak

Like, I saw a lot of people talk about how funny Ron is (which is true, he's genuinely one of the funnier characters in the series), how loyal he is when it counts, he's brave as hell, and he is really smart, just not book smart. But what I don't see talked about enough (maybe it's just me though), is Ron Weasley's mean streak.

I talked about how Harry most definitely has what it takes to be a Slytherin, can be scary, and is willing to kill when push comes to shove. I also mentioned Hermione's ruthlessness, but I didn't discuss Ron's mean streak which is a joy when I see it crop up in the book. When it comes up, it always reminds me of the twins, and I feel like that's where Ron got it from.

So I'm just going to bring up a few quotes I had in my notes showing Ron's mean streak, I'm sure I missed some from the earlier books, but I find it a fun aspect of his character.

Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers. “Who cares?” said Harry and Ron together.

(CoS, 178)

This type of reaction is seen with Ron pretty often. He really doesn't care when someone he dislikes is hurt or injured and he is very vocal about it. He and Harry kinda share this trait, as seen above.

Later in the other quotes I bring up, I show that Hermione is the one usually playing morality police for Ron and Harry even if she herself isn't as innocent as she likes to act.

He raised Ron’s Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, “Obliviate!” The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock. “Ron!” he shouted. “Are you okay? Ron!” “I’m here!” came Ron’s muffled voice from behind the rockfall. “I’m okay — this git’s not, though — he got blasted by the wand —” There was a dull thud and a loud “ow!” It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

(CoS, 280)

I love this, Lockhart explodes the cave, obliviates himself, and Ron's reaction is to kick him in the shins. I don't know, I just find it hilarious.

“Don’t talk to me,” Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. “Why not?” said Hermione in surprise. “Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret . . .” Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates. “He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” she said. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —” “Hermione!” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, “you’re ruining the best moment of my life!”

(GoF, 207)

Here you see Hermione the morality police crop up, but I'm talking about Ron here.

Hermione is definitely right in that Draco could've been seriously hurt, but Ron is just glad he saw Malfoy suffering. Actually, in the scene before it, Ron was the one who wanted to curse Malfoy and was held back by Harry and Hermione (as well as in the eat slugs situation in CoS), like, with as much as Harry calls Draco his nemesis, it really feels like Ron is the one that hates Draco and thinks of him as his nemesis.

“She’s an awful woman [Umbridge],” said Hermione in a small voice. “Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we’ve got to do something about her.” “I suggested poison,” said Ron grimly.

(OotP, 324)

I love you, Ron.

This is one of my favorite quotes for him. Hermione shuts down the poison idea, but I think they should've given it a shot, I think it could've been fun.

It would've been cathartic for them at least.

“You take Remedial Potions?” asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the entrance hall after lunch. “Good Lord, you must be terrible, Snape doesn’t usually give extra lessons, does he?” As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him. “Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,” he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith’s shoulder blades. “Forget it,” said Harry dismally. “It’s what everyone’s going to think, isn’t it? That I’m really stup —”

(OotP, 528)

I love how Ron always has Harry's back and is ready to fight anyone (including Sirius who he thought was a mass murderer when he was 13 with a broken leg) for Harry's sake. It's a real vibe the Golden Trio has that they're just ready to drop everything and curse out anyone for each other's sake. They are just so protective of each other and I love this for them, how they are all just each other's people, yk.

It's also another example of how Ron is the one of the trio that offers violence as the answer the most often.

“Reparo!” said Hermione quickly, mending Ron’s cup with a wave of her wand. “That’s all very well, but what if Montague’s permanently injured?” “Who cares?” said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees. “Montague shouldn’t have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!”

(OotP, 679)

Again Ron doesn't care for the injury of people who he considers deserving.

“Madam Pomfrey says she’s just in shock,” whispered Hermione. “Sulking, more like,” said Ginny. “Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,” said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking wildly around.

(OotP, 849)

Like, regardless of whether Umbridge was SAed or not (for the record, I don't think she was) it's not a nice thing to do. Umbridge is awful, but this is Ron literally spreading salt on the wound. but like I mentioned above, she's in the "deserving it" category.

“will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She’s driving me mad as well.” “Oh,” said Ron, looking sheepish. “Yeah. All right.” “If you don’t want to go out with her anymore, just tell her,” said Harry.

(HBP, 411)

That is honestly so mean. Like, I'm not Lavender's biggest fan, I find her annoying, but she's a teenage girl in her maybe first relationship and she did nothing really wrong. I feel truly sorry for her for how Ron treated her, it wasn't really her fault. It's just mean that he pretends to sleep instead of talking to her.

“Same as he wanted at Christmas,” shrugged Harry. “Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry’s new poster boy.” Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly to Hermione, “Look, let me go back and hit Percy!” “No,” she said firmly, grabbing his arm. “It’ll make me feel better!”

(HBP, 650)

Like, this is peak sibling behavior, but as I mentioned earlier, Ron tends to want to resort to violence more often than Harry and Hermione do (especially in the earlier books, as Harry does grow angrier after Sirius' death). He is usually the one to bring violence up, and I find it an interesting aspect of his character.

And Ron is correct in the fact hitting Percy would make him feel better. Not saying if it's the right thing to do, but Ron really would experience it as satisfying because Percy would deserve it in his mind.

“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head.

(DH, 167)

As I mentioned in one of the Harry posts, Harry is calling the shots, but Ron is the one who offered to kill the Death Eaters. He put that idea on the table. He was relieved when Harry said they shouldn't kill them, but if Harry said it'd be better if they killed them — Ron would've backed him up and done it, while Hermione might've preferred to pretend it wasn't happening.

“That treacherous old bleeder.” Ron panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. “Hermione you’re a genius, a total genius. I can’t believe we got out of that.” “Cave Inimicum. . . Didn’t I say it was an Erumpent horn, didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!” “Serves him right,” said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs, “What’d you reckon they’ll do to him?” “Oh I hope they don’t kill him!” groaned Hermione, “That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying!”

(DH, 424)

Again, Ron not caring/enjoying when people who deserve it suffer. Xenophilius wanted to help them, he tried to persuade them not to come into his home at first so he wouldn't give them in, he tried so hard even though the Death Eaters had his daughter! Harry rightly feels bad for Xenophilius and Luna, it's easy to understand why he did what he did.

Hermione and Harry hope he is fine, but Ron is the one who thinks he has it coming. That he deserves to have his house blown up for betraying them, regardless of his reasoning.

I think Ron is the most black-and-white in his thoughts about people among the trio. There are those who deserve anything that comes to them and those who don't. Specific circumstances and context don't really play a part in what bad people deserve coming to them.

I don't know, I just find this interesting.

Harry has the compassion to understand people, even ones who harmed him or the people he cares about, he is capable of forgiving Voldemort and never really hated Draco.

Hermione is pretty black-and-white in her view of people, having the people she trusts and those she doesn't. She trusts Snape because he's an authority figure trusted by Dumbledore (and Hermione is the one who is truly Dumbledore's woman true and true in the books). Her view on people has less to do with their actions, but who they are endorsed by. She is compassionate to Xenophilius because he's Luna's dad, and Luna is good, therefore, she wouldn't love someone who is bad.

Ron is black-and-white in how he sees people in a very different way than Hermione. He looks at actions, and if you do anything to try and harm him or people he cares about, you get on the shit list. Getting out of Ron's shit list is probably not easy, he doesn't strike me as one who forgives easily and readily the way Harry does, but he does forgive. Like actions can get you on his shit list, actions can get you out. But once a person is on the shit list, they deserve any harm that comes their way.

But Ron is really loyal, and there are people he loves who are basically immune from going on the shit list (like his family, yes, even Percy. While he wants to hit him, I don't believe Ron ever really wished death on Percy). And there is just something interesting about Ron, with his mean streak and everything, being the glue that holds the trio together. Like, in Deathly Hallows once he leaves, Harry and Hermione barely talk to each other, they are barely friends without Ron there.

I don't know, I just love Ron. I love how he is loyal, and friendship glue, but has just as much of a mean streak to him as Harry and Hermione can pull. I just feel like he's sometimes left out of the discussion of how ruthless Harry and Hermione could be. Like, it's true, both of them can be ruthless, but don't leave Ron out. He can be ruthless and actually offers violence as a solution more often than Harry or Hermione do.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #golden trio #ron weasley

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freedomfireflies · 2 years ago

Text

Love Me*

Summary: The fifth and final part to Teach Me*

You and your best friend Harry have a few things to figure out.

So, why not figure them out while you're riding his face?

Word Count: 8.1k

*Contains Mature and Explicit Content. Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

“Watermelon.”

Instantly, you go deathly still, muscles straining as the word echoes around the walls of your mind. Repeating itself over, and over, and over.

You attempt to sit up, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps his arms around you like a vice, caging you against his chest as his heart races beneath your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, a certain ringing in your ears that won’t quiet. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Somehow, his touch constricts even tighter, snaking around your ribcage as if to suffice as his reply.

“Harry?” you ask a bit louder, and you feel him stiffen at the sudden volume. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

He’s quiet. Far too quiet as his chin meets the crown of your head.

“Harry,” you stress for a third time. “What happened? What is it? If you’re gonna use your safe word, you have to tell me—”

“Nothing,” he breathes, fingers digging into the skin on your side. Bracing himself from the truth. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Never mind?” you nearly gasp as he finally lets go, allowing you to scramble upright. “Harry…you can’t say that and then never mind—”

“I didn’t mean to say it,” he mumbles, meeting your eye for only a moment before his lashes flutter and he looks off into the bedroom. “I just…I forgot. It’s nothing. Everything’s fine, okay? Just forget it.”

He pushes himself up as you climb off the bed, but your attention never leaves him. Studying his expression closely to find the real answer.

“Harry…” you venture cautiously, and again, you catch the way he hesitates. “If I did something—”

“No.” His answer is instantaneous, head shaking once before he looks up. “No. I told you, it’s fine. Really—”

“It can’t be fine if you said it—”

“Well, I didn’t mean to—”

“How can you not have meant to? What were you trying to say? Nothing else really sounds like watermelon—”

“Just…forget it, okay?” he sighs as he stands up and reaches for his boxers. “What’s the opposite of watermelon? I’ll say that.”

“Harry,” you huff for the hundredth time. “You…look, if there’s something we need to talk about—”

“There’s not.” The conviction in his voice is final as he proceeds to slip his shirt back on.

You’re slow to do the same, shimmying back into your clothes while also trying to maintain his focus. “We agreed that this only worked if we talked to each other. If we trusted each other—”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Bee,” he insists as he glances over at you. “I told you, it’s fine—”

“It’s not fine.” You nearly want to whine at his stubbornness. You’ve known him long enough to understand his little tricks. His tells. The way he avoids confrontation.

The way he avoids how he really feels.

“It is,” he says again, now brushing past you toward the door. “Okay? So…please. Just forget it.”

“I can’t forget it,” you argue as you follow him to the kitchen. “It’s a safe word for a reason. It means that you can say it and feel safe. That you can tell me what’s wrong, and what you’re thinking—”

“I don’t—” he begins before his eyes squeeze together and his jaw clamps shut. “I’m thinking I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Okay? I just…I wanna drop it. So let’s drop it.”

You watch as he braces himself against the kitchen sink, hands gripping onto the tub as he leans back and aims his glare at the floor.

And it hurts. It hurts to go from happily content in his arms to anxiously dejected a few feet away.

It hurts to know that there’s clearly something wrong that he refuses to share. Hurts to know you can’t help. Even after everything.

You taught him how to touch you.

But not how to talk to you.

You straighten up. “Fine,” you agree. “Fine, we’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

The small space falls quiet as you do your best to ignore the ever-present ringing in your ears.

Dropping it doesn’t fix it.

But you don’t know what else to do.

“I think…I think I’m gonna go,” you whisper, already taking a step back.

His head lifts, lips parting as he watches you move away from him. “Oh…okay.”

Despite it all, you wish he’d ask you to stay.

After retrieving your things from his room, you head for the door to his apartment, your heart dragging behind you on the floor.

He doesn’t move from his spot. He doesn’t chase after you or try to explain. He watches you walk away from him as if he always expected you to.

You pause to glance over your shoulder and find him. To offer him one last chance. “Harry?”

“…yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “Do you regret it now?”

You half expected his answer to come as quickly as the others.

But this one doesn’t.

This one seems to catch in his throat as his expression falls. “…I don’t know.”

And that tells you everything.

You don’t hear from Harry for three days.

He doesn’t text you. You don’t text him.

He doesn’t call you. You don’t call him.

You’re not trying to be petty. You’re not even trying to punish him, you’re just…

Confused.

You and Harry don’t fight. Not once in the fifteen years that you’ve known each other.

Sometimes you’ll get into spats. Or heated arguments. But you don’t ice each other out. You don’t resort to games and the silent treatment.

If that’s even what this is.

You knew opening this door in your friendship would make it impossible to close.

And now, it’s letting in a draft.

And after everything you felt with him, after everything you realized…

Having him so far away, so distant…makes you feel empty.

Incomplete.

As if there’s a missing piece to your puzzle.

You allow yourself to wonder if he’s simply learned all that he’s needed to learn from you. If he’s ready to be a good partner for Tina, and ready to resume just a platonic, non-sexual friendship with you.

Which you’d be more than okay with.

Really.

You would.

You’d have to be.

Because you don’t want to know what happens…if you wouldn’t.

So, you shove all thoughts of Harry and his lessons away. You reject each memory of his hands, and his lips, and his body, and his cock.

And you continue on with your life. You revert back to the way it was before, when it was just you and your vibrator.

But nothing is ever that simple, and you should have anticipated that even before there was a frantic knock on your door.

Confused, you toss your throw blanket aside and stand from the couch.

And when you swing the door open, you find Harry. Standing in your hallway. Slightly out of breath and wearing a curious expression on his face.

Kind of like the day he asked to eat you out.

The rush of deja vu almost overwhelms you as you blink at him. “…uh, hi?”

“Hi.” His greeting is as rushed as his gasp for air, as if he ran all the way up the five flights of stairs.

“What…are you doing here?” you ask hesitantly, letting your eyes trail down his body, cautiously looking for an explanation.

There’s a pause as he seems to study you back before he straightens up and takes a step forward.

“I’m finishing the list,” he exhales before seizing your face between his hands and kissing you.

You don’t have time to grasp onto the concept of his lips as he walks you backward toward the wall, kicking the door shut on his way in.

And he takes. Exactly the way he had before. He takes and he savors, and he owns. He says everything with this one kiss. Everything you know he can never say aloud.

Everything.

You don’t fight him on it. You probably should. Should probably stop him and ask him what he’s doing. Ask him what happened, what changed.

But maybe you don’t wanna know what’s changed. Maybe you’re just grateful it did.

So, you kiss him back. You kiss him, and you whisper his name, and you let your hands scratch down the back of his neck.

And you revel in the way he groans. In the way he drags his teeth down your throat to freshen up the already fading marks from the time before.

Then, his fingers trail down your arm to latch onto your wrist. And he tugs. Tugs you away from the wall he had pressed against so he can drag you toward your room.

“What are you doing?” you murmur as you scramble after him, an excited shiver traveling down your spine.

“You’re gonna sit on my face,” he declares, practically slinging you toward the bed. “Gonna sit on my fucking face and let me taste you.”

Your ass meets the mattress as he towers above. And despite how enthralled the idea has you…you pause. “Harry…I don’t know if that’s—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he interrupts, leaning down to press his palms to the bed, caging you between his arms. “I don’t wanna talk, I don’t want to overthink…I just want you to sit on my face.”

Your lashes flutter. “Harry��”

“No,” he repeats. He offers a single shake of his head. “No. You said this is about trust, right?”

“Right, but—”

“So trust me,” he whispers, dipping closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “Trust me when I say it’s fine. Trust me…when I say the only thing I want…is to have you ride my tongue.”

And right now as you stare at him, and feel him, and inhale him…you have no other choice but to trust him, too.

“Okay,” you breath, already desperate to have him touch you. Hold you. Remind you why it felt so right in the first place.

“Okay?” he checks, the corner of his mouth curling up in a pleased smile.

You nod. “Okay. I trust you.”

And he’s overcome with exhilaration as he grabs onto the back of your neck to bring your mouth to his.

It’s only been two minutes—tops. But you’d missed his kisses. Missed having his lips on yours. Missed the way he completely owned you.

Missed the way he made you his.

He guides you onto your back, laying you against the mattress comfortably while allowing him the room to crawl on top of you.

And his frantic touches follow you all the way down, his nimble fingers dancing up your shirt until they can find your bare chest.

You gasp into his bottom lip as he takes you into his palm, effortlessly and expertly caressing you until you’re arching into his touch.

He groans when he feels you. Takes pleasure in having you. Getting to hold you the way he is now. Explore you.

His knee makes a home against your cunt, pressing into you subtly, as if to jumpstart the process. And you squirm against it, lungs aching for air as you tangle your hands in his curls.

And for a moment, you both simply enjoy. Enjoy this rather innocent connection. This innocent sensation of your bodies finding a rhythm together. This harmonious link between your body and his.

Then, he scoops his arm beneath your hips and rolls you both over.

Your knees meet the bed, one on each side of his waist as you brace yourself against his chest.

He grins lazily but he’s far too focused on the task at hand. So, he curls his fingers around your sleep shorts and begins to pull them down.

There’s a bit of awkward shifting and rearranging that follows as you help him toss them aside.

But once they’re off, his palms wrap around the backs of your thighs, and he brings you closer.

You’ve ridden a face before. Have quite enjoyed it, in fact.

But Harry…Harry isn’t just someone. Harry is…Harry.

And riding Harry’s face is a lot different than riding his thigh.

But he doesn’t give you a moment to think about that. And you’re almost positive he knows you are.

Because he shoots you this look of warning before tugging you closer to him, forcing your knees to scuffle a bit closer until you’re exactly where he wants you.

You take hold of the headboard to brace yourself, already tingling from where his fingertips are pressing into your skin.

And you can feel him breathing against you. Soft, chaste kisses being trailed along your inner thigh as he travels his way up.

He might be new at this, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. At least when it comes to you, and you could almost smile at his attention to detail.

“Relax for me, Bee,” he instructs, nose bumping your clit as your breath hitches. “Come on, it’s all right. Just relax and let me taste you.”

You try to do as instructed, allowing yourself to sink down a bit closer.

But the moment he drags his tongue through your arousal, you suck in a sharp breath and straighten up.

“Bee,” he growls, hands already pulling you back down. A bit harder than he had before.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, lids growing heavy as the lust-induced haze begins to wash over you. “M’sorry, just don’t…don’t wanna hurt you—”

“And what did I fucking say about that?” he nearly snaps. “Hurt me. Fucking suffocate me, if you have to. Sit on my goddamn face until I can’t breathe.”

“Harry,” you whisper, eyes screwing shut as he repeats his previous action. “I don’t…I can’t—”

The sharp smack to your ass makes your head drop back. It’s loud, and it’s firm, and it stings more than his previous spanking.

But it’s fucking amazing.

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” he warns. “You’re gonna ride my fucking tongue until I’ve had enough. Is that understood?”

You feel yourself clench around nothing from the dominant tone of voice. Nails already scratching down the wood of your headboard as you try to find the strength to speak.

There’s another zealous slap to your skin, his palm painting your body red with salacious intentions. “Answer me, baby girl.”

“Yes,” you whine. “Yes, I understand.”

“That’s my girl,” he hums, lips ghosting your cunt as he speaks. “You do what I say. Go where I tell you to go. Let me put you exactly where I fucking want you.”

And to prove this point, he tugs on your hips until your pussy meets his mouth.

And suddenly everything makes sense.

It’s fucking magic the way he treats you. The way he tastes you. The way he covers his tongue in your need for him.

He sucks and he swallows, and he pulls you so far down onto him that you’re surprised you don’t disappear into him.

But it’s…

Everything.

The only concept you truly understand in this moment. Him and his mouth and this endless desire to take. To have.

And you let him. Let him have you. Let him roll you over his tongue as he laps at you like he’s an animal.

“Harry,” you breathe for a second time, legs shaking from beside his head. “Fuck…please—”

Another spank lands firmly against your outer thigh. You can’t tell if this is to please you or to punish you, but either way…you enjoy it.

You swallow another curse as you surrender to his instructions, allowing yourself to be guided even further down.

“That’s it,” he says before nipping at your clit with his teeth. “Knew you liked it. Knew you needed me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

Your whimper comes from deep in the back of your throat as you let one hand travel down to his hair.

And when you scratch at his scalp with bliss, he smiles.

“Oh, you did,” he answers for you. “Needed someone to make it better. Needed someone to do it right.”

And those stories you used to tell him about Eric come rushing back as you’re reminded of all the ways he’d never been able to get you off.

And the way Harry has done nothing but get you off since the moment you started.

“Don’t you?” he pushes, clearly wanting to hear your confirmation, and you’re not surprised he has a praise kink. “Fucking needed me—”

“Yes,” you tell him. “Yes, always needed you—”

Another slap. “That’s right. Know you do. Know you need someone to make you feel so fucking good. Make you come the way you deserve. Make you see fucking stars—”

You cry out something resembling his name as his fingers begin to scrape down your legs. Forcing you impossibly closer. Forcing you to give him everything.

And he’s relentless. You truly cannot fathom anything besides the feel of his lips on your pussy or the way he holds you over his face or even the way he speaks to you. The low vibrations dancing right up the back of your spine.

Your mind is blank. Filled with nothing but images and feelings and ideas. Of the pleasure barreling toward you at an alarming rate. At the way he’s been working on you for only a few minutes but already you’re at the mercy of his objective.

“Please, please, please.” The word drips from your mouth like falling rain. Over, and over, and over. You can’t do anything else but beg. Beg him to keep going, beg him to go harder, beg him to never stop.

“So fucking good,” he murmurs, tongue driving inside before curling. Beckoning your release closer. “Aren’t you, baby girl? So fucking good for me—”

You nod, lip between your teeth as you chew.

“Make me so happy,” he says, nails clawing at the base of your spine. “Don’t you? Make Daddy so proud—”

“Shit—” Your forehead finds the headboard as you tug on his curls. It’s almost too much. Yet somehow not enough. “Harry—”

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, guiding you up as your chest just about caves in. “No. Try again.”

“Har—”

“Try again.”

Your eyes roll, half from the pleasure but mostly from the pain of his annoyance before you oblige. “Daddy…please.”

He doesn’t answer with words, instead forcing you back down to continue his ministrations.

He knows you’re close. You know he knows. And his desire to get you there is power in itself.

Because even after everything, even after fighting, even after years of friendship and dad jokes…he wants to take care of you.

Wants to give you exactly what you deserve.

So…he does.

The sound of his name on your tongue is dissolute and depraved. Needy and pathetic and filled with the kind of yearning you yourself don’t even understand.

But you welcome the relief with open arms. Welcome the way he holds onto you as he swallows the rush that follows.

And he fucking groans. In a similarly desperate way that nearly doubles the length of your orgasm.

He’s never sounded so content. So satisfied and pleased. And you do feel good. Feel so good to have made him so proud. To have been the reason for this eager agreeance.

But then…he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop, even after you’ve attempted to squirm up and away from his continued attempts. Even after you’ve whined, “Harry,” and scratched a little harder on his scalp.

He keeps going.

“Har,” you sigh, already too sensitive to form a cohesive thought. “Har…s’okay…I came—”

“I know,” he says simply, palms pressing into your side to keep you exactly where you are. “And you’re gonna come again.”

“Harry,” you gasp, almost as if shocked by the very idea. “Har, I…s’too—”

“What?” His tongue flattens against your cunt before dragging up toward your clit. “Overstimulation was on your list, right?”

Your lashes flutter rapidly as you rest one hand back on the headboard. “I’m…yes…yeah—"

“Then you’re gonna come for me again,” he informs you. “And again. And again, until I’ve decided you’re done.”

And you want to argue. Wanted to tell him that you’re exhausted but you can already feel the next one on its way.

Because he’s speaking to you in that familiarly aggressive way that makes your heart pound. That makes your skin erupt into goosebumps and your brain turn to mush.

God, his voice. His voice alone could do damage. Could tip you over the edge a hundred times. He could be whispering the fucking alphabet and you’d be putty in his hands.

And maybe it shouldn’t be so easy to turn you so submissive, but you’ll happily do as he asks as long as he keeps asking you in that voice.

As long as he keeps telling you that your pleasure is his. That you…are his.

Nobody else exists outside of this room. Not Eric. Not Tina. Not any future lovers or partners.

Not even any consequences.

Right now, in this room…it’s just you.

The second one doesn’t hit as hard as the first, but it still knocks you off-kilter, forcing you to shake within his hold.

But he keeps you steady. In more ways than one. He makes sure you don’t have the room or space to crawl off him, or even think about takingyour pussy away from his greedy search.

“Harry,” you mewl, pulling so hard on his curls that it has to hurt. “Please…please—”

You aren’t sure if you’re asking him to stop or let you come again, but either way, he pursues the third one.

And this time…he adds his hand.

After repositioning you just so, he easily slips two fingers inside, meeting your g-spot almost instantly.

You nearly go blind from how good it feels, how hard it hits you. From how happy you are to find relief in his arms.

The third is kinder to you. Shorter but much more intense. Like a burst of pure adrenaline and euphoria.

It almost hurts when you finally begin to unwind, and his movements start to slow. He must be able to tell you don’t have too much left to offer and you appreciate the way he eases out of you with great care.

He helps shuffle you back until you can collapse onto the bed beside him. But he doesn’t let you go too far, one arm wrapping around your shoulders to help cement you into his side.

Your leg tangles between the two of his while your face buries into his neck. You’re spent. Physically and emotionally. But he allows you a moment to rest, fingers stroking your skin gently to help bring you back to him.

“You okay?” he murmurs, turning his head so his lips can meet your forehead. “S’it too much?”

“No,” you breathe, eyes falling closed as you inhale the comforting scent of his cologne. “No, it was good. A little confusing…but good.”

And you know he knows what you mean.

But still, he chooses not to respond. Chooses not to offer any sort of insight into what happened that day in his room.

Instead, his arm pulls you closer. “Well…did we cover everything? Is there anything left to check off?”

Your head rolls back so you can see him, the idea already taking root in your mind. “I can think of one more thing…if you’re up for it.”

His eyebrow raises.

You smile. “Pegging.”

He leans back, eyes growing wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. But…only if you were actually serious about that,” you correct as you begin to sit up. “Most guys are a little hesitant about it, and I guess I get why. So…if you don’t think that’s something you’d really be—”

“I’d be honored if you’d fuck me.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Really.” His hand comes up to brush a fallen hair behind your ear, touch lingering on your cheek as he studies you. “I know you’d do it right.”

You grin. “I’m flattered you have so much confidence in me.”

“I do,” he agrees softly, thumb sweeping across your jaw. “Of course I do. You should know that.”

But you don’t know that. Not after what he said last time.

And the reminder of your previous argument makes you hesitate. “You need to really think about what you’re agreeing to, Har. Because if you don’t like it, and you want to stop…I need to know that you’ll tell me. I need to know that you trust me enough to tell me what you need.”

His brows pull together, lips quickly falling into a frown as his hand drops to his chest. “You know I trust you—”

“Do I?”

His tongue comes out to run over his bottom lip. “I promise. I trust you. I want to do this. I want to try it. With you.”

“Har—”

“If I don’t like it, I’ll say something. I promise,” he continues. “But I won’t know if I like it or not until I try. And you should always try everything at least once, right?”

You huff. “Yeah, but—”

“Come on…don’t you wanna fuck me?” he teases, gingerly nudging you with his elbow. “I’ll be such a good boy, I swear.”

And you groan at the playful way he speaks, already feeling much better about the proposition. “God. See? This is why I think you’re annoying.”

“You love me,” he declares as you stand from the bed.

And for some reason, your stomach tightens. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You gonna sit there all day or are you gonna strip?”

Instantly, he perks up, watching you closely as you rummage through your nightstand. “What, I have to take my clothes off by myself? You’re not gonna help me?”

“Nope.” You glance over and nod your chin at him. “Go on. Be a good boy.”

This time, he rolls his eyes as he laughs and begins to undo his pants.

As he begins to undress, you begin to gather what you’ll need. You locate the bottle of lube and the dildo, heart in your throat as you allow yourself to imagine what’s about to happen.

You don’t know if he’ll truly like it or not. You want him to. Want to give him as much pleasure as he’s given you. As much pleasure as he deserves.

But…guys are weird about this. And this kind of intimacy goes far behind missionary.

You know what you’re doing. This isn’t your first time exploring the pleasures of a strap-on with a guy. You know you’ll be able to take care of him for as long as he lets you.

You just…don’t want it to change anything else. You don’t want him to retreat into himself the way he did last time.

You don’t want to lose him.

You can’t.

Once you’re ready, you return to the bed just as he’s peeling his shirt off his chest and tossing it toward the floor.

And you let yourself admire him. Let yourself drink in each tattoo, each scar, each dip of his muscles.

He is beautiful.

You notice the way he smiles at your admiration before looking down at the items in your lap. “Where, uh…where do you want me?”

You glance over the mattress. “Hands and knees should be good. Just…anywhere you feel comfortable.”

He nods once, swallowing thickly as he steps forward and begins to crawl back onto the bed.

The room is eerily quiet as you both move into position. You hadn’t expected things to feel so…heavy. But you suppose they are. Suppose neither one of you anticipated your adventure leading you here.

But…you don’t exactly mind.

He stills when he’s gotten into position, head dropping as he stares at your duvet and waits for your next instruction.

You clear your throat and reach out to smooth your palm down his spine. He jolts when he feels you but relaxes quickly, exhaling an anxious sigh.

“You okay?” you call softly, continuing the gentle caress to loosen him up.

He nods again. “Yeah. Promise. Just…nervous? I guess?”

“I know,” you whisper, settling onto your knees as you dip down to press a kiss to his bare hip. “You still trust me?”

And you can feel the way his entire body goes rigid from your mouth on his skin, his chin meeting his chest. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Fucking promise, Bee. Just…”

“Just what?” Your fingers dance toward his ass, ghosting over the curve as you move your kisses toward the middle. “Tell me.”

You’re happy to put him under the same duress he put you earlier, and the way his fists curl around the blanket beneath him makes you smile.

“Bee,” he attempts to warn, but you aren’t having it.

You simply trail your lips down the back of his thigh, and hum, “Come on, Daddy…wanna take care of you. But I can’t until you tell me what you want.”

You can see just how badly he wants to comply, his cock swollen and red. You know that’s mostly thanks to him eating you out and you feel your cheeks warm at the knowledge that it did that to him.

That you did that to him.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you coo, reaching around to slide your palm down the tip as he hisses and lurches forward. “Poor Daddy…bet it’d feel so good to come, wouldn’t it?”

“Bee…please,” he respires. “Please, just…god, please touch me. M’gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You smile again as you straighten back up and reach for the lube. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Your head shakes. “Mhm. Okay…I’m gonna start with a finger. But I need you to really be—”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you repeat, equally as soft before you squeeze the liquid into your hand. “Take a deep breath for me.”

He does, the muscles in his arms tensing as the tip of the bottle meets his ass. And when he feels the gel begin to drip down, he reels.

“That’s just the lube, Har,” you tell him, biting back a laugh.

“I know, but it’s cold,” he grumbles as you finish and toss the item aside.

You give him another moment to unwind before you bring your pointer finger closer…and gingerly slide inside.

You’re more than careful, listening closely for his reaction. It sounds like…relief, but you can’t be sure.

“Har?” you call again, other hand smoothing along his hip to give it a squeeze.

“M’fine,” he mumbles, once again fisting your duvet. “Promise. Go.”

“Are you—”

“Go,” he stresses before sucking in a quiet breath. “Please, baby. Go. Keep going.”

So, you do. You ease in a bit further until you’re about halfway in, pausing to let him adjust.

He seems to be doing pretty well, despite the way his stomach quivers and his cock twitches.

And after pumping him once or twice with great care, you push in to the knuckle.

He likes this, a particular groan emitting from his throat as he subtly shifts back into your hand. “Shit, Bee.”

“How’s it feel?”

He takes a moment to think. To find the right words. “Good. Full…I guess.”

“Yeah, and that’s only my finger.”

You hear him make a noise that resembles a laugh before he groans again. “God…please don’t stop. Please…I promise, I’m fine. I just…I…”

“Need more, don’t you?” you answer for him, working the lube in and out as he nods quickly.

“Yes. Yes…more.”

And who are you to say no?

You pump him a few more times before bringing a second finger into play. Again, you go slow. Making sure to gauge each sound and movement he makes so as to not hurt him. Or catch him off guard.

But he’s growing desperate. Mindlessly following your thrusts as he grows accustomed to the feeling. As he becomes familiar with the pleasure it brings him.

His jaw drops, hand coming up to his cock to stroke it lazily, needing some sort of friction.

But you reach around and slap it away, tsking as you warn, “Not yet. Not until I’m ready—”

“Bee,” he whines, and the desperate waver in his voice almost guts you.

“Shh. Just one more minute, okay?”

“Please…"

“I know. M’almost ready. Promise.”

He does his best to comply, nodding weakly as he lets his hand drop back down to the bed.

And you feel bad for him, you do. But seeing him so unhinged just about ruins you, and you can feel the way your cunt aches. The way it practically yearns for him, dripping all down your thighs as you continue to work your fingers into him.

And once you’re sure he’s ready…you reach for the dildo.

You’re more than generous with the lube, making sure to keep the experience pleasurable and easy.

And the dildo itself isn’t all that intimidating. Not nearly as big as he is. Average, at best. Perfect for a beginner.

The lack of stimulation makes him restless, and your heart clenches for him as you secure the strap-on around your hips and finally bring the tip back to his glistening hole.

The faint brush of it makes him whimper, and the sound of this confident man coming undone by your hand is what changes everything.

Everything.

It’s music. A goddamn symphony, and you chase the sound by slowly easing the dildo in.

An easy enough task, exactly like you’d hoped.

But he loses it.

The moan is deep and vulgar, echoing off the walls of your bedroom as you squeeze your legs together and press your fingers further into his hip.

“Good,” you hum, dipping down to kiss the base of his spine. “So good, Har. Promise. You okay?”

“Fucking shit,” is his reply. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You smile. “Give me your hand.”

He sluggishly reaches back for you, fingers intertwining with yours when you find him. And it makes your stomach flip but it’s not what you had in mind.

You bring your hands over to his cock, guiding him along the swollen shaft as he instantly ruts into your palm.

“Bee,” he gasps, squeezing both your knuckles and his tip. “Please—”

“I know,” you say again, continuing to work the dildo into him. Slowly at first before you find a steadier rhythm. “I know, doing so good—”

“Shit—”

“That’s it. Just like that. Like when I play with you, don’t you?”

He nods as you both begin to pump him, now matching the pace you've set with your thrusts and the dildo. "Yes...yes. Please don't stop—"

"Won't. Promise," you whisper, kissing down his hip.

His squirming increases, the one arm holding him up now shaking as he does his best to remain upright.

But it feels too good. You can see the pleasure written all over the side of his face, and it does fucking wonders for you.

You've never felt more proud to be responsible for his pleasure. To be responsible for making him fall apart the way he is. For showing him exactly what he deserves.

And he takes it. Takes it so fucking well, clutching onto you as you continue to work him closer.

And he feels so good. So good in your hand. So heavy, and needy, and ready for the release you've promised him.

You want to give him that release more than anything. Want to show him how good it can be. Want to show him the fucking stars.

He yells when he finds it. Your name and about a string of curses, all falling from his tongue one after the other.

He covers your hand, and your bed, and his stomach. And when he collapses, he takes you with him, pulling you down until your chest meets his back.

You imagine this can't be all that comfortable for him, especially with the dildo now halfway out, but he doesn't complain.

He continues to hold onto your wrist as he works to catch his breath.

And you don't fight it.

A minute or two passes before you gently ease the object out, unclip it from your body, and toss it aside.

He hisses at the loss of contact before settling once more, fingers still cemented to your hand.

You know you’ll need to clean up, but he doesn’t seem to have any future plans to do so.

It makes you smile, your cheek pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. His skin hot and slightly sweaty.

For some reason…it feels good.

“Bee?” he calls quietly, as if not to disrupt the tender moment.

You hum.

“Thank you.”

You let your eyes flutter shut. “Hey, what are friends for?”

A beat.

He tenses. “Yeah…”

Then, the silence returns.

But this time, it’s different.

This time…it’s heavy.

And when he lets go of your hand, you realize it’s not just in your head.

Things happen quickly. You barely get the chance to roll off of him before he’s sitting up and climbing off the bed. You don’t even have time to ask what changed as he begins reaching for his clothes to re-dress, your heart instantly dropping to your stomach.

“Har…?” you stammer as you awkwardly reach for your underwear. And this rush of deja vu is much more unpleasant than the last. “What…what’s—”

“I gotta go,” he mumbles under his breath, his back to you as he slips his hoodie on. “I forgot. I’ve got…something I’ve gotta do.”

“Oh…” Your chest deflates as you watch him step into his shoes. “What…um, what do you have to do?”

Once he straightens back up, he stills, and you wish you could see his face. “S’not important.”

With that, he heads for your living room, leaving you behind.

And you watch him go, a dumb founded look on your face as he makes his way for the front door.

A hundred and one things instantly run through your mind, from explanations to unpleasant realizations.

But the moment you watch him disappear into the hallway without so much as a glance back, you realize none of it fucking matters.

Just him.

You chase after him, scrambling toward the lobby in hot pursuit as he pushes through the double doors and disappears into the parking lot.

And you’re right behind, slipping out as well as he strides away from you, when you’re suddenly forced to a screeching halt the moment you’re met with a downpour of rain.

The sky is dark, the only smattering of light coming from the few street lamps placed along the sidewalk.

You hadn’t realized it was so late, or so rainy, but you don’t let it stop you.

Instead, you plant your feet onto the steps of the building, and shout, “Watermelon!”

It echoes across the parking lot until you see him freeze, his drenched back still to you.

Then…he turns.

Only about halfway, the hood on his head allowing just enough light to catch the side of his face.

But it’s enough.

“Watermelon,” you repeat as you take a step closer, water trickling down your hair, your body, your clothes. But you don’t care. “I call watermelon.”

He frowns. “The hell are you doing? Go back inside—”

“No.” Your teeth grit, fingers squeezing into fists by your side as a rumble of thunder rolls across the sky. “No. I want you to talk to me.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he tosses a glare your way. “I told you, I don’t wanna talk—”

“Tough shit.” You take another step. “’Cause I do. And you owe me that.”

The frown deepens. “Bee…don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” Another step. “After everything we’ve been through…you really think you can’t talk to me? You really think I’m not trustworthy enough to hear what’s going on?”

He scoffs and glances away. “God, you never fucking listen. I told you, it’s not—”

“No, you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything,” you remind him, volume raising ever-so-slightly as you continue closer. “Something is wrong, Harry. I know you. And I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me—”

“I don’t want you to fix it,” he seethes. “I want you to drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t do that. We work it out.”

“We can’t work this out.”

You hesitate as the first clue slips free. “So there is something to work out?”

He sighs, eyes falling shut. “Bee…please go back inside—”

“No.” Yet another step. “No. What is it? What happened? What did I do—”

“Nothing,” he nearly growls, whirling around to face you as if to really nail in his point. “I fucking told you. Nothing—”

“Then what?”

“Bee—”

“What? Is this about Tina—"

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Seriously, did she say something—"

“Bee—”

“Is she mad about this—”

“Can you just—”

“What? Do you feel guilty—”

“No, I just—”

“If you wanted to stop, all you had to do was say something—”

“I didn’t—that’s not—”

“Then what, Har? What happened? Why won’t you fucking—”

“I can’t do this.”

You stop.

He stops.

But nothing else stops. Not the rain. Not the lightning. Not the thunder. Not the racing in your chest as your heart beats against your ribcage like a goddamn drum.

I can’t do this.

You don’t think you heard him right. “…what?”

He scrapes his teeth together. “I can’t…I don’t wanna be friends with you. I don’t wanna be just friends with you, I don’t…fuck.”

He looks down at the wet cement as your lashes flutter and you work overtime to figure out what he’s saying.

“I—for fuck’s sake,” he hisses, almost more to himself before his eyes snap back to yours. “Look, I know that all of this was just…you helping me out. Okay? I know that. I know it meant nothing.”

A crack of lightning strikes the sky and somehow, it’s still not as intimidating as what he’s about to stay.

“But then…it did mean something,” he continues, a bit softer. “It meant everything.”

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what he wants you to say.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he grumbles, frowning once more. “I know, okay? I know. And that’s not…we agreed that it would just be…this. Just this. Nothing else. ’Cause we don’t do anything else. We don’t do…whatever, okay? I know.”

He looks back out into the dark city, leaving you to stare blankly at the side of his face.

“But it’s you,” he says, hands nestling further into the hoodie. “It’s you, and it’s always been you. Fucking always, Bee. Ever since we were kids. And I didn’t…I didn’t know why. Didn’t even know what it was, but it’s never felt like this with anyone else. Only you.”

Only you.

“And I don’t wanna…fuck, I don’t wanna lose you,” he just about sighs. “I can’t fucking lose you, Bee. But it just…I don’t think I can do this and not fall in love with you.”

You suck in sharp breath, and he looks back.

“Because I will,” he whispers, despite the rain. But you hear it, clear as day. “I will fall in love with you, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you won’t have me.”

He stops now. Allowing the words to sink in. Allowing the truth to make a home in your mind.

And you work to understand. Work to find a response…but the only thing you manage is:

“What about Tina?”

After all, this started with her. It’s only fair that she play her part now.

His expression twists. You don’t know which way. “I like Tina. She’s nice. And she’d probably be really good for me.”

A pause.

“But she’s not you,” he finishes, and for some reason…you’re filled with relief. “It doesn’t feel like this with her. I don’t think it ever will.”

“You don’t mean that,” you blurt out, head shaking quickly. “No, it was just the sex. It’s throwing you off, it...it screws everything up and makes people think they feel one way…when they don’t.”

“Bee…” he begins, almost as if tired, but you barrel on.

“No, you said it yourself. Remember? Endorphins and shit?” You brush some wet hair from your face. “You just…it’s not me. It’s just the sex.”

“No.” He sounds so sure. So confident in his decision. “No, it’s not. It’s you. Always you, Bee—”

“Har—”

“You don’t have to like it. But that’s how it is—”

“Harry…you just…you don’t—”

“But I do.”

“Harry.” You want to stomp your foot. “You can’t…you don’t mean it. You’re confused.”

His eyes soften. “I’m not. I mean…I am, but not about why. Not about this—not about you.”

A pause settles between you as more thunder echoes across the dark sky.

And you look at him. Really look at him. Look for the truth, or the deception, or for anything that will help you make sense of all this.

“You said watermelon,” you remind him, blinking the droplets of rain from your eyes. “Why did you say watermelon?”

Another sigh as he glances back down at his sneakers. “’Cause…I knew. I knew I was starting to…need you. More than I should. And it fucking…it fucking scared me. It scared me how fucking…real it felt.”

Truthfully, you’re a little surprised that the man who has never once before admitted defeat would now confess his fear to you.

But it makes your head spin.

“And I just…it was a lot,” he continues. “Seeing you. Seeing what I’d done. I mean…the marks. On your neck. I did that. I’ve never done that to someone before. But then I did. And I liked it. I liked getting to be that way with you, and it fucking terrified me. Because what if I hurt you? Actually hurt you somewhere down the line? I’d never fucking forgive myself.”

Your lips press into a quivering line. “…why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter,” he huffs, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters because you don’t feel that way, and we’re finished with the list anyhow.”

You instantly follow after him, bridging the gap he made. “Don’t. It always matters with us, Har. Always. I mean…do you really think I haven’t wondered the same thing? Do you think it’s been fucking easy to do this with you and then just go back to watching Schitt’s Creek? It’s killed me. Fucking ruined me from the inside out to watch you walk away from me.”

His teeth grit once again, as if steeling himself from the truth.

“You mean everything to me, you goddamn twat,” you just about shout. “Sex or no sex, it doesn’t change that. I agreed to do this with you because I knew it was us. I knew we would be okay. Because we had to be okay. I can’t lose you either, Har. So stop trying to make me—”

“Then, what do you want me to do, huh?” he bellows. “Just wait around for you to believe me?”

“I…I do believe you, I just…I—”

“You just don’t feel the same way—”

“No, I didn’t say that—”

“Then what—”

“I…I—”

“What? I have to tell you, but you don’t have to tell me—”

“That’s not…that’s—”

“What do you want, Bee? What do you want me to do, what do you expect me to—”

“I love you.”

He stops.

Suddenly, and all at once, his eyes going wide.

But you don’t stop. “I love you,” you repeat loudly. “And I’m fucking terrified, too. Because I don’t want it to be just about sex. I don’t want it to be just the endorphins and shit. I want it to be real. I want us to be real.”

The silence seems to span an eternity as the rain continues to beat down around you.

Then…he surges forward.

He grabs hold of your wet cheeks with his drenched hands and yanks you closer.

And he kisses you.

He kisses you until you’re more him than you. He kisses you until you no longer have the strength to stand or the power to fight him.

He kisses you until it makes sense.

After a moment, he pauses to allow you a minute to breathe. But he doesn’t go very far. He presses his forehead to yours and he keeps you.

And it’s fucking…everything.

“What if we’re not?” he whispers. “What if we’re not real? What if we aren’t…us?”

You shake your head. "We'll always be us."

He exhales a gentle laugh before brushing his thumbs across your skin. "What if it changes everything?"

You wish you could assure him that it won't. Or even that it will, but in the best way.

But you can’t.

So, instead, you squeeze your fingers around his wrists and smile.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Thank you so much to everyone for reading, following along, and offering me so much support on this series 😭 I will never be able to thank you enough for all the kind comments and wonderful feedback, but please know I appreciate you all endlessly 🥹💞💞💞💞

Also, I suppose I did kind of lie. This will probably be the last part of the “main” series but I’ve actually got a few more ideas for extra blurbs and parts about other kinks and situations they might get into. So, if you’d like to follow along, I would be so honored to have you back!

And if you’d rather leave their story here, that is absolutely okay, too! Thank you so much for being here!

Now…I’m gonna go cry HAHAHA ♥️

Next Part:

~ Find Me* (A Teach Me Extra)

Previous Part:

~ Feel Me* (Pt. 4)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags: (I have no idea if you all wanted to be tagged in each additional part, and if not, please let me know and I am so sorry for dragging you here! And if you did...then welcome back!!)

@onlystylesss28 @winterrays @jessitpwk @aslugforharry @allthelovehes @straightnogayhs @adoringhrry @harrysxcarolina @lillefroe @avasversion @littlelunamoon @harrysgf01 @indierockgirrl @lexiecamposv @spinningoutwaiting4ya @hs-tpwkrry @vyctorya @b-reads-things @thiyaabs @buckybarnessimpp @whoreforjamesbuckybarnes @cherryluvhobi @mybabyh @xellybellyx @harrysxcarolina @reneemunson @juliatpwk @wolfmoonmusic @buckyssbestgirl @wandasbae616 @straightontilmornin @imavirginhoe @nuggetdean @tiaamberxx @chubby-cheek-calum

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles request #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fan #harry styles smut #harry styles concept #concept #smut #harry styles angst #angst #best friend!harry #harry styles best friend #harry and bee

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 4 months ago

Note

Can you please write a fic for the prompt “late night chats”?

The sound of Ron’s footsteps treading up the stairs to the dormitory slowly fades, and they’re finally alone in the Common Room.

Ginny makes a show of checking to make sure the coast is clear, and then she burrows happily into Harry’s side, snuggling deeper into the squashy sofa by the fire. His arm snakes around her waist to pull her in closer. They should probably go to bed, too, but it seems wasteful not to eke out every moment she can, to wring this weekend completely dry of moments with him.

“Thought he’d never leave,” Ginny says with a sly grin. “I was ready to sit on your lap just so he’d get the hint.”

“Were you?” Harry says with interest. Then, he turns his head toward the stairs, and calls, “Ron?” as though to summon him back.

Ginny snorts and pokes him in the side, and he turns that devastating smirk back at her - flashing green eyes, crooked lips, the hint of a dimple - the one that’s had her slowly losing her mind for months.

She still can’t quite believe she’s allowed to kiss the smirk off his lips, now. She does, just to prove it’s real.

Every moment alone they’ve stolen has taken on this oxymoronic tone: bodily tangible, like she can reach out and grasp their growing tangle of feelings as easily as a Quaffle, but wholly surreal, like they’re some elaborate daydream snatched from her subconscious. Both, and neither.

She pulls back and smiles at him, and he does too, something wry creeping into their expressions, something that seems to say, we’re nauseating but I can’t help it.

He’s made her so quickly greedy for more, the git. It’s been two days of kissing and banter and touches, overwhelming and not enough.

“Tell me something,” she says, suddenly, “that you haven’t told anyone before.”

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, and Ginny’s plunged immediately into the vulnerability of her question, the implication of it. I want to be closer, she’s asking, do you? But, she’s not in Gryffindor for nothing, and so she holds his gaze and withstands his onslaught of silence.

“Hm,” he says, looking thoughtful. “About what?”

“Anything,” she shrugs. “Whatever.”

Harry furrows his brow, stares ahead into the middle distance, and Ginny holds her breath, waiting to find out whether he’ll hand her a key or if she’ll have to keep knocking, knowing already she’s succumbed to knocking at his door until her knuckles bruise.

“I dunno if my dad was a good person,” Harry says without preamble.

Ginny doesn’t know what she’d expected him to tell her, but it hadn’t been that. “What makes you say that?”

He stares at his knees and explains about the Occlumency lessons with Snape. The memory he was never supposed to see. His father, every bit the bully Snape had always claimed.

“--that’s why I wanted to talk to Sirius, last year,” Harry admits. “When you helped distract Umbridge. Stupid, I know–”

“It’s not stupid,” Ginny says fiercely. She feels the weight of it, what he’s told her. Wondering about someone who isn’t around to ask. Grieving someone and the idea of them at once. “What did Sirius say?”

“He said he grew out of it,” Harry says, though his tone says loud and clear that this explanation hadn’t been satisfactory to him. “But, I dunno. Means he was still a git before, doesn't it?”

“Maybe,” Ginny agrees. “Or maybe that was his worst moment.”

“Pretty shit moment.”

“Yeah,” Ginny admits, leaning her head on her hand, propped up on the back of the sofa so that she’s turned to face him. “Pretty shit. But I’d hate it if my future children only got to see me… oh, I dunno. Hex Zacharias Smith. Or slip that itching powder into Romilda Vane’s pumpkin juice.”

Harry shoots her a look. “When did you do that?”

“She tried to give you a love potion and got my brother poisoned, Harry.”

Harry snorts. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Well, that’s what I mean. We’ve all had shit moments that’d look terrible without proper context. My future children wouldn’t have any idea what Romilda had done to get on my bad side, would they?”

“I suppose,” Harry says, though he still sounds unconvinced. “But I don’t reckon there’s any context that’d make him look much better. I’m not saying Snape was a saint, I’m sure he gave as good as he got. But it… my dad was humiliating him. On purpose.”

“Mm,” Ginny hums slowly, mulling it over. “Do you reckon Sirius was right? That he did grow out of it?”

Harry swipes a hand through his messy hair. “He must’ve. My mum married him. Sirius and Lupin said he was better. But, I dunno. Maybe he did. I’ll never know, anyway.”

Ginny reckons that’s the real problem - the never knowing. Forgiveness is a difficult thing to offer when the person isn’t around to ask for or receive it.

“I wish,” she says wistfully, “you’d got to see more. People can’t be all bad, I don’t think. I’m sure Sirius and Lupin have hundreds of memories that you would’ve liked him in. Makes it easier not to like him in that one.”

Harry’s lips part, and then he nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

She’s still thinking about it when Harry shocks her. “What about you, then?”

“Hmm?” she asks, confused.

Harry jerks his head at her and nudges her knee with his own. “Your turn. Something you’ve never said to anyone.”

Ginny meets his eye, the warmth billowing through her chest like a cloud of candyfloss. He wants to know her, too. The thought - I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone - threatens to spill from her lips, but she holds her tongue, wanting to offer him something of equal weight.

“I use the bathroom on the second floor whenever I can,” she says, knowing he’ll understand which one she means. “Just to prove I’m not bothered by it. Only, it does bother me. Maybe that’s why I keep using it.”

He looks stricken. “Do you still think about it a lot? The Chamber?”

Ginny shrugs, perhaps a bit more nonchalant than she actually feels. “A bit. Still get nightmares sometimes, but not as often as I used to.”

“Yeah,” he says, and she’s struck for a moment by the fact that they might be haunted by the same ghost. “Me, too.”

She shoots him a commiserating look, and continues. “But it’s not about… about Riddle, really. I mean, it is. But it’s more about… me.”

“What do you mean?” His stare is so piercing, like he’s trying to see straight through to her soul. She imagines he can.

“I dunno. It was awful, obviously, what happened. But when I think back on it, what actually bothers me…” she chews on her words, trying to articulate the vague shame that always clings to these memories, “is that I was so stupid.”

“What?” Harry says sharply. “You were eleven. That diary… it’s… you weren’t stupid.” His words are so firm that it steals her breath. “That was a powerful bit of Dark Magic, you couldn’t have done anything.”

“No, I know that. Logically, I know that. But, I dunno. I wrote so many pathetic things in that diary.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out a bit scratchy. “I was so lonely, after Ron left for school. So desperate to go off to Hogwarts and have mad adventures and play Quidditch and… meet you.” She stares down at her hands, the embarrassment threatening to overwhelm her. “I just hate that he knows all that, that I was this pathetic, desperate little girl–”

“He doesn’t,” Harry says. “The version of him you wrote to is gone. The real one doesn’t know any of it.”

“Oh,” she replies, coming up short. “How do you…? Well, never mind, you haven’t got to answer that, I suppose–”

“It’s not that I don’t want to–”

“No, I know,” Ginny says quickly, unable to bear some platitude, not from him, “Really, you haven’t–”

“Whatever you wrote in that diary died with it,” Harry says firmly. “I promise.”

Ginny nods, and lets the words sink in. Ever since Riddle had come back, she’d wondered whether pathetic little Ginny Weasley was somewhere in the back of his mind. Weak. Stupid. An easy target, close to Harry. The relief that she might just be anyone – no one, even – to this version of Riddle, is palpable.

“Thanks,” Ginny breathes. “That makes me feel a bit… better.”

“You weren’t pathetic,” Harry says, like the thought is so absurd he’d never considered she might feel that way. “It’s quite impressive you managed to resist it for so long, actually.”

Everything that had happened with that diary has been so tinted with shame, with weakness, that Harry might consider her brave for it… it feels so antithetical to everything she’d ever thought, she nearly laughs.

“Right,” Ginny says, deflecting away with a joke. “I’m sure all those roosters thought I was very impressive.”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t laugh. “That wasn’t you. It was him.”

Easy to say, harder to feel. “The Department of Mysteries wasn’t you, either.”

Harry stares at her, and she holds his gaze unwaveringly. She can see she’s made her point, can read in the pull of his brow that Harry understands exactly the weight of a guilt so heavy that words can’t lighten it. Just as plainly, though, she can see that he hates that she’s carrying it at all.

Fair enough, really. She hates that he is, too.

She breaks eye contact and nestles back into his side. She lifts up his hand with hers, plays absently with his fingers. “Why haven’t you ever told Ron and Hermione about your dad?”

He considers for a long moment, letting her play with his hand and pulling her in closer with the other. “Dunno, really. Just felt… defensive, I suppose. Like whatever they’d said, it would’ve bothered me.”

“I get that.” She winces. “Did I upset you?”

“No,” Harry says quickly. “It’s not like that, with you.”

The words melt in her heart like honey, covering everything in sweet, sticky warmth. She ceases her mindless fiddling with his fingers and looks up at him, knowing her face must be an open book, knowing it must be apparent that he’s got her whole honey-coated heart in his hands. “It’s not like that with you, either.”

He stares back at her, deep into her eyes, and for the first time it occurs to her to check her own palm for his.

He leans down and kisses her deeply, and she pulls herself up and snakes her arms around his neck. This thing has always been irritatingly there, for Ginny - the way she can read exactly what he’s thinking without even trying, the way she trusts him absolutely, the way he makes her heart skitter like she’s in a free fall.

It’d never honestly occurred to her how powerful it would be to have it reciprocated. To have him understand what she’s saying so completely, to have him offer her something vulnerable just because she asked, to feel his heart hammering against her own.

It’s been two bloody days, and yet she’s slipped past the point of no return with him already. Perhaps she’d started there.

She pulls back from the kiss, feeling breathless. Harry looks a bit winded, himself.

“We should probably go to bed,” he mutters, eyes still locked with hers.

They should, probably.

And they will. Eventually.

#hinny #hbp missing moment #canon compliant #hinny fluff #hinny fic

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oceanicwriting · 2 months ago

Text

new year.

part one. part two.

summary: the music, alcohol, and darkness. everything at that party felt a lot riskier, especially when the tension has been building for weeks now.

pairing(s): mattheo riddle x gryffindor!fem!reader

a/n: happy new year to everyone! here in chile it is two in the morning and this post is being published automatically, i will upload part two tomorrow at noon :-).

mention of sex, tension, cursing

ㅤㅤㅤyou look at your body in the bedroom mirror. the white dress was tight in the right areas, highlighting your curves and good shape from quidditch practices. you put on the shoes you had chosen earlier, fix your hair a little more, and touch up the red lipstick. you were so ready.

ㅤㅤㅤ—are you going dressed like that? —hermione granger, your sister one year older, studies your shape from head to toe. you knew she would disapprove, but you wanted to have fun that night regardless of what anyone says—. wouldn’t you rather wear something less revealing?

ㅤㅤㅤif there were two different sisters in the world, you were twice as much. your sister was always worried about getting good grades while you were worried about getting along with people. you weren’t a bad student because you have exceptional grades, but you cared about that world of vanity as much as the academic one.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what? —you ask, looking at his casual clothes. she didn’t look bad, but you get the feeling that she wore those same clothes to study the whole weekend before—. hermione...

ㅤㅤㅤ—don’t you dare judge me, young lady. —even though she was only a year older than you, she always treated you as if you were much smaller and naive—. we’re going with you to take care of you. nothing more.

ㅤㅤㅤyou smile and put on your best puppy eyes to convince her to change clothes.

ㅤㅤㅤ—don't do that.

ㅤㅤㅤeven though she laughs in your face, you know that hermione's weakness is your big, bright eyes begging for something. and this time was no exception, allowing you to dress her like a rag doll in whatever clothes you wanted. she had refused some clothes that were too revealing to get out of her comfort zone, but you know your job was done when your friends come to pick you up in the dorm.

ㅤㅤㅤ—bloody hell! —exclaims ronald weasley, your sister's boyfriend and friend.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hermione... —harry potter, the other boy friend of both, looks at her perplexed by the change of style.

ㅤㅤㅤhermione is wearing a skirt and a tank top. actually, you think the surprise for the boys is the makeup that perfectly matches the jewelry you had lent her. she looks so different.

ㅤㅤㅤ—don't make a scene —she says, exasperated. none of the boys seem to react to your sister's walk down the hall—. are you guys coming or what?

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh, patting the shoulders of the boys who were still mumbling in perplexity.

ㅤㅤㅤ—beautiful, isn't she? —both boys look at you, then you hit ron's face—. what a lucky man.

ㅤㅤㅤthe walk to the slytherin house, where the party had been organized for students who did not travel to their homes for the holidays, is done in complete silence. everyone is on alert in case the guards on duty find you wandering around. when you arrive, there is a boy leaning on one side of the wall that faces the snakes room, looking at you with a bad face.

ㅤㅤㅤ—invitations. —harry, who had been in charge of keeping them, shows them—. no one followed you?

ㅤㅤㅤyou deny.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen the boy at the door lets you in and you go down to the common room, you can feel a combination of smells accumulate at the tip of your nose. cigarette smoke, candle wax, beer and men's cologne are the ones that stand out the most. people were grouped in different places, some talking or sharing bottles of alcohol. everything looked a little greenish because of the candles burning flames of the same color.

ㅤㅤㅤas you walk with your friends, many of your classmates greet you, stopping you more than once to chat too much, causing hermione to drag you along to keep walking.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i told you not to get separated! —she shouts, getting closer to your ear so you can hear her. you hadn't noticed how loud the music was until that moment—. you can't get lost!

ㅤㅤㅤyou nod, following the path to an area where ron had set aside seats.

ㅤㅤㅤthe truth is, with the music so loud and the discomfort of the moment, no one seemed to enjoy the night. harry hated having to shout over the music, hermione wasn't enjoying the way you didn't seem to hear anything from her and ron was sick of seeing everyone turn to look at his girlfriend.

ㅤㅤㅤ—can we go dancing? —you ask, leaning in close to your sister’s ear. hermione makes a face—. please.

ㅤㅤㅤshe looks at the small crowd of people in the center, moving against each other to the sound of the music.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, i didn’t come to sit. let’s go together or i’ll go alone.

ㅤㅤㅤ—fine, —she says, rolling her eyes and standing with you—. try to stay close, okay?

ㅤㅤㅤyou jump and follow the group into the tired bodies on the improvised dance floor. people never stop moving, accidentally bumping into each other and mixing their energies. your body just follows the rhythm, shaking shamelessly.

ㅤㅤㅤa few minutes later, a group of girls from your year approach to invite you to dance with them. hermione signals for you to do so, but you can still see her following you with her gaze while dancing with the boys. when she wasn't looking at you, you accepted the shots of alcohol that ran through your body like an instant energy boost. shortly after, when you try to look over your shoulder, you can't identify your friends among the people, but you don't go looking for them either because of the hands that stop at your waist.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what the...? —as you turn around, you can see those familiar eyes—. mattheo.

ㅤㅤㅤhis lips curve into a sideways smile.

ㅤㅤㅤ—good night. —he doesn't have to shout for the thud of his robust voice to be heard over the music—. beautiful.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo riddle, with his hands tight on your waist, burning through the fine fabric of your dress, is devouring you no matter what. his lips curve the thin smile even more, gently pushing you against the crowd that makes its way into his presence. you could have said something, but there has always been that air between you that prevents you from protesting at the force of his walk.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come with me —he says, when you have left her and turn to look over your shoulder—. what is it, little granger?

ㅤㅤㅤyou wrinkle your nose at the nickname he has used since you two met.

ㅤㅤㅤ—don't call me that.

ㅤㅤㅤhe laughs, sending a shiver through your entire body.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'll bring you back safe and sound, you know that. —his hand grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him—. when have i not?

ㅤㅤㅤyou look at him, feeling his hand grab yours and pull it into a dark corner. your eyes can only define his dark silhouette, bright eyes, and scent. the feeling of his hands squeezing your hip again makes you jump.

ㅤㅤㅤ—will you repeat what you said last time?

ㅤㅤㅤhis hands travel to your thighs, picking you up and pinning your back to the wall. the guttural sound that comes out of his throat at your proximity makes you tremble.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what did i say? —you ask, smiling at the power of your voice in his breath.

ㅤㅤㅤ—didn't you say that next time you weren't going to make it so easy for me? —his face moves closer to your neck, pulling it aside to softly kiss some parts of your skin—. or wasn't that it?

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo and you weren't strangers sharing a crazy night of partying, although you weren't friends or lovers either. either of those sounded completely crazy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i was talking about studying, mattheo —you answer, sighing at the feeling of his wet lips against your neck—. in any case, can't a girl just change her mind?

ㅤㅤㅤfor weeks, you had been helping mattheo with his subjects by order of dumbledore. it had been a secret you had to keep because your friends would have forced you to refuse, and the snake itself had asked for it. as time went by, mattheo began to caress you, look at you, and praise you, making you lower your guard against his charms. so those desperate kissing sessions had not been a surprise to anyone.

ㅤㅤㅤ—is that why you follow me here as if nothing happened? —your hands squeeze the end of his hair, making him laugh—. desperate, right?

ㅤㅤㅤ—mattheo...

ㅤㅤㅤhis wet tongue collides with your hot flesh, going up from your collarbone to your cheek, forcing you to move your face in the middle of a smile. then, mattheo settles down, holding all your weight on his right arm and raising his other hand to direct your face towards his.

ㅤㅤㅤthe feeling of his lips pressing against yours, forcing his tongue inside and biting your lips like gum made you moan softly against him. in your ears, you could only hear the rubbing of clothes, lips smacking, and agitated breathing from both of you, stimulating every part of your body getting hotter and hotter.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i missed you so much, babe —he says against your lips, making you whimper when his hard cock hits your center—. so much... shit.

ㅤㅤㅤhis hand holding you squeezes your ass, making you move against his pelvis supporting part of your weight. a quick tickle runs through your body, but mattheo growls and stops holding you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm going to fuck you right here if you keep doing that shit —he says, making you laugh and catching your bottom lip between his teeth.

ㅤㅤㅤyou grab his neck, pulling him closer and slowly running your hands down his breasts. mattheo, thanks to the light coming from somewhere in your direction, can notice the way your whole face begs to be touched, and that drives him completely crazy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you don't...

ㅤㅤㅤand from one moment to the next, the boy disappears from your sight, being replaced by hermione's murderous gaze in the light.

ㅤㅤㅤ—are you fucking kidding me? —mattheo questions, being pushed by ron weasley himself.

ㅤㅤㅤalthough you think his disappointed face is because his greatest enemies are pushing him so easily, mattheo can only have that face because you can't finish what you had started seconds ago.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what the fuck! —he exclaims, just as your sister grabs your arm—. what are you going to do?

ㅤㅤㅤ—what do you think you're doing?! —ron shouts, angry as if you were his own sister.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo is pushed once again by harry, causing him to stumble against a table. the sound of bottles breaking against the floor makes you jump in your place.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what do you think i was doing? kissing the prettiest girls in the place. —and her laughter, filling the place without music, makes you smile at the compliment—. now if she gives me permission, i'll kick your fucking butts.

ㅤㅤㅤand everyone looks at you. hermione can't have a more angry expression because she would tear the muscles on her face. on mattheo you can notice your lipstick staining his mouth, funny eyes, and the way his lips gesture the number five three times.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm sorry... —you says, denying the idea of him defending himself.

ㅤㅤㅤyou expected his expression to change, but it doesn't because he keeps looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i pay the price —he says, just before receiving two fists in his face.

ㅤㅤㅤand you knew that a long night of scolding awaited you. although, if everything went well, you could escape as mattheo pointed out to you before leaving the place.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle scenarios #slytherin boys #wizarding world #slytherin #harry potter

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monzabee · 2 years ago

Text

how you get the girl – cl16

masterlist

Summary: The one where you and your boyfriend Charles attend a gala for a friend and run into Harry Styles – who happens to be your ex.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of a past break-up, jealousy, possessive charles, angst? (only if you squint, or maybe not I don’t know), charles being charles, google translate French, anger?

Request: “Can I request a Charles fanfic with angst? Maybe famous singer reader used to date someone really famous like Harry styles and they run into Harry and Charles is really jealous and acting up/mad?”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! this is my first time writing a fic, so all feedback is welcome and appreciated. i liked the idea that the anon named harry so i used him, but also i had to include taylor swift some way because she is the literal best. thank you anon for the request, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” You sigh, fixing the way the neckline of your dress looks and meeting the eyes of your boyfriend through the mirror. “I know you’d rather be relaxing tonight than entertaining people.”

Charles smiles softly as he keeps his eyes focused on yours, the green in his eyes shining just a little bit brighter due to the afternoon sun shining through the hotel room window. He abandons his place on the edge of the bed and comes closer to stand behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Are you trying to convince me to stay back, or convince yourself, chérie?”

His question brings a mischievous smile on your lips and you shrug your shoulders with faux innocence as you lean your head back on the Monegasque’s shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, chéri.” Your use of the pet name he taught you when the two of you first went on a date makes him let out a laugh – well, you don’t know if it is because of your use or your pronunciation or your use of the word in general, but you’re hoping for the latter.

“Well, I think you are.” He takes your hand in his and slowly moves you from your place in front of the mirror. “And it’s not going to work, because you—”

“Promised Helen we’d be there. I know, I know.” You huff, shaking out of his grasp and fixing his bowtie with a small frown on your face as you mumble, “I thought you F1 drivers would be into breaking the rules, but no, I had to find the only decent one.”

Charles chuckles as he places his hands back onto your waist as you continue your mission with a relentless sense of seriousness. “Aw, you think I’m decent?”

An urgency to smile snakes up onto your lips because of his question but you try to refrain yourself from doing so by twisting your lip, “Shut up, Charles.”

“I think you’re decent as well,” he takes a moment to think with an exaggerated expression, “pretty, too.”

You smile at your handiwork as you pat his bowtie twice and place your hands on the sides of your hips. “Is this your way of saying I look nice?”

He shakes his head and starts walking you towards the door, picking up your coat and bag, and ignoring your protests along the way. “But, yes of course. However, we need to go right now if you don’t want to make Helen angry at you for being late.”

“At me?” You ask, confused.

Charles laughs. “Well, yes, chérie. She loves me too much to get mad at me. You’ll have fun once we go inside.”

By the time the two of you arrive at the gala, Charles has managed to uplift your mood (mostly by promising you pizza and sweets after the two of your leave the event). When you get to Royal Albert Hall, Helen welcomes you with a big smile and open arms. The three of you decide to grab drinks together at the bar and talk about the event, your latest recording deal, Charles’ upcoming season, and Helen’s new client who is a “twat-waffle in skinny jeans, but don’t worry about me, honey, I’ve seen worse.” She leaves the two of you to welcome newcomers, who are probably looking at her to congratulate her on the event. You place your glass on the bar and turn to face Charles, who is looking at you with a small smirk on his face.

You sigh exaggeratedly and tilt your head to the side. “Fine, you were right, this is fun.”

He matches your sigh, although with a lighter tone to it. “I know, I love being right.” He quickly finishes the rest of his drink and gets up from his place to offer you his hand. “Now, chérie, allons-nous danser?” Shall we dance? You nod your head, giggling as you take his hand and allow him to pull you onto the dance floor. With the alcohol coursing through your veins, you think this might be the perfect night.

You and Charles dance through what feels like a hundred songs, but in reality, you lose the count after the third slow-paced song because the DJ decides he’s had enough of the slow songs for the evening and moves onto the fast-paced ones. Both of you jump up and down to the rhythm of the music as best as you can in your choice of heels for the evening, and Charles is there with you to do the same. He nudges your shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows when the DJ decides to play one of your recent songs, not shy to let the people around you know that it is your song. “That’s my girlfriend’s song!” he says, “Yes! It’s the new one!”

After the previous song finishes, the two of you decide to retire for a bit, walking out onto the balcony to get some fresh air. You turn to Charles when you hear him chuckling and find him shaking his head. “Hey, what are you laughing at?”

“You look like a tomato, mon amour.” He’s quick to add, “A very cute one at that.”

You let out a shocked gasp, swatting lightly at his chest to cease his laughs. “It’s not funny! I never make fun of you after your races, even if you do look like a tomato.”

“That is not true, and you know it.” His laughter continues, making you join him and soon after both of you are laughing uncontrollably; with you leaning against the railing of the balcony and him with his arms placed on either side of you to cage you in. After your laughter dies down, leaving you both in heaving breaths in to calm yourselves, he shrugs off his jacket and gently places it onto your shoulders.

You gaze up at him, softly smiling through your lashes. “Thank you, my love.”

You press your lips against the corner of his mouth, but he is quick to capture your lips in his, and his eyes are the last thing before you close yours as he starts kissing you. His hands quickly start moving and he drags them up your body to cradle your face between his hands as he deepens the kiss. You let out an involuntary whimper, in which he responds by gently tugging at your lower lip. In an attempt to bring him closer, you slip your fingers through the belt loops of his dress pants, which thankfully is not occupied by a belt. Charles’ response is to bring your face even closer as he keeps kissing you. The two of you don’t realise the sound of footsteps coming from behind you.

“Oh, God, sorry.” A voice interrupts, and you quickly separate from each other, albeit a little bit unwillingly. You inhale deeply to regulate your irregular breathing, and let out a gasp as your eyes fall onto the intruder. Just as you are about to open your mouth, he beats you to it. “I can’t believe it, hi Y/N, it’s been ages!”

Although Charles’ eyebrows furrow, he keeps his gaze focused on you only to turn around to face the intruder once you say, “Hi, Harry, it’s been a while!” He gives him a once over, keeping his hands on your waist as the two of you talk about the lost time. And yes, while Charles can be a jealous man – just like any other guy in a relationship who is as besotted with their partner as he is with you – he never considers himself to be possessive. He even likes Harry’s music, he mostly encounters the songs at the paddock before a race or after while doing media stuff, but he doesn’t have any issues regarding his music or him in general just because he is dating you because he is secure in your relationship to know just how much you love and respect him and the same goes for you. But standing there with you leaning against him while talking to your ex-boyfriend, yes he know he is your ex-boyfriend like the rest of the world thanks to your very public break-up, he just wants to take you away from there any to anywhere where the two of you can be alone.

You leap off the railing you were leaning against when you feel Charles’ hands tightening on your waist and move one of your hands to cover his as you give him a slight squeeze. “This is Charles, my boyfriend.”

He watches as you give him a polite smile and attempts to do the same, but it reality his probably comes-off as a strained one. Harry offers him a handshake as he smiles at him, “Hello, nice to meet you.” And then, he watches as the Brit turns his attention once against to you.

“We missed you at the awards this season, you didn’t attend any of them!” Harry chuckles, shaking his head a little.

You shrug and answer him with the same polite smile on your face. “Well, you know me, never been fan of the award shows in the first place.”

Charles knows this, of course he does, because whenever someone starts to ask you about award season in the first place, you let them know that the awards are not the reason you write songs in the first place – the fans are. He tunes most of your conversation out as his insecurities take over his thoughts, he thinks it is funny in a way because your relationship might be the only one where he has felt like he could be himself without worrying about what you might think. Just as he is about the calm his fears by the logical side of his brain reasoning and telling him that he should probably stop acting like a fool, he hears Harry asking you about a song on your album which makes him throw all the rationality he has out the metaphorical window.

“I-uh, I listened to your new album, it was very good.” Harry says.

A wide smile finds a place on your face. “Oh, thank you, Harry! It’s nice to hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I liked that one song the most, what’s it called, How You Get the Girl?” He thinks quietly for a split second. “Oh whatever – it was very good. But tell me the truth, was it or was it not about me?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you that, it’s a secret.” You laugh. And he laughs. And Charles only watches the scene before him without being able to say anything because he is swarmed by all the thoughts he tried so hard pushing out of his head coming back. You must’ve notice his drastic change in mood because you excuse the two of you saying that you’re feeling a little bit cold.

“Oh sure, it was nice seeing you again.” Harry smiles at you, and then addresses Charles, “It was also nice meeting you, Charles. Take care of my girl, eh?”

“You too, Henry.” Charles replies, without filtering his response in his head and hangs his head low to avoid any awkwardness.

You wait until the Brit leaves the balcony and then focus on the man in front of you, “Charles–” you start, but he cuts you off with a low voice.

“Can we just go home?” He inhales deeply. “Please.”

Needless to say, the car ride home is quiet and tense. Charles acts like he doesn’t care, but you know deep inside that he is bothered by what happened and is probably overthinking the entire situation. The one thing you are grateful for is the fact that you didn’t drive to the venue but instead opted for a car service, thinking that you’d both be drunk by the time event ended. However in reality, neither of you are drunk and you are fairly sure Helen is going to send you a very angry text the next morning because you left early. When the driver announces that you’ve arrived at the hotel, Charles thanks him before exiting the car and you do the same before you lean over to open your door, but Charles is quicker than you and he does it for you.

He is quiet the entire way up to your hotel room, but he has an arm around you and you place your hand right on top of his in an attempt to sooth whatever negative emotions he is feeling at the moment. He is also quiet when you get to your room, and he helps you pull off your coat and his jacket underneath the coat. He smiles for a split second, seeing his oversized jacket on your frame, but the seriousness returns as he helps you out of it.

“Charles,” you say his name, “please talk to me.”

“I’m okay, chérie.” He sighs and places a small kiss to you forehead. “I’m going to take a shower before bed, okay?” He leaves before giving you an opportunity to speak, and you are left behind, thinking about the last time he called you that pet name a few hours ago, and how he was smiling.

Instead of pushing him to talk about his feelings you decide to let him cool down, hoping that he would be more open to having a conversation about what happened after his shower. So, you take of your shoes and your dress – although you struggle to find the zipper for a while – and you take of your make up on the small vanity the hotel provided for you after you put on your pyjamas for the night. By the time Charles is out of his shower, you are waiting for him sat on the edge of the bed, playing with your fingers.

“I thought you’d be sleeping by now.” He mumbles, weaving his hands through his wet hair.

You can’t help the small frown etching on your face. “We never go to bed angry at each other.”

You can see the change in his eyes, but even though his eyes soften at the sight of you, his tone is firm when he tells you, “I’m not angry at you, Y/N.”

“See, I find it hard to believe that right about now.” You mumble, your eyes falling on your lap for a second.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Just go to sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

“What? Why?” You ask, your voice wavering at the last syllable. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to go over some statistics in the living room.” He doesn’t look at you, or let you protest. He picks up his computer from the abandoned backpack in the corner of the room and presses another light kiss to your forehead before going into the living room to try to get rid of the anger by working it off.

And thus, you try to go to sleep – mainly because you know just how stubborn Charles is. His mother always tells you stories about when he was a kid and refused to go to bed in his pyjamas because he didn’t want to take off his karting suit. But you see how much he’s stubborn every single day, when he makes you get out of bed in crack-dawn of the day because you told him you wanted to start exercising with a “no, mon amour, you said you wanted to start running!”, or when he makes you eat your vegetables because “you can’t live off of chicken nuggets for the rest of your life, you’re in your twenties!”. But most importantly, you see how stubborn he is every time he pushes himself to be better; a better man, a better son, a better driver and even a better boyfriend. So, it breaks your heart to think that he is outside the doors of the bedroom, alone and contemplating things he shouldn’t have to because he knows just how much you love him. So, you get out of the bed, which isn’t very hard in the first place because it feels too empty and cold without Charles in it, and you march your way through the bedroom doors and into the living room where a certain green-eyed Monegasque driver is hunched over his computer in the low light.

He looks up and his eyes go wide when he spots you, sleep evident in your eyes and there is a permanent pout on your lips. There is a silent communication between the two of you as he pushes his chair slight off the table for you to place yourself on his lap and consequently wrapping yourself around his sitting figure.

“Chérie, you should be sleeping, it’s late.” He speaks in a low voice, encouraging you to go to sleep, but you know him well enough to read between the lines.

Your voice comes of muffled because you cuddle against the side of his neck. “I couldn’t sleep because someone refuses to talk about his feelings and made me become accustomed to his cuddles over the past year and a half.”

“Mon amour,” he sighs, “I am fine, you don’t have to worry about me. Okay?”

There isn’t any emotional strain in his voice, unlike before, but you still don’t like the fact that he refuses to acknowledge his feelings. So instead of pushing, you pick your head up again and focus on his green eyes, “You called me by my name, and you never call me by my name unless I’ve done something wrong.”

“That’s not true.” His voice comes off as a whisper this time.

“It is and you know it.” You untangle one of your arms from around his neck to cradle his jaw and let your finger wander around. “Please tell me what I’ve done wrong so that I can fix it.” You think for a moment. “S'il vous plait.” Please.

Charles lets out a frustrated breath and tightens his arms around your frame – involuntarily, or maybe not, but who cares, really? “It’s mine,” He grumbles.

“What is?” You ask, tilting your head with genuine curiosity.

“The song.” Now it is Charles’ turn to pout. “It’s my song, you wrote it for me. I was there when you recorded it and you told me so.”

“Oh, Charles.” You coo, bringing your other hand up to his face and gently caressing his face as you straighten yourself up on his lap. “It is about you, my love, he was just joking.”

You let out a chuckle as you hear him mumble, “Well, it wasn’t funny to me.”

“Is this about more than the song?” You ask, continuing the movement of your hands. You smile as he lets out a dissenting mumble, “Good, because I would hate it if you thought I have eyes for anyone other than you.”

“You would?” He mumbles, leaning into your touch.

“Oh yes, I would be very upset.” You nod, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. “And Charles?” You ask.

“Yes, chérie?” He asks right back, his eyes not leaving yours even for a moment.

“I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”

“It’s not your fault,” His eyes become serious for a second again, but they soften at the sight of you quickly. “Don’t blame yourself, chérie.” He mumbles as he kisses you softly on your lips. “Okay?”

“But still,” You mumble, “I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”

He sighs, but it is not a sad sigh like before. Which makes you think it is an improvement. “I’m sorry I can’t write songs about you.”

“What?” You ask, voice shaky. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not– I can’t put my feelings into words that way.” His hands occupy themselves with the string of your pyjama pants.

“I don’t need you to write me songs, Charles, and I don’t want you to change.” You press soft kisses around his face, making him smile involuntarily. “I love you just the way you are, you stubborn stubborn man.” You thing he’s about to say something, but can’t finish your train of thought because suddenly you’re being lifted off the chair and you’re in the air. You let out a shriek, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” Charles replies, and rolls his eyes as your expression changes. “To sleep,” he emphasises the second word, “méchante fille” naughty girl. You laugh as he puts you back on your side of the and tucks you in before turning off the lights and getting into the bed himself. He is quick to pull you towards his arms and cuddle you under his weight, which you’ve become accustomed to and helps you sleep better. “Go to sleep, mon amour.” He kisses you on your forehead again.

“Charles?” You ask into the night, and continue once he lets out an affirmative hum. “Je t'aime.” I love you.

“Je t'aime aussi, mon amour.” I love you too, my love. You hear him say as you’re falling to sleep. “Tu es l'amour de ma vie.” You’re the love of my life.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #harry styles makes an apperance

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mockingjaysnakes · 1 year ago

Text

some facts about tom blyth:

did therapy.

he has a motorcycle.

he used to draw, learning how to use oil colors and mixing paint would be a feasible hobby to fit in between concerts.

in an interview he said: "i like the idea of doing something that scares me because that's where you learn the most."

his teenage (and ironic) fear of snakes derived from Indiana Jones and the unknown terrors that lurk in deep waters were conquered through exposure therapy.

he is studying and learning to speak Italian for his next film.

the mix of teenage angst, self-loathing and mischief has been processed in therapy. Now that you have competent knowledge, confidence and experience, acting has become more of something you can experiment with, learn from and expand on.

for Tom, acting used to be a form of escape. In an interview he talked about it: "i love accents, costumes, anything that takes me further away from myself because before I simply wanted to be anything but myself."

Donald Sutherland was actually one of his favorite characters in the original films of 'the hunger games'. In an interview he spoke about him and said: "i think he is one of the best villains in modern cinema."

Maya Hawke and Tom met at the Juilliard audition, the first time they started talking was at a school question and answer session.

he always creates a playlist for each character he's playing.

he gets a little camera shy when playing himself.

his passion for acting was influenced by his father, although he did not spend much time with him because he died when he was young.

during the pandemic, Tom was living in a cabin in the woods upstate, and he got up at 8 a.m. every day to chop wood for the wood stove to stay warm. "I was living this kind of lonely life and auditioning every day and just looking for the right job."

he loved western movies when he was a child.

at the premiere of The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, in Los Angeles. After he took off his oversized jacket, exposing his arms, Rachel Zegler spent the next day sending him messages about the "thirst trap."

his favorite rom-com movie is 'When Harry Met Sally'.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #the hunger games #tom blyth #coriolanus snow #billy the kid #william h bonney #interviews #facts #celebs #rachel zegler #movies #maya hawke #donald sutherland #things about him #actor

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wisteria-lodge · 11 days ago

Note

Re Snape and being a spy, I was always so so baffled that after Dumbledore exposed Snape as his spy, Voldemort was arrogant enough to take Snape back.

Because of course he would never. After Voldemort killed Lily, too? Lol. Lmao, even. Snape would have become the first name in the burn book. Undesirable №0.

And if it meant that Voldemort would never ask Snape to come back, that would mean that Dumbledore IS actually merciful, that he does actually understand how grooming works and for real saved Snape, and gave him his second chance. Which of course would make Dumbledore a fundamentally good person, and not like, whatever JKR writes.

I was always very... unsure on what JKR actually thinks good is. Because, well. Sometimes she writes someone being righteous, and doing very, very dubious shit. No one ever said "Hermione, kidnapping is bad" or "Hermione, erasing the memories of your parents is bad", or even "However bad Umbridge was, that scene is written as angry men kidnapping a woman and then her being returned traumatized from,,,,, SOMETHING".

It's fine when Hagrid makes fun of Dudley for being fat, but it's not fine when Draco makes fun of Mrs. Weasley for being fat. It's fine for Arthur to "get off" Ludo Bagman's brother after he gets in trouble, and get 10 expensive top-box tickets out of it. But Fudge doing "favors" for Lucius after he... donates money to St. Mungos... now that's unacceptable.

JKR's view of morality is that there are good people and bad people, and that if you're a good person your actions are by definition good. It's why she's so interested in mechanisms to sort out the good people - the Sorting Hat putting people into Gryffindor, and now the Qilin picking out the most worthy King Wizard. Occasionally a Good person will be tempted off the Good Path because of a Bad influence (ie - Snape falling under the thrall of his pureblood buddies and then snapping back to center, Dumbledore falling in with of Grindelwald and then repenting, Percy becoming enamored with the Ministry... etc.)

JKR also seems to really, really dislike arrogance. Lockhart, Lucius, Draco, Percy... and Voldemort is the most arrogant of them all. Him trusting Snape is definitely an example of him being extremely stupid... but his inflated sense of his own grandeur, his own importance, that's totally been set up. Also, clearly the guy does not have a great understanding of the intricacies of romantic relationships.

“He desired her, that was all,” sneered Voldemort, “but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him —”

If I wanted to get psychological about this, I'd say that Voldemort doesn't think about his relationships in terms of love (i mean, dumbledore thinks he loves the snake but that's neither here nor there) but in terms of whether people are WORTHY of him or not. Wormtail is objectively extremely effective... but he's not worthy, based on whatever set of criteria Voldemort has in his head. Voldemort/Bellatrix and Voldemort/Barty jr. (I see it) absolutely feature Bellatrix and Barty doing some very extreme things to prove themselves worthy of him. So it's not surprising that Voldemort lands on that word when talking about Snape's potential rebound.

Especially because Voldemort absolutely has experience with people desiring him, physically. (DEFINITELY Hepzibah Smith, and there's no way she was the first. Tom is playing the part of the Charmer on purpose.) So on some level, I'll buy that he just thinks that's what love is.

Where we get into potential plotholes is with legilimency. Dumbledore and Voldemort can still read minds, and still they both think Snape is working for them. Either Snape is able to construct false memories for them to look at... or maybe if a occulumens is good enough you just can't read their mind, even if they want you too. Except *Harry* can read Snape's mind? Is he just Anakin Skywalker levels of powerful? (I mean, maybe.) But then does that also means that DRACO'S occlumency is good enough to fool Voldemort?

(the biggest sign that JKR just did not really think the whole legilimency/occlumency thing through... is the detail that Bellatrix taught Draco occlumency. Why would she do that? (especially because at that point she's starting not to trust him.) Even if she did want to, why would Bellatrix - who is an enforcer/berserker type, not stealth, not a spy, not good at/inclined to conceal her emotions... why would she be able to conceal her thoughts? Why would she even WANT to, when her main thing is desperately seeking connection with Voldemort?

#hp #bellatrix lestrange #voldemort #albus dumbledore #severus snape #jkr critical #hp morality

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imagineweasley · 15 days ago

Text

I Love You Deerly

Harry Potter x Reader

summary: after a DA meeting, you and your boyfriend harry take a second to be alone together.

y/n: your name

author's note: basically no plot, just so much fluff! fluff here, fluff there, fluff everywhere!!

submit a request!

"Fantastic job tonight everyone! See you all next Tuesday, 8 pm sharp!" Harry claps his hands and grins at the DA.

The group disperses, happily chatting amongst themselves. Tonight's meeting was pretty successful, so the group is in a cheery mood. We'd been working on Expecto patronum for the past two weeks, and today, a few more students, including myself, had been able to conjure our patronuses. I weave my way through the crowd towards Harry, who's standing in the far corner of the room with Neville, who looks dejected. Poor Neville. I can't blame him, he's been trying really hard for the last two meetings with only a few wisps of his patronus to show for it.

"See ya later y/n!" Hermione smiles and waves at me as she passes.

Ron on the other hand salutes me and says, "Remember you promised to lend me your potions notes tonight y/n!" I call after him, "I did no such thing Ronald!" I laugh and shake my head before turning back around.

"... such a hard thing to achieve, most people our age can't even get what you got consistently. Trust me, by next month you'll be an expert. It takes time." I walk up to Harry and Neville and chime in, "Yeah, and look at Zacharius, I thought the vein in his forehead would pop today and he came nowhere near what you did." Neville jumps but then smiles sheepishly when he realizes it's me, even laughing under his breath. Harry also turns at my voice and his gaze softens when he meets my eyes. With a big grin on his face, he rubs Neville's shoulder one more time before patting his arm.

"Don't lose it just yet, mate. You're really, truly doing great."

"Thanks guys." Neville wipes his nose and smiles at the both of us, "I'll see you around!" In much better spirits, Neville grabs his sweater and heads out.

Once we're alone, Harry steps towards me and wraps me in a tight embrace, and my face ends up smushed in his chest

"Mmmph - hey, mm, can't breathe here!" Harry laughs and kisses the top of my head before loosening his grip.

"Sorry love, I'm sorry, I've just been waiting to do that since you walked into the room. It's hard to focus on everyone else here when you're right there, you know?"

I smile up at him before wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

"Maybe... I should... stop... coming... so you... can focus!" I peck his lips between every word and he snakes his arms around my waist.

"Little... do you know... that's... useless... because... you're... always... on... my... mind!" Harry plants big kisses on the top of my head, my forehead, my cheeks, each ear, and the rest on my lips, making me giggle like a little girl.

"By the way... a doe?" He's talking about my patronus that revealed itself today, a graceful doe. As soon as I had conjured it, it had pranced in a circle around Harry and his stag before returning to me. Everyone had paused in their own efforts to stare, jaws dropped. Hermione had gasped and grabbed onto Ron's arm and she gazed up at it with wide eyes and a huge smile.

"Mmm what a surprise, huh?" I look up at Harry and he looks back at me fondly, grinning so wide I think his face might crack in two.

"Maybe we can make our patronuses kiss in front of everyone."

I laugh before wriggling out of his grasp to retrieve my things. "You are ridiculous Mr. Potter, utterly ridiculous."

I don't make it far before Harry pounces and wraps himself around me from behind, "Where do you think you're going!"

"Hey!" I lose my balance and we both fall to the ground onto one of the mats, giggling. I roll onto my back so he's on top of me, our limbs entangled and our noses touching. He rubs our noses together before kissing me and I can't but melt into the it. Almost two years of dating and his kisses still never fail to make me all fluttery inside.

He pulls away, suddenly serious, and leans his forehead against mine.

"You know I couldn't have done this without you, you know?"

"Yes you absolutely could have, and you know it."

"Actually, I know that I wouldn't have been able to. You're my strength, my love. You were the one who encouraged me to take the risk. You were the one who believed that I could do it when I didn't."

I cup his cheek and he leans into it before continuing, "Even during meetings when I don't think I can, all I have to do is look for you and your smile tells me I can keep going. I have to keep going. For you. For us."

My heart swells with his words and all I can think about is how in love I am with this boy, with the Boy Who Lived And Captured My Heart. "Merlin, I love you so much, Harry." He lets his head rest on my chest and I snuggle into him.

"I love you, y/n."

I close my eyes and lean into my boyfriend while I mindlessly run my fingers through his hair. We lay in comfortable silence.

"Y/n?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we stay here for a second?"

"Of course, my love. Let's stay here forever."

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #hp imagine #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshot #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n

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soullumii · 2 years ago

Text

this is trouble | joel miller x f!reader

part 2

summary: it's been three weeks since joel last fucked you. tonight he finally has the time.

warnings/tags: 18+ smut mdni, filth. was meant to be plotless but sort of has plot now oops. fem!afab!reader, fwb, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, secret fwb, dirty talk, bratty!reader, grumpy!reader, dom!joel, soft!joel as fucking always (i’m a romantic, what can i say?) little bit of feelings oops, some angst at the end oops, pet names, no use of y/n

word count: 4.6k-ish

a/n: couldn’t find a gif of joel stroking that damn guitar so i made one. lowkey hate this but i needed to upload something so here i hope u enjoy

so when you give that look to me,

i better look back carefully cuz this is trouble, yeah this is trouble

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

It’s been a good few weeks since you last fucked Joel.

Since this whole friends with benefits thing started between you.

And tonight you’re kind of set on getting his dick back inside you again. Since, y’know, it’s been so long.

You’ve been craving it for a while, but tonight it’s kind of all encompassing. Kind of been the only thing on your mind since Tommy and Maria invited you out tonight. You and Joel, the latter who for the past three weeks has been busy with god knows what.

You’re kind of pissed at him. Kind of really pissed. And your horny, pent up brain doesn’t help much with keeping your cool.

At least you’re a few drinks in now, which has cooled your temper down some (though has spiked your libido quite a bit). Maria and Tommy are totally not picking up on your bad mood, though, thank god.

You swirl the last few dregs of wine in your glass, hardly listening to what Maria is practically shouting to you from the other side of the booth, since it’s so fucking loud in here. Your mind is caught on Joel standing at the other end of the Tipsy Bison.

You’ve been eyeing the way his hands curl around his glass of whiskey. The way his flannel stretches over his broad chest. The way his mouth moves as he talks to one of the stable hands named Harry.

You remember the feeling of that mouth between your thighs.

Fuck, how much longer is he gonna make you wait? Another damn week?

He looks over at your table, eyes catching yours from across the room. You glare at him, trying to convey the frustration and lust and want you feel.

His lip twitches in a smirk, seemingly having received your message. He pats Harry on the back, and then he’s sauntering back over to you and your little group of friends.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He slides into his seat next to you in the booth. His scent of pine and sandalwood envelops you, a silent torture in and of itself. “Harold doesn’t know when to stop talkin’.”

Tommy laughs boisterously. When he’s had one too many drinks, he’s impossibly loud. “Man, I remember when he kept me at the greenhouse for an hour talkin’ about some bullshit.”

“He's a good guy. Just likes to talk." Maria glances at the radio perched in the corner, a new song playing through the speakers sprinkled throughout the bar. “Oh I love this song! Let’s go dance!”

Joel looks over at you, and you’re still kind of out of it, eyes fixated on the way the sleeves of his flannel are rolled up above his forearms, showing off the veins that snake across his skin, the muscles that shift with each drum of his fingers on the table top.

You’re not in any condition to dance at the moment, and Joel is certainly aware of it.

“I think we’ll stay here,” he says. “Y’all go enjoy yourselves.”

“Suit yourself.” Maria drags Tommy out to the dance floor, leaving you and Joel at this little booth tucked in the corner all by yourselves.

Alone.

In the dark.

And you’re drunk. Joel, probably on his way there.

This is not going to end well. Or maybe it will. For you, at least. Just…not for any poor suckers who might stumble across whatever is about to take place.

Joel lazes in his seat, casually stretching an arm over the back of the booth, pressing in close to you.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Hi,” you say.

“…You doin’ alright?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice rather than any real concern, and you know he knows exactly what’s wrong with you.

“I’m fine,” you respond coolly.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I’m havin’ some trouble believin’ that, since you’re poutin’ like crazy right now, sweetheart.”

“I am not pouting-“

He laughs, full on fucking laughs at you. “Uh yeah, ya are. You’re actin’ like a lil brat. Givin’ me those goddamn eyes from across the room.”

“Eyes? What eyes?”

His voice dips into something dangerously low, only for you to hear. “The ones practically beggin’ me to eat your pussy. Those ones.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel!” you hiss, turning your head to hide your embarrassment. You drain the rest of your drink and immediately wish you had more. Or some water, at least, to cool down the warmth settling high in your cheeks.

“That’s what you want, ain’t it?”

“I don’t fucking know. Are you actually going to do it? Or are you just gonna leave me high and dry again?”

He sighs heavily, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose and why is he the frustrated one here?

You’ve gone three fucking weeks without his dick in you! After he and you made a deal! You should be mad. Not him!

But maybe…maybe that’s just it. Maybe he isn’t fucking you because he just doesn’t want to anymore. And that, scarily enough, makes your chest ache and your eyes get all teary and wow you are so drunk right now.

“Listen—“ he starts.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Joel,” you snap, folding your napkin into little squares to distract yourself from how upset you are.

He pulls back, and you think he might just get up and leave you to stew angrily again. You could afford to throw yourself another pity party. There’s a bunch more napkins on this table that need folding.

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, his hand settles warm on your thigh. Your fingers stall around the napkin.

“I know I’ve been busy, but I intend to keep my promise this time,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your bare flesh, your sundress already having ridden up your thigh. “Don’t think you’ve been the only one cravin’ this.”

His hand caresses down your inner thigh until his palm is cupping you through your panties, his knuckles brushing over your clothed entrance, and you’re grateful that the booth is angled the way it is, that you’re tucked on the inside, because it makes it a lot harder for anyone to see what he’s doing.

And it makes it a lot easier for you to give into it.

Your legs fall open, providing him more access to where you’re slick and ready for him, your knee pressing into his jean-clad thigh.

“Mm, there we go,” he smirks, stroking you through the fabric, and a tiny whimper escapes you. He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your ear when he murmurs, “You’re such a drama queen when you’re horny.”

Motherfucker…

Okay, yes. You can be a bit dramatic. But it’s not only your body that’s horny for him…your heart is kind of horny too. Joel is your best friend and to not see or talk to your best friend for three weeks is practically torture, especially when they’ve been giving you the good dicking down that you deserve. You have a right to be dramatic.

You send him a scathing glare but it melts the moment his fingers pull your panties to the side and slip beneath the fabric.

You’re wet as hell. You know it. He knows it. But you’re still mad at him, and kind of drunk, so…

“Don’t you say fucking shit.”

“I wasn’t goin’ to.”

It’s a damn lie. He loves commenting on how wet you get for him. While it’s a bit humiliating for you, it only boosts his ego. Like hell he needs an ego boost, though.

His finger lightly swipes up your folds, and he bites down on his lip to try and hide the arrogant grin on his face at the way you thrust your hips forward needily with a breathy pant, but he’s failing. It’s practically impossible for The Joel Miller not to make things about himself.

“How often did you touch yourself thinkin’ about me while I was gone?”

Case in point.

“Hmm…I don’t think I ever did.”

He circles the pad of his finger around your entrance, and stares you down with dark eyes, looking straight through your core, his voice dipping into something sultry and ragged and downright criminal. “You’re such a damn liar.”

You feel like you might melt into the faux leather booth. Your thighs are already sticking to it, why not just become part of it at this point?

He slowly sinks his finger inside you, his thumb stroking your outer lips as he does so, and you’re boneless against the cushioned back of the booth.

“I’ll be honest for the both of us. Practically came to the thought of you every night,” he mumbles against your ear and lightly bites your earlobe. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout how much I missed you… ‘bout your body… ‘bout this perfect pussy.” He emphasizes each word with a pulse of his thick finger inside you.

You shudder, your body lighting up at the thought of him lying in his bed, his hand closed around his cock as he came with a moan of your name on his lips.

“Why didn’t you just come see me?” You huff, choking on a breath when he crooks his finger inside you, stroking your walls.

“Too much was goin’ on. Maria had me on patrol every morning, then I had guard duty to watch the folks that just left town. I wanted to see you, but I didn’t have enough time. You know I like takin’ my time with you, sweetheart.”

His excuse is valid enough, and he really does like taking his time with you. Content to just plant himself between your legs for hours to coax you through orgasm after orgasm. Or fuck you slow and deep, pulling back just when you’re on the crest to watch you squirm before he builds you up again, over and over until you’re practically screaming at him to let you cum.

Still…he couldn’t have stopped by once to explain his situation?

He slides in another finger, and you vaguely register that the song Maria and Tommy sauntered out to the dance floor to is coming to an end and another is starting in its place. They’ll be back soon.

“We can’t do this here,” you hiss, attempting to pull his hand out from under your panties, but it’s half hearted. You don’t want him to stop.

But he pulls back anyway, “If that’s what you want.”

It’s sweet, it’s considerate.. But he’s a damn jerk, because he knows how long you’ve been waiting for this. He knows you want him to keep going. Especially judging by the way he’s looking at you, eyes dark and hooded, the corner of wicked his lips twisting up…

He just wants you to fucking say it.

“Joel…” you grumble.

“What? You change your mind?”

Your fingers curl around his hand, tugging it down again, pressing it up against your throbbing core. That’s gotta be answer enough.

He’s not having it. “C’mon baby. Use your words…”

You scowl at him, muttering, “Don’t stop.”

“Speak up, sweetheart. Can’t hear ya. It’s loud in here.”

Ughhhh! “Please touch me, Joel. Please don’t stop.”

He smirks. “As you wish.”

Princess Bride reference. Cute. Makes your heart flop a little in your chest.

Joel eases his fingers back inside you agonizingly slow. He strokes the pads of his fingers inside you. A tingle unfurls in your chest, starts in your toes and spreads up your calves, and a low moan tumbles from your lips.

Thankfully, from anyone passing by, it would look like you two are just deep in a private conversation. Joel, pressed against you, leaning in close, and you, shielded from view by his broad shoulders, listening intently to whatever he’s saying.

They just don’t know that he’s breaking you down, brick by brick. That he’s making you leak all over this fucking booth. That it’s pure filth he’s muttering in your ear and not a juicy secret.

“God, you look so pretty takin’ my fingers, like you were made for 'em. Such a good girl."

“Joel, oh my god…”

Your breaths are coming out hotter, heavier, especially when Joel’s fingers slip out only to glide up through your folds to run delicious patterns over your clit.

“Fuck…” You whimper, the heat in your lap pooling thick and abundant. Your hips chase after his fingers, grinding against his hand.

You’re dangerously close.

“That feel good, baby…?” He eggs you on, his voice a rough rumble of thunder against your ear.

It’s embarrassing how quickly, how enthusiastically you’re nodding, and Joel slips his fingers back inside you, his thumb coming down to rub circles on your clit as he fucks his digits up and into you.

The music is loud, but beneath it, you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy as Joel takes you apart, stroke by stroke, a steady metronome.

You grasp onto his forearm desperately, your nails digging into the muscles there with a gasp of his name. “Joel-“

Shit. You’re seriously going to cum in this shitty little moth-eaten booth in the only bar in this entire town. You won’t be able to live it down. But you can’t bring yourself to care–you’re close, on the precipice, and you meet Joel’s dark, dangerous eyes, urging you to cum on his hand with a C’mon baby, you can do it, give it to me and you might, it’s right there it’s—

“…-ere did you learn to do that?”

The unexpected sound of Tommy’s voice has you frantically ripping Joel’s hand out from beneath your dress and scrabbling for a napkin to wipe up the mess on your thighs, on the fucking booth, your orgasm rearing back angrily and setting into a dull buzz in your limbs.

The wicked man beside you scoots himself further under the booth, likely to hide the hard-on he’s sporting. He wipes his hand on his thigh. You think you can hear him grumbling angrily under his breath at the interruption, but you’re not sure, ears instead trained on the sound of your friends getting closer.

You reach for the drink menu, pretending to read it.

“I took dance classes in my free time before the outbreak,” Maria says as the couple closes back in on the booth you and Joel were totally not defiling. She shimmies at the both of you. “You guys really missed out on some of my great moves while you were moping.”

“We weren’t moping,” Joel defends.

“Sure…” Maria drawls.

If she only knew.

“I’m just not really feeling well,” you say.

Maria’s playful grin falls into a look of concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Need to go lay down, I think. It’s been a long day.”

“Let me walk you home,” Joel says, grabbing his coat he had slung over the booth and strategically positioning it over his pants when he stands.

“Thanks.”

“Feel better!” Tommy says, and you give him a grateful nod as Joel’s hand settles on the small of your back and he steers you out of the stuffy bar and into the cool summer night.

Katydids sing in the dark as you and Joel stroll down the street to your house tucked at the end of the cul-de-sac. Fireflies light the asphalt. An owl hoots overhead.

“You really feelin' bad?” He asks quietly, once you’ve reached your front porch.

"No. I just wanted to get out of there."

He hums. "Are you still mad at me?"

“I dunno.” Not really. You’re just pissed you were interrupted. Still, he needs to feel some remorse for his radio silence, so you don’t elaborate.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely as you unlock your door. “Really I am. There’s no excuse. I should’a made the time to at least tell you what was goin’ on. I’m sorry.”

You open your door and pause in the warm light from the foyer. “You can make it up to me by fucking me.”

“As good as that sounds, I wanna make sure you’re okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh. Ugh. Usually Joel’s fine with pushing things to the side. Bottling things up. He does it a lot. You sort of wish he would just drop it right now. You don't want to deal with the weird feeling in your chest that's been here all night. But he’s looking at you, waiting.

"I just thought...Maybe you were done with this. With me."

He frowns. “Hell no. I like what we have. I don’t want it to stop anytime soon." He steps forward, wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in.

"Me too..." You murmur, hands drifting up his back, pressing him in close for a hug. "I'm glad you're safe."

He chuckles. “Course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you say into his shoulder. "I just worry about you.”

"Yeah? You worry 'bout me a lot?"

You pinch his stomach playfully. "You're my best friend. Of course I do."

He pulls away a bit, huffs a tiny laugh. But it's not like his usual laughs. It's forced. Quiet. "Right."

You're a little too drunk to ask about it, and still horny enough to want to get things back on track, so you look into his dark eyes, smiling coyly, lip tucked between your teeth as you roll your hips into him. "Now that I forgive you…think you can fuck me now? Cuz it’s been way too fucking long.”

He groans softly, yes ma'am, and presses his lips against yours.

Okay, yes, he’s your friend but you also kind of kiss sometimes.

You tug him inside the house and shut the door, your mouth still latched to his. The moment the door snicks into the frame, he’s got you pressed against it, his hand rucking up your dress to bunch it around your hips while his tongue dips into your mouth.

You swiftly unbutton his flannel, sliding it down his arms. Your hands find his chest, fingernails scraping over his pecs, through his dark chest hair that thins out the further south it goes, but thickens again into a happy trail that disappears below his waistband.

Fuck, he’s so…

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, a repeat of earlier, and you break the kiss to drop your head against the door with a thump when his fingers find your clit again.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.”

…And there he goes.

“Three fucking weeks, Joel,” you bite, though the end of his name melts into a moan when his fingers sink inside you again.

“Didn’t know you were keepin’ count.”

“Fuck—“ He quirks a finger. “S-shut up.”

He huffs out an amused chuckle into your cheek, trailing kisses from your jaw down your throat. His teeth sink in, and his mouth suctions over your skin, delivering a beautiful little mark on your flesh that he kisses gently after. It drives you fucking crazy.

“I’ll shut up if you let me taste you,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice vibrating pleasantly through you.

Your pussy pulses around his fingers, your clit honest to god throbbing against his palm, and now he knows you really want him to eat you out, especially when you follow up with an enthusiastic nod.

Joel slips his hand out from beneath your panties to lift you up around his hips and carry you to your bedroom. He plops you on the edge of your mattress and immediately sinks to his knees on the floor, eye level with your cunt.

“God, been thinkin’ about you for weeks. Missed this pussy so goddamn much,” he says, leaning in to kiss your inner thigh.

His lips trail down your leg as he pulls your panties off and stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Let’s see how good I did,” he says, pulling your legs apart to get a good look at what a mess he’s made of you. He hums appreciatively at the sight of your glistening folds, licking his lips. That enough has you clenching around nothing, fingers tightening in the bed covers.

“You seein’ what I do to you? No one else can make you this wet, ain’t that right?”

“You’re such an arrogant ass,” you growl.

He just smirks as he lowers himself again between your legs. He puffs a breath of cool air along your slit before listing over to kiss your other inner thigh, grinning when you groan in frustration.

“Joel, please.”

“So impatient.”

“I’ve waited thr—“

“Three weeks, yeah I know.”

He presses forward to lick a hot stripe up your folds with the flat of his tongue, and your hand flies to his hair, anchoring him closer to your pussy.

“S-shit,” you whimper.

He lightly drags a finger along your slit, the slight pressure fucking agonizing.

“Joel.” You sort of want to scream at him. He’s been teasing you all fucking night.

“Alright,” he laughs and allows you to guide his head back down until the bridge of his scarred nose is pressed into your folds and his tongue is prodding at your entrance.

He takes his sweet time unraveling you, alternating between licking into you and sucking your sensitive clit into his mouth. You can’t say much, reduced to wordless cries with each movement of his mouth.

It’s messy, sloppy, but you like it. You like seeing the wetness on his face when he pulls back for air. You like the way his hair is pulled in all different directions, all because of your greedy hands. You like the way he has to push one of his hands down to palm himself in his jeans, just to relieve some of that pressure.

He clearly loves eating you out. And you very much love that he loves it.

But you’re getting kind of desperate. Kind of really want to cum. So…

Your hips begin to grind against his face as he sucks on your clit, and he seems to receive the message because he slides two thick fingers into you and starts to eat you out in earnest, delighting with a low moan when your legs clench around his head, the scruffy hairs of his beard tickling your inner thighs.

“Holy shit, Joel.”

“Mm—“ He moans.

Your foot keeps slipping off the bed, so Joel’s large, warm hand curls around your calves to situate your legs over his shoulders. This new position grants you more leverage to chase after your orgasm with steady rolls of your hips into his hungry mouth.

He sucks your clit as he thrusts his fingers into you at a brutal pace, hitting your g-spot that has you jerking against him with each stroke. His hand plants on your abdomen to hold you down, stilling your desperate movements.

You’re getting close, the pressure building and magnifying as Joel moans against your pussy, the vibrations driving you insane.

“Fuck, Joel—hah-“

“Mm.”

“Jesus, Joel—fuck—oh my—hnhh—”

“Mhm.” He encourages.

It shatters in you, white hot and falling over you, a waterfall of warmth. Your body straightens stiff as a board, back arching off the bed, quivering as you cum against Joel’s mouth, your slick running down his chin and catching in his beard.

You try to push him away, your orgasm overwhelming on its own, but Joel hates it when you do that, wants to make sure you really feel it, so he presses himself back in to lick and guide you through it. Drawing it out.

It has your head falling back, eyes rolling into your skull, mouth dropping open on a satisfied moan.

He only gives you a short amount of time to recover while he pulls his jeans and briefs off. You tug your sundress over your head. And then he’s rising up to meet you again, scooting you back until your head almost brushes the headboard. He sinks his thick cock into you as he presses his lips against yours, muffling your surprised and needy moan.

And then he reaches up, his large hand gripping the headboard as your legs wrap around his waist, and then he’s fucking you in earnest, each snap of his hips sheathing his cock fully inside you in a desperate rhythm.

And all you can do is lay there and take it and fall apart.

“S-shit, baby,” he grunts. “That’s it.”

“Oh God…” You whine.

Your hands scrabble for purchase on his back, your blunt nails scratching up his sun-freckled skin, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as he holds the thumping headboard steady, his knuckles turning white as he grips it. His other hand finds its spot next to your head, holding himself up as he obliterates your pussy.

He prepared you well for him, but you’re still stretched so full, the breaths knocked from your lungs with each thrust of his cock into you. His pelvic bone brushes your clit with the roll of his hips, the uneven pressure dragging you closer and closer to that metaphoric cliff.

And his moans certainly help, too. He’s not quiet, between strings of praises are ragged moans and tiny whimpers. It only turns you on more.

“Fuck, Joel, can’t leave me without this again.”

“Trust me baby,” he groans. “Another damn week and I wouldn’t’ve survived.”

His hand releases the headboard, slides down to tangle in your hair. He tugs your head back, and molds your lips to his. Teeth nipping your bottom lip before his tongue dives into your mouth. You moan appreciatively.

You can hardly breathe, but god it’s perfect. This moment is so fucking perfect. You want to take a picture of it. Frame it on your damn wall.

You’re sure it looks like he’s fucking eating you right now, but you like it. You want him to consume you. Want him to be yours… Want to be his.

Stop. He’s your best friend.

He pulls back to lick a stripe from the corner of your lips along your jaw before sucking marks and kisses down your throat, his hips still thrusting into you steadily. His hand squeezes your breast, rolls your nipple between his index and thumb.

“Oh…oh—“ God…

“You close baby girl?”

“Fuck, ye-yes… Yes need you…”

“N-need me to help you cum?”

He’s losing it. You’re losing it. Fuck please!

“Please, Joel—“

He pulls back enough to watch you, lips pink and puffy and kissed the fuck out. His eyes drift to where he’s thrusting inside you, dick slick with your arousal, sheathing itself inside you with wet, fucking nasty sounds.

“God, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect...”

His hand drifts down and you tremble, brows screwing together as his thumb fiddles with your clit.

White hot arousal pools in your core, unrelenting. Unstoppable. You feel like a damn metamorphic rock. Becoming something new under all this heat and pressure.

It crests, crashing, filling your insides with hot magma as your mouth drops open on a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy clamps down on Joel’s cock repeatedly.

He follows right behind you, painting your insides with thick, hot cum, leaking out of your entrance over his cock and down your ass cheeks.

You hiss when he pulls out, feeling empty. He gathers the cum that leaked out with his thumb and pushes it back into your quivering hole.

“So goddamn pretty…” he murmurs. “Look so pretty with my cum inside you…”

Friends. You’re friends.

So why the hell does this feel like so much more? Why is it that you’re so turned on by him practically claiming you?

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he lays down beside you, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. “Feel better now? Not so mad anymore?”

“Mhm,” you hum happily.

He leans in, presses his lips against yours softer, slower…meaningfully. You kiss him back, tugging him close. His arm snakes around your waist, tugging you into him. You're pretty sure normal friends with benefits don't do this. But you and Joel have never been normal.

In those long three weeks you had started to worry maybe he'd never come back. It fucking scared you. Now, you're unsure you ever want to let go.

When he pulls back his eyebrows are furrowed, lips drawn in a frown. He looks concerned. "What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're cryin'..." He wipes your teary eyes with his thumb.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You scramble to wipe your eyes, sniff. Smile at him. Reassure. Act normal. "Oh, no-I'm fine. Just... think I'm still drunk."

"Somethin' going on? You looked like you were gonna cry back at the Bison, too. Did I do somethin'?"

You shake your head, squeeze his arm. "No, of course not. I'm just being weird. Tired, I think.”

"You sure?"

"Mhm.”

"You can tell me anythin’, y'know?"

What? Like I think I'm in love with you? Fat chance.

"I know. Everything's fine."

You’re such a damn liar.

He can see right through you, but he lets it go. "Okay. If you're sure." He leans in to press a kiss to your jaw. Friend. Friend friend friend. "I'd love to stay but I gotta go. Ellie's probably wonderin' where I'm at."

Joel sits up, swings his legs over the edge and stands. Grabs his jeans, pulls them up. His belt buckle jangles as he slides it through the loops.

“I really did miss you, by the way,” he says, looking down at you. “You. Not just the sex.”

His words warm your cool, exposed body. Fuel the burning the realization, I love you. “I missed you, too.”

He turns to leave, and you see the fabric poking out of his back pocket.

"You still have my panties."

He smirks. "Guess you'll hav'ta come over to get them back."

You smile back, blushing. “Looking forward to it.”

He leans down to kiss your head, "Night, angel."

"Night," you say faintly.

Only when your front door slams shut do you allow yourself to give into the fantasies. To imagine what it’d be like to call him yours. To not keep things a secret. To tell people you're together. To be his.

Damnit, you’re in trouble.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller #game joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #this is trouble

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bonniesfamiliar · 1 year ago

Text

DIMENSION TRAVEL STORY IDEA: Summary: Harriet "Harry" James Potter has travelled to an alternate dimension during a spell gone wrong (Kreacher's actually responsible cuz he cares about Harry since she's the Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black) Harriet knows it's an alternate dimension cuz she finds a newspaper stand and lo and behold, who's on the front cover? Tom. Fucking. Riddle. But not the ugly Voldemort Tom Riddle she killed. No this is young Tom Riddle who grew up FINE AS HELL.

And he's on the front page cuz he's The Minister of Magic and guess what he's talking about.

Dumbledore.

He's talking about Dumbledore.

And not manipulative gramps Dumbledore whose beard is longer than my hair.

No.

We're talking about this one

You know why he's talking about this Dumbledore?

Because Albus. Percival. Fucking. Dumbledore decided to become the epitome of "Be Gay, Do Crime," with Gellert Grindelwald, his husband.

DUMBLEDORE IS A DARK LORD WITH HIS HUBBY

So Harriet is obviously freaking out and does the right thing.

She goes to a pub and drinks her sorrows away in Scottish Whiskey, (Thank you, Minny)

But Harry never makes reasonable decisions so when she finds a quill and paper, guess what she does.

She writes to Misinter Riddle.

But the drama doesn't end there.

Whenever Harriet does anything, whether she writes or talks about Tom Riddle, she doesn't speak in English.

She talks in Pareseltongue.

(Cuz she and tom are the only Parselmouths. I think.)

So Parseltongue.

Harriet writes in parseltongue to the Minister of Fucking Magic on his wrongdoings in her universe.

The letter literally looks like this:

ssss ssss sssssssss ss ssssss s sss ssssssss ssssss sss sss ss ssss ssssssss ssssssss ssss ssssss sssssss ss ss sssssssss and that transcribes to

"Dear Lord Voldemort, or should I say Minister Riddle, you are an ugly noseless hairless evil snakey bastard in my dimension,"

and cuz she's spiteful, she signs it off with "You-Know-Who"

But the thing is Harriet never mentioned her name or who her parents were.

So when Minister Riddle receives this letter, he freaks out and then does everything he can to find this person.

Not to kill them.

But to woo them.

This kind, thoughtful person has travelled from another dimension just to stop him from becoming evil.

AND THEY'RE A PARSELMOUTH.'

THEY'RE OBVIOUSLY HIS SNAKE MATE. (cuz he killed all of the Gaunts and Riddles so they're not family)

You can bet ur ass he was squealing to Nagini at the thought of having another Parselmouth in the world with him.

He's obsessed.

(He's not tom riddle if he doesn't have possessive issues and his jealousy issues are just as bad.🤭🤭🤭🥰🥰🥰😩😩😩)

Like it's not a want.

It's a need.

He needs the writer of this letter to be with him forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and-

You probably get the idea.

Anyway, 1 year goes by.

Tom Riddle: I MUST FIND THIS PERSON AND MAKE THEM MINE

Harriet Potter: *forgets about even writing the letter*

Tom is growing more obsessed as the days go by and then he meets a woman at a charity ball held for idk an organisation for potieneers? Potion Masters?

She's chatting up with Lord and Lady Dagworth-Granger cuz she's been working with them cuz they remind her of Hermione and she needed a job.

Anyway, he approaches the couple in hopes of talking to them and Harriet sees Minister Riddle approaching and quickly moves away to head to the drinks table.

And then lets out a breath of relief when she realises he wasn't heading for her.

She schmoozes for a few more minutes before calling it quits and heading out for fresh air.

The party is at the Dagworth-Granger's manor so she goes out to the gardens.

And hears a cry for help.

Her Gryffindor instincts push her to run towards the sound of danger.

But her Slytherin side made her hide behind the wall from where the cry of help had come from.

It was a witch being harassed by two wizards.

One of the wizards was holding her wand, taunting her.

While the other had begun to take off her outfit.

Before it could go any further, she brought the men's attention to her and with a flick of her wrist, Harriet had the men on their knees.

She then walked over to the one holding the witch's wand and grabbed it out of his hand, accidentally snapping his wrist in the process.

She gave the witch her wand back and accepted the shaky hug she received.

Harriet waited until the witch was out of sight before she turned to the men and smiled, watching as their faces fell into horror as they saw the fangs in her mouth.

(I'm in love with the prompt by a post on tumblr where Basilisk!Harry is hugging Kneazle!Hermione and Dragon!Ron also wants his cuddles. I can't find the person who made it but I've lived by the idea that these would be their animagus forms if they ever performed the spell like James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew had done to become illegal animagi for Remus Lupin)

Harriet rips into their throats, feeds on them and then turns their bodies into ash with the fiendryfire spell.

She grabbed a mirror from her purse to erase the blood from her face and clothes and began to walk away lest anyone come looking for the wizards.

But, Harriet suddenly slammed into what felt like a wall.

A very warm wall.

Regaining her bearings, Harriet looked up to notice that the "wall" was MINISTER RIDDLE.

AND HE WAS HOLDING HER ARMS.

"Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?" She said pasting a smile on her face.

Shift of POV:

Minister Riddle internally sighed at being stuck in another ball instead of being at home, analysing the letter once again.

He was certain it was a woman who sent it as there was a red lipstick kiss on the paper after it was signed sss-ssss-sss (You-Know-Who)

His thoughts are cut off when Lady Dagworth-Granger asks her husband where Harriet is.

Who is Harriet? he muses but when Lord Dagworth-Granger offers to look in the gardens, Tom leaps at the chance to run away from the party.

He goes into the gardens aimlessly walking around for a few minutes, lost in his thoughts of his mysterious parselmouth when a witch comes out of nowhere and collides with him.

He uprighted her by placing his hands on her arms and looked on curiously as she seemed to freeze in place when she looked up to see that it was he she bumped into.

Tom Riddle is the one to freeze when she speaks.

"Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?" She says an innocent smile on her face as if she had no idea his whole world had just flipped on its axis.

Parseltongue.

She's speaking in parseltongue.

She's his parselmouth.

The one from another dimension.

But he had to clarify so he replies honestly for the first time in his life, in parseltongue, "I've been looking for you,"

"Searching for me? Whatever for?"

A boyish smile widens on his face before he forces it into a polite smile.

"The Lord and Lady Dagworth-Granger have been searching for you, Miss Harriet I believe you are?" He reverts to English to test if she notices the change but she doesn't.

She just replies in English, "Ah, I see. I disappeared for too long with my break from the stuffiness of the ball and yes, I am Harriet."

Harriet, he muses in his mind, no last name to give for me.

She extends her gloved hand for him to shake but Tom riddle reaches for both of her hands and turns them over to kiss them gently and forces himself not to give into the urge of nuzzling into her hands (well not yet at least) and without letting them go, he straightens to his full height to tower over her (giving him a thrill at knowing she was shorter, meaning he could easily pick her up and carry her, be it over his shoulders or bridal style) and replies, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harriet. No last name?"

(Harriet has been wearing gloves cuz of the 'I must not tell lies' scars that cover her hands.)

Harriet smiles teasingly towards him and his cold heart thaws ever so, "I couldn't decide on a last name and I've decided I like the mysterious aura it gives me,"

Or maybe she couldn't risk using her real last name because she was from a different dimension, Tom muses in his mind, Nevertheless, Harriet Riddle has a lovely ring to it.

Harriet Potter: *staring confused at Tom Riddle as he smiles down at her

Tom Riddle: *Winter would be a lovely time to get married, wouldn't it?

I'm stopping here cuz it's a summary, not a story. Yes, I'm Evil.

Tell me if you like it tho.

I was this close *makes an inch between her fingers* to making this a Soulmate AU story.

Think of the angst that Harriet would go through all her life knowing that her soulmate's words to her are: I've been looking for you

And it's an alternate hotter version of Tom Riddle, AKA THE BAD GUY WHO MURDERED HER PARENTS

And think of how Harriet's words had motivated Tom his entire life to do his best to work hard (and cheat death) to live long enough for his soulmate to see him one day at a place be it a library or a gala or a hallway and ask him: Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?

Huh.

Maybe I should make them soulmates.

I need a timeline. fuck.

Um.

Riddle was educated at Hogwarts from 1938 to 1945, and was sorted into Slytherin House, a nod to his ancestor Salazar Slytherin.

Making Tom 34 cuz 1927 is the year Tom was born in if he went to Hogwarts in 1938 which would make him 11 in 1938 and 38-11 is 27 so 1927 is when he was born.

61-27=34 so Harriet is in 1961 but cuz of the time skip tom is 35 years old in 1962

Harriet was born in 1980

The Second War technically began on 24 June, 1995, though was not officially announced by the Ministry until nearly a year later on 17 June, 1996, and ended on 2 May, 1998, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after the death of the Dark Lord.

Which made Harriet 18 in 1998, 24 in 2004, 24 in 1961 and 25 in 1962

but she deserves peace so the year Kreacher sent her back was 2004 which would make her 24 cuz he's horrified that she hasn't attempted to romance anyone since Cedric Diggory.

Tbh, if he was my bf I would never love again.

But then hubby "I would burn the world down for you and rebuild a new one from its ashes" tom riddle is here and I'm like Cedric who?

But none of them compare to (long list of titles, I'll research later.) Harriet James Potter.

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narrycherries · 1 year ago

Text

✹ Perfect ✹ one-shot / Fluff

Harry addresses an issue you’ve been hiding from him..

masterlist

word count: 3k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, soft!harry, sweet, fluff, mention of weight gain/loss, mention of sex

A heavy sigh slipped past your lips as you walked into the living room. Harry was sitting in his desk chair in the middle of the living room, his eyes fixated on the television as he played a video game. He had a headset on, talking to his friends while they played. You had just finished blow drying your hair after your shower - your plan was to go to bed.

You approached him from behind, and trying not to scare him, you tapped his shoulder and appeared at his side.

“Hold up.” He said into the headset before he pulled it off and laid it on the ground. He twisted the chair to face you, his big hands grabbed your waist and he pulled you closer. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah..” You mumbled, giving him a soft smile. “Just gonna tell you that.. I’m going to bed.”

He furrowed his brows, he had just checked the time a few minutes ago so he was slightly confused. “This early?”

“Yeah.. m’tired.”

“Feel okay? Not feeling sick, are you?”

You shook your head. “No, just sleepy.”

He pursed his lips for a moment as he looked at you, trying to catch any signs of sadness or maybe pain, but you were just being honest. You seemed tired. He snaked his arms around your body and pulled you close.

“I was gonna bake some cookies for you when I got done.” He was slightly frowning, but you tried to ignore it.

Your arm went around his neck, your fingers curling into his hair. “That’s so sweet, bubby.. but m’so tired.”

“I’ll make them tomorrow then.” He gave you a grin.

“Sounds perfect.” You ran your fingers through his scalp, pushing his hair back.

“Do you want me to come to bed early? I can get off this.” He slightly nodded his head toward the television.

“No, no.” You pulled at his roots. “You’re okay. I’ll be fine. I’m so sleepy.”

He sighed, but gave you a gentle nod. “Okay.. if you need anything at all.. call me, alright?”

“I know.. I will.”

“You always come first, babe.” He reminded you like he always did whenever he was with his friends or playing the video game or in any situation where he thought maybe you’d need extra attention.

“I love you.” You leaned down to kiss his lips, which he returned.

“I love you more, sugarplum.”

Harry was always so sweet and caring towards you, and that pet name was one of your favorites. It was reserved for when he was concerned or worried about you, and right now you knew he was unsure about everything. He could tell you weren’t feeling well, not in a physical sick way but in some sort of way. He just didn’t know why and he didn’t want to push you to tell him. If you wanted him to know, you’d tell him.

“Keep the bed warm for me, hm?” He said as you took a few steps back, trying to walk away without being rude.

“I will. Warm and cozy.” You promised while his hands fell from your sides and you created a wider distance. “See you in the morning, bubby.”

“Sunday mornings mean the best breakfast spread.” He gave you a wink.

“Y’know I love your pancakes.”

“Sleep tight, lovey. I’ll handle breakfast.”

“Alright, ‘night.” You softly said as you reached the doorway.

“Goodnight.”

It didn’t take you long to get in the bed and try to get situated. You laid there for a while, trying your best to fall asleep naturally but it was hard. Your mind was racing with thoughts and you were unable to stop them. Even your heart seemed to beat a little faster than normal.

Eventually, you pulled up a video on your phone and let it rest on the pillow beside you as you listened to it with your eyes closed. You were hoping it would just slowly allow you to drift to sleep. Of course that wasn’t working for you tonight. Usually, Harry was in the bed next to you. If he wasn’t going straight to sleep, because most of the time you fell asleep first, he was either reading on his phone or cuddling you. Right now, you missed his warmth. You felt lonely, yet you were somewhat glad he wasn’t here. There were things in our mind that were bothering you, and you feared his presence would only worsen them. It had nothing to do with him, it was all your own issue.

You weren’t sure how long you had laid there when the door creaked open. Harry saw your phone on the pillow, and the light from the screen lit up your face. He sighed softly to himself and walked over to your side of the bed, which actually was his usual side. He didn’t mind, but he knew something was up. Your eyes were barely opened, but you were awake. He leaned down, his hand touching your shoulder.

“Baby, I thought you were sleepy, hm?” He whispered, watching your face closely.

Your eyes opened a little more. “I am.”

“You.. went to bed two hours ago.. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“M’fine.” You quickly said, closing your eyes.

“I’m done in the living room.. I’ll cuddle you in just a minute, okay?”

You swallowed a small lump that was forming in your throat, but you didn’t decide to say anything back. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking off his clothes and walking to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Part of you was upset that he was about to be in the bed with you. You didn’t want him to be near you right now, you had no desire to touch him or feel him against you. Then, the other part just craved him so bad. You needed him next to you to sleep, and if you finally fell asleep then the thoughts lingering in your mind would fizzle out. It wouldn’t be that easy, no matter how hard you tried..

When Harry laid down behind you, a heavy feeling began to form in your stomach. You felt extremely nervous, but you hoped that you could push it all down and just ignore it. As Harry’s arm slid under your neck and his warm hand touched your hip, your throat began to go dry. You shifted slightly, moving your butt away from his crotch. He noticed, but didn’t say or do anything.

“Mm, got it all warm under here, honey.” He said with a chuckle as you readjusted the blanket over your shoulder. Him moving around had messed it up a little.

When you didn’t reply, he furrowed his brows and moved his hand closer to your butt. You started to chew on your cheek, a wave of nervousness was flooding through your veins. Harry definitely could tell something was going on.

“Baby, do you want to.. get extra tired?” He began to knead your ass, slow and hard like he knew you liked.

“No.. not.. not tonight.” You said through a heavy exhale as you gently shifted your hips, trying to silently tell him to move his hand.

“Sure? I can make it quick.. tire you out.” He had a smile laced in his words, and any other time you would be up for it - but not tonight.

“Harry, no.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You quickly huffed back.

He moved his hand to the side of your thigh, still trying to be affectionate without making you uncomfortable. “You.. you haven’t wanted to do anything.. the past three weeks.”

The reminder of that made your heart drop and your eyes begin to water. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, not over this, but it seemed like that’s where you were headed. Harry was rubbing your thigh slowly, creating a nice heat against your skin. That usually calmed you down easily, but you were not breaking out of this mindset anytime soon.

“Have I done something to make you upset?” He asked in a gentle voice.

“No.” You shook your head. This had nothing to do with him.

“Okay.. I wish you’d tell me.”

You stayed silent, not wanting to admit to him what was on your mind. You had been thinking about the same thing all week, and before then it was on and off the previous two weeks.

He put his hand back on your hip, and you let out a huff. “Harry.”

“What?” He sounded confused again, and he honestly was. It wasn’t like he was doing anything crazy.

“Just.. stop.”

“You don't want me to touch you here?” He said while sliding his hand down to your stomach. You immediately felt your chest tighten. “I won’t mess with that spot.”

“No, stop!” You suddenly yelled.

Harry hissed as your nails sunk into his skin and you ripped his hand away from your stomach. You shoved his arm back and scooted away from him. He was baffled by your sudden actions, and it was very alarming to him. He was so unsure of everything. Did he do something wrong?

“Baby, what’s wrong? I.. I didn’t.. mean to..” His voice trailed off solely because he didn’t even know what to say.

“I don’t want you to touch me right now!” You were crying now, tears slipping down your face as you tried your best to pull yourself together. It wasn’t working.

“Darling, what’s going on?” Harry asked as he pushed himself up on his elbow, trying to get a better look at you. You were covering your face with your hands. “I don’t understand what I did.”

You groaned into your palms and moved them so you could speak. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Then what the hell is going on?” His voice was louder now, but you could tell he wasn’t angry - he was simply confused and worried.

“My stomach, Harry! I.. I’ve gained weight.”

As the words sunk into his brain, he let out a deep exhale and closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had to address the topic of your weight with you, and it’s not going to be easy. He licked his lips and swallowed harshly. As he stayed quiet for a few moments, you feared that he was disgusted, that he was holding back his anger and disappointment in you.

You started to whisper softly, your words barely audible to him. “I don’t want you to see it.. It’s gross and nasty and.. and I hate it. I hate the.. the way i look..”

“Baby, don’t say that.” He closed the space you shared and put his arm around your body.

“M’gross, Harry. It’s gross!”

You tried to push him away, not wanting him to take notice of where this weight gain was. But he wouldn’t budge, he wasn’t going to let you lay there and think you were gross. He leaned over you a bit, just so that he could kiss your temple and cheek while he whispered to you.

“Baby girl, you are not gross.” His warm breath made your skin melt, but it wasn’t helpful enough to calm you down.

“Yes, I am.”

“Is this why you haven’t.. been wanting to have sex?”

You tried to shrug him off of you, but once again, you failed. You recalled all the times he’s tried to get you in the mood these last few weeks, all the attempts at teasing you and kissing you and touching you.. none of it worked. You were always tired, but you were just faking that.

“I.. I don’t w-want to disappoint you.” You finally spoke back, your words were like daggers to his heart.

He maneuvered your body so that you were now on your back and he was leaning up to see you. His hand slid underneath your head and the other went to your cheek. You couldn’t resist wrapping your hand around his wrist, pressing his hand even harder against your skin.

“Don’t you ever, ever think you could do that, honey. Never, ever.” He shook his head, and you felt your own heart break at the frown that was covering his pretty lips.

You looked at how nice his collarbones and shoulders were, how fit his chest was, how tight his abdomen was.. how strong and fit and handsome and perfect he was. You felt worthless.

“You.. you’re so.. strong and.. and you have the perfect body.. I don’t.. want people to look at me and.. think that-“

“Hey, no, don’t even say that.” He interrupted you quickly.

“Harry, I can’t.. stay.. healthy or.. or beautiful, I’m sorry.”

“Where is all this coming from, darling? You are the most beautiful, perfect woman on this planet. I adore every little inch of you. Why are you.. you acting like I would hate you all of a sudden?” His brows were stuck in a furrow, and you just knew he was upset.

“I dunno.. I.. I just don’t.. like.. how I look now.”

He moved his hand down to your jaw, this thumb began to rub against the corner of your mouth. “Where do you think you’ve gained weight? You look no different to me.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed them as tight as you could. Harry watched as a few tears were pushed out from the corners of your eyes. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hoping and praying that would help. He wasn’t sure if anything could actually help right now.

“My.. my belly.. I.. was layin’.. on the bed the other night and.. and noticed.. how much further it.. comes over my panties.”

Harry immediately knew what you were referring to. That part of your body has always been one of those iffy spots for you. Sometimes you didn’t care, other times you hated it.

“Your tummy is perfect, darling.”

“No it isn’t.”

Harry sighed, and that caused your eyes to open. You were so worried that he would get angry with you, whether over your attitude or over the fact you had gained weight. He shook his head gently and leaned down to rub his nose against yours. You pouted your lips out, your heart was aching.

“Can I.. see?”

“No, Harry.”

“Let me see.. or let me feel it.” He said in a calm voice while slowly pulling his hand away from your face.

You kept hold of his wrist and allowed him to move his hand under the covers. You hesitated at first, but soon laid his hand over the area. Harry pressed down, then started to rub circles into your stomach.

“I love every piece of you. Every inch, every spot.” He said while continuing the gentle rubs.

You shrugged, looking away from him. “I feel nasty.”

“You aren’t, though. You look perfectly fine to me, baby. So beautiful and perfect.”

Even though you knew he was being honest and serious with you, because he never, ever lies to you about anything, you just couldn’t believe it. How could he be okay with this? You wondered, how could he want to have sex with you? How could he tolerate the changes? It wasn’t as serious as you thought.. but of course telling you that would be impossible.

“You know that I love you, right?” He said with a serious lift of his brows. You grunted, but gave him a nod anyway. He licked his lips. “Let me hear you say it.”

“I.. I know you love me, bubby.”

“Then why are you so upset over this?” He pressed down on your belly again. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“I dunno, Harry.”

He pressed his lips to yours and you whimpered as he pecked your lips a few times, not trying to overdo it, just simply loving on you. He pecked your cheek, too, before he started to move. You grunted as he pulled away, but watched as he moved down to your belly. He pushed the blankets away and slid his hand to your waist. You felt big tears forming in your eyes, these were different from the sad tears, as he started to kiss a trail over your tummy. His hand had made your skin warm and somewhat calmed you down.

“I don’t ever want you to think you’re gross. That.. that hurts me, baby. Makes me think m’not doing something right.” His lips were brushing your skin as he spoke, making you tingle.

“You do everything right.” You told him as you sat your hand on his head, your fingers slipping into his hair. “I.. I love you so much.”

“I love you so, so much.”

He stayed down there for a few minutes, just kissing and rubbing your skin. You felt a lot better with his attention being showered on you. It was a relief. You had spent so many nights just wishing you could cut away the weight that had appeared.

“Hey, I know one thing..” Harry said as he leaned up. He returned to where he had been before, his hand was still on your waist though. “This is why you haven’t been eating a lot lately, hm?”

You frowned, not thinking he noticed that. You tried to be subtle with it, clearly that failed. He gave you a gentle smile and you could see the love in his eyes as he stared at you.

“I don’t want you to starve yourself.. A couple pounds is perfectly normal for anyone and not eating is worse for you than gaining weight.”

“I know.. I’m sorry.”

He sighed softly. “You don’t have to apologize for this.. but please, don’t be mean to yourself, okay?”

You nodded, whining lightly as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I won’t anymore, I promise.”

“If.. and only if.. you want to lose weight.. we can cut back on some things.” Harry said with a smile, he could tell you were feeling better. “But.. I don’t want you to think I want you to or that you need to, okay?”

“I know.” You smiled back. “I.. I just felt so bad.”

“And there’s no need for that, is there?” His smile grew. “You know I love you. And you’re perfect, even if you won’t admit it.”

You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down, your arms going around his strong back. You felt so safe under him. “Thank you for being the sweetest man, bubby.”

He chuckled in your ear. “Anything for you, baby girl.”

#harry styles #harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles stuff #one direction #harry smut #harry styles smut #oneshot #fluff #harry styles fluff #sweet #soft Harry

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harryslittlefreakk · 1 year ago

Text

so perfect for me

(late night talking part 3)

Summary: harry shows you his softer side on your third day together

Warnings: smut, 18+!! mostly fluffy

A/n: thank you for the love on the previous parts. these 2 are my fave, can’t wait to see where the week takes them!! please let me know if there’s anything you want to see from them :)

part one

part two

my masterlist can be found here!

You woke up the next morning cold and alone. Dread hit you instantly as you sat up, searching around the huge room for any sign of Harry. He definitely wasn’t there. You knew sleeping together would be too much for him, he initiated it as much as you did but in the harsh morning light, it felt like a mistake. Even with the window cracked, the room smelled obscene. The smell of hot, dirty sex was seeping out your pores, and you had a sticky mess in your panties. Just another reminder of your mistakes. You threw yourself back into the bed, thrashing around and groaning. You didn’t even hear the door open and close as you kicked and punched at the soft bed around you.

“Not pleased to see me?,” an awfully familiar voice came from above you. Peeking out of one scrunched eye, you instantly softened at the sight of Harry standing over you. He was wearing an oversized grey hoodie and black Nike shorts, headphones wrapped snug around his neck. He had a cup holder in one hand, two large coffee cups tucked inside, and a Pleasing tote bag draped over the opposite shoulder. “I thought you left, I thought you regre-“, you mumbled, running your hands across your face. Harry set aside the cup holder and sunk down on the bed beside you, pulling your hands towards him. “Hey, I would never. Jus’ wanted to bring you some coffee,” he rasped, planting kisses on both of your hands. You smiled sweetly at this, sitting up to be closer to him. He handed one of the coffees to you, “caramel macchiato,” and let the large bag slide off his shoulder. Reaching inside, Harry pulled out the prettiest bouquet, lavender and baby’s breath wrapped in brown parcel paper. “Got you some flowers,” he grinned.

“Harry! I love them. Thank you,” you replied. You could seriously get used to this sight. Possibly your favourite man in the entire world, perched on the edge of your bed, bringing you beautiful flowers and coffee. It was like you were living out all of your dreams at once.

“Come on pet, let’s get you showered.” Harry spoke as he moved from the bed, pulling the warm duvet off your body. As you turned to get up, you let out a hiss, suddenly realising how battered your body felt. Getting fucked within an inch of your life wasn’t wise after being on your feet for hours, you had no idea how Harry wasn’t wincing with every step. You rubbed at your lower back, padding behind Harry to the bathroom.

He’d already started the shower, giving it time to warm up before you stepped inside. “You need to wash your hair?” he asked, grabbing some products from the countertop. You shook your head, and he came up behind you, claw clip in hand, and secured your hair on top of your head. You watched him in the mirror, handling you so delicately. How could the same man who fucked you so hard last night, be so loving and gentle today? You really couldn’t believe that this was your life. Harry peppered kisses along the top of your shoulders, staring back at your reflection. “Are you sore today darling?” he snaked his hands around your waist as he spoke, rubbing gently at your lower stomach. You winced in response, confirming the damage his huge member had done to you.

You let the hot water run over you in the shower, still not really awake enough to function properly. Harry had stepped in behind you, and was rubbing watermelon-scented body wash all over you. His loving hands were soothing all the aches you felt. You really hated the smell of watermelon, but you’d never tell him that. He was caressing your body so gently, showing you so much time and care you’d never had before post-hook up.

He left you to do your skincare alone, running down to your room to grab you a clean pair of panties. When he returned, Harry dabbed at your dripping body with a soft towel, before holding out each leg of your underwear for you to step into. You stole a huge fluffy robe from the back of the bathroom door and slipped into that, feeling more content than ever.

—

Harry had shown you down to your hotel room after your shower, and your jaw went slack as you looked around. “Harry, I can’t afford this!” you gasped, taking it all in. An enormous bed sat against one wall, a small kitchen area off to the right. There was an entire walk-in wardrobe through a jack-and-jill bathroom, already filled with the clothes you’d brought. The room was accented with pale blue and warm wood furnishings, more homely than Harry’s prestige suite. He rolled his eyes, sauntering into your wardrobe. “Don’t have to worry about that, princess. Haven’t you single-handedly funded my room? Now I’m funding yours.”

He pulled on a white miniskirt as he walked through, pushing the hangers apart to nose at what you’d brought with you. “Which one are you wearing tonight?” he asked. You stepped into the room behind him, plucking a metallic fringe skirt from one of the hangers. You held it up against your hips, shimmying at yourself in the mirror, watching the tassels shine. It was a bright magenta with gold and copper iridescent fibres threaded through. The matching bra left little to the imagination, and truthfully you weren’t sure how much trust you had in the tiny top. You looked over at Harry, anxious to see his reaction to your outfit choice. “F’only I were wearing pink today,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across his chin. “You’ll look amazing.” He came up behind you now, pulling you back so your spine was flush with his front. Harry looked the two of you up and down in the mirror, stroking the tops of your arms.

“Listen, I feel bad that you’re hurting today,” he started, moving one hand to rest on your hip. “If y’wanted to, I could upgrade your tickets to VIP so you don’t have to be on your feet for so long.” You rested your head back on his shoulder, humming in appreciation. “I’d like that,” you nodded, “want more energy for you.”

“Yeah?” he confirmed softly, voice muffled against your hair. “Gotta do it subtly though, Harry. Joanie’s been blowing up my phone about you flirting with me last night.” He nodded, tapping his temple. “I’ve got my ways sweet girl.”

Harry moved to lean against the doorframe, putting his phone to his ear to pull some strings for you.

It wasn’t long before your phone rang, Joanie’s contact photo flashing up as she tried to facetime you. You whisper-shouted to Harry to hide, composing yourself before you picked up. She was screaming when you answered, repeating your name in a frenzy. “What happened?” you asked, genuinely confused. “I just got an email, we were upgraded to VIP tonight!! Apparently they do it to a few people every night. I can’t believe it!!” You snorted at her excitement, wishing you could tell her the rest of the story. “That’s so exciting!!!” You buzzed with her, hoping you were acting surprised enough. “Wait- where are you?” she quizzed, suddenly distracted by the view of your busy wardrobe.

Your heart caught in your throat, you’d forgotten that you already sent her pictures of your previous hotel room. “My hotel upgraded me,” you lied, words coming out before you could think them through. “I complained to the staff, that hotel was trash. So they moved me here,” you shrugged, hoping that would be enough. “Well I’m glad you got moved. I didn’t like you staying there. You know you could’ve stayed with me though,” Joanie pouted. “Show me round your room!!”

You panned the camera around your wardrobe and bathroom, then gave her a quick look at the main room. You had no idea where Harry was so you were anxious to show her too much. She hung up after a few minutes, needing to get ready, promising to send you the details for the show. You called for Harry to come out as you threw yourself down onto the bed. He peeked out sheepishly from behind the floor to ceiling curtain, an amused grin creeping onto his face. You chuckled as he walked over to where you sat on the edge of the bed, stopping right in front of you as you wrapped your arms around his hips.

“Thank you for doing that,” you said softly, tilting your head up to look at him. Harry picked you up by your armpits, throwing you down into the middle of the bed before climbing on top of you. He smushed kisses all over your face, giggling through his pouted lips. “Anything for you.”

Harry’s hands began to wander up and down your body, his mouth pressing kisses into wherever his hands trailed away from. You were panting softly now, your heart hammering in your chest as he worked his magic. You could feel his already hard cock pressing against your leg, and pulled your arms out of the fluffy white robe you’d stolen from his room to give him better access. You were so glad you’d only worn panties underneath. Harry’s eyes bulged as he studied your body, seeming to have forgotten how little you were wearing. His head dived toward your breast, kneading one softly as he licked around the other, suckling on your nipple before releasing it with a quiet pop when your hips bucked under him. “What’s got you so needy, huh? Gonna tell daddy what you want?” he asked, wearing a familiar smirk. “Need you,” you replied, back arching as he took your other nipple into his mouth.

He peeled off his sweatshirt before licking a trail up and down your abdomen, hooking a finger into the gusset of your panties and tugging them down your legs. Your entrance was already smothered in your juices, so wet and needy for Harry. He looked at you through half-closed eyes, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he closed the distance between you. He kissed you softer than he had last night, his tongue exploring your mouth tenderly. Now that he knew how good you could make each other feel, there was no rush to get to the height of your pleasure.

You writhed under him as he slid two fingers into your folds, moving slowly but with purpose. “Let me know if it gets too much, okay pet?” he spoke against your ear, nibbling at your lobe as his fingers moved in and out of you. The slight pain mixed in with your pleasure, almost too much to take. You were reeling from how quickly he had you worked up.

“More, more, please harry. Want you inside me,” you mewled, desperate for the pleasure you felt the night before. “You ready for me, love?” he asked, pulling away to kick his shorts and boxers off his legs. His erection sprung up below his belly button, already glistening with pre cum. Your mouth watered at the sight, you couldn’t wait to have your lips around him one day. He stroked down his shaft, his tip blushing a bright red. “Want you on all fours for me,” he told you, eyes fixed on your curves as you moved into position.

Resting on your forearms, you turned your head to watch Harry as he aligned his tip with your folds, humming in appreciation when he swiped through your juices. “Look so delicious baby, could eat you for every meal,” he moaned, pressing a kiss onto your lower back. His hands groped your ass, fingertips digging in to the soft flesh. Harry pulled your cheeks apart as he pushed his tip inside of you, a moan tumbling out of his parted lips. You’d never get used to the burn he sent through your core. He eased in slow, careful not to hurt you any further. He stilled as he bottomed out inside of you, giving your walls a chance to relax around his cock. You flattened your chest to the bed, allowing your body to open up to him.

Your hips bucked with impatience after a moment, signalling you were ready for more. Moan after moan fell out of you as he started to thrust in and out, “you fuck me so good,” you whined, dragging out the last words. Harry was gripping your hips with both hands as he pushed in and out harder, cock twitching inside of you as his eyes wandered over your rounded ass. He slammed a hand down into one of your cheeks, rubbing it softly after to relieve the sting. You yelped, throwing your hips back into him. He chuckled, spanking you over and over until your walls started to tense around his thick cock. “Gonna come for daddy?” he drawled, reaching a hand around to rub at your clit.

You’d never been this close to your climax from penetration alone. Harry’s cock fit your hole as if it was made for you, your sex bringing you new levels of pleasure like you were only destined to fuck each other. The ball in your core was threatening to burst, so close to breaking point as he slammed in and out of your entrance. “Please Harry. Like that, like that,” you moaned, legs starting to shake and seize beneath you. You were panting heavily, drool spilling out of your mouth as your jaw went slack, screaming out a moan as you came violently on his cock.

“So good for me, baby, so good,” Harry praised, moving his hand from your button as you came down from your high. “Love fucking you raw, knowing you’re filled with my come,” he rambled on, so deep in pleasure that his words were slurring. Your bodies were knocking together forcefully, your juices mixing together and squelching with every thrust. He loved seeing your thick creamy come squeezing out of you, settling at his base. “Want to keep my come inside you all day, have it dripping out of your pretty pussy while you watch me later.”

His words were vulgar, so dirty yet so hot. You groaned in response, picturing it in your mind. No one else knowing the man they were lusting after had filled you up that morning, coated your insides in his pleasure. No one knowing how much he turned you on, how hard he made you come, how crazy he was for you. “Want it so bad daddy, want everyone to see your come dripping down my thighs. Want daddy’s come so much,” you moaned. The use of that name did it for him. How could he contain himself when you were saying such dirty things to him? With one last thrust, Harry was coming inside of you, fulfilling both of your wishes. You couldn’t wait for his show.

—

“What’s all this?” you asked, stepping out towards the balcony. It was late now, though you hadn’t been back at the hotel long before Harry opened the balcony curtains to show you a surprise. Fairy lights adorned the railing, sparkling bright against the dark evening sky. A bottle of red was nestled in an ice bucket, the tabletop filled with all different types of meat and cheese. “M’usually more of a gentleman before I stuff my cock into someone,” Harry shrugged, leading you towards one of the rattan chairs. His cheeks were pink, stained with his newfound shyness. “Feel bad that I don’t have time t’take you out properly, wanted to do something nice.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, smoothing your hair down before taking the opposite seat. “It’s lovely, thank you, Harry.” You felt totally overwhelmed by the side of him you’d seen today, he was so tender and soft. You knew he had you wrapped around his finger already, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You spoke for hours about your families, your homes and hobbies. He snapped a picture of you to send to his mum and Gemma, telling you how much they’d adore you. “Gem’s desperate for me to bring a best friend home for her,” he told you. Your heart warmed at the idea of Harry telling his mother and sister about you, wondering what he’d say. How he’d describe who you were to him. Your time together felt like a dirty little secret, something you’d keep close to your chest for years to come before one day spilling all the details to Joanie. It was refreshing to know he was bursting to tell his loved ones.

The wine had hit you both fast, slurring your words slightly. You were nestled in Harry’s lap now, pressing gentle kisses into every bit of visible skin. Drunk on each other, drunk on the atmosphere. You held a foot up, squinting at it through blurry eyes. “I need to paint my toenails,” you groaned, “got man feet when they’re not done.”

Harry gave a great bark of laughter, sliding you off his lap as he stumbled inside. His head peered around the door, asking you what colour you were wearing tomorrow. He came back holding a little red bottle. He held it up next to his face and grinned, “gonna sort your man feet out. Make ‘em dainty like mine,” he pulled a leg up and wiggled his toes for you as he spoke.

He sat you down in your chair, pulling the other closer towards you. Plucking one of your feet from the floor, he rested it against his knee and opened the bottle. You recognised the rounded top, it was Pleasing nail polish. He held each toe delicately, handling the brush so carefully you could barely feel it tracing your toenails. You watched him as he worked, so tender and careful with each stroke. A blush was creeping up your cheeks, your heart glowing so bright it could illuminate the whole city. You buried your face in your hands and let a toothy grin erupt. This was the most intimate thing you’d ever experienced. Harry was truly perfect in every way. When he was done, he pulled you back into his lap, careful not to knock your feet. His arms were wrapped around your shoulders, holding you tight against him. “Y’so perfect for me, baby girl,” he mumbled, pressing his lips into the nape of your neck.

“Want to take you out properly when I’m done, want the world to see who I have on my arm.” You couldn’t imagine any date would be nicer than what you’d had that evening, but the idea of everyone knowing you were his sent electricity up your spine. You lifted your hand to fiddle with his rings, twisting the giant H around his finger. “Got to get my initial next,” you smiled, pulling a different ring off. You slipped the golden S onto your left ring finger, laughing at how loose it was. Holding your hand out in front of you, you wiggled your fingers giddily. “Y/N Styles,” you giggled before slapping a hand to your mouth. A deep blush took over your face almost immediately, you couldn’t believe you’d said that out loud. You let the ring-clad hand drop into your lap, mortified. “You want to marry me already, sweetheart?” Harry teased, moving one arm to entwine his fingers with yours, pulling your hand away from your face just as he’d done that morning. You stuttered, unable to even try to come back from this one. Your face was screwed up in shame as he turned your head to face him. “Play your cards right and maybe I will marry you. Get you in a big white dress, show everyone how much I like you.” Harry was grinning at you, a true lopsided, wine-drunk, love-drunk grin.

You slipped off his lap, padding inside as you called out, “I’m never speaking again!” He chased after you, grabbing your waist and pulling you down onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

You stayed like that until you both fell asleep, blissfully unaware of the media storm erupting outside your bubble.

part four

#harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fan #harry x fan #harry x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

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