#harry crewe

[k-she-rambles]

Have a bit of TemerairexThe Blue Sword. Set 20ish years after the end of the Temeraire series

(Harry)

There was a time in Harry's life, when Dickie was being sent to school for the first time, and Harry's mother was attempting to scrub some gentlewoman's manners into a daughter who was too much like her for the attempt to be very serious, that Harry had begged to join the Aerial Corps.

Harry's mother had a baronet cousin who was a retired aviator, and aviators led adventurous, busy lives. Learning things like how to embroider net made something pretty in the end, but Harry had too much energy to really enjoy it, and not enough enjoyment in it to gain any real skill.

Her father, normally an indulgent man, had put his foot down. She was a gentleman's daughter, and, excepting one or two infamous cases, the daughters of gentlemen did not just join the Corps, especially in peacetime.

"I have no doubt you have the temperament to deal with dragons," her father had said. "And I do not say it only because as your father I am predisposed to believe you would excel at anything you cared to try." But it was not the world at war of twenty years ago. Napoleon was long dead. He did not say that there would be no place for her, but Harry understood him anyway.

On the other hand, Harry's mother confessed that she had also wanted to join the Corps at Harry's age, and later, when Harry was old enough to be out, took pains to connect her with a friend (or daughter?) of the former aviator cousin, who was, despite her father's opinion, an officer and a gentlewoman of the Corps.

And then Harry's mother was gone, and Harry found that there were plenty of things to be busy with in being the mistress of an estate, small though it was: things she liked and was good at.

Her father had been open about the fact that the property was entailed to Richard, currently stationed abroad as an army staff-officer in Daria. She would be her brother's problem when her father died.

"You will like being Dickie's dependent sister even less than you like being a dependent daughter, I expect, so I would give you as much time as possible to reconcile yourself to it."

The fact lay unspoken between them: it was unlikely that she would marry. Harry was proud, and if she wasn't, her parents would have been proud on her behalf, and they did not have the resources or social capital to make a match that would have suited her in any way.

"You would have done well in the Aerial Corps," her father had said. It was the last time they brought it up.

And then, unexpectedly, her father was gone too.

Richard, having laid the problem of an entailed estate and an unmarried sister before his superiors, had written come east, and Harry had come east to British Daria, the farthest land outpost of the empire, the land of orange groves, silver mines, and the vast unconquered desert sliding away into the purple hills and mountains of Damar behind.

She was not unhappy.

Sir Charles Greenough and Amelioris (affectionately called "Lady Amelia" by all, as the ancient, retired grayling was Sir Charles' dearest friend, and the dignified mistress of all of her last captain's often forgotten dometic affairs) were all that was kind, and a household organized in all but name by a dragon was, Harry found, a very enjoyable household to be part of.

Beth and Cassie Peterson, themselves aviator bred and currently traveling with their father, Richard's civilian mentor, had caught Harry's eye that first night. Sir Charles had been in the middle of an expansively long winded, port-fueled history of the Darian province. Amelia had interrupted that perhaps Miss Crewe might be tired after having had to take a train rather than a dragon to Istan and all four present of the female persuasion had shared such a look of humor and commiseration that Harry felt warmed and welcomed all at once.

Of course, there was a party.

As Richard and Sir Charles were the only men in Istan with whom Harry wasn't of a height, Harry rather suspected Richard of having abused his friendships to secure her so many dance partners. Harry had obligingly danced with all of the men who didn't mind she was larger than them: Richard had also anxiously secured a promise that Harry would be on her best behavior —by which he meant, once Harry finally dragged it out of him, that she would be civilized and not suddenly go mad and fly off into the desert like a feral.

"Does that happen often?" Harry had asked, incredulous at the hidden accusation.

Richard had blushed and mumbled something indistinct.

Perhaps suddenly being responsible for a younger sister you hadn't seen in three years inevitably made you a bit of prat. He'd even tried to call her by her given name. Harry's glare in response might have melted lead.

After a few weeks, however, Harry had to wonder if Richard had been onto something.

I like it here, she found herself writing to Emily Roland. She did not write: I want more.

What that more was, she could not seem to suss out. Harry told herself firmly to stop thinking about it.

And then there was no time to be thinking about it: Lady Amelia had discovered that Harry could run a house and was small enough to go where Amelia could not, and Harry was quickly promoted to the surrogate unofficial mistress of the Residency.

Harry was privately grateful. Had her sole occupation been Sir Charles' guest, she might have climbed down the imported English ivy trellis and screamed into the desert, promises to Richard be damned.

But her days now had purpose, and she began to be able to sleep at night.

[fistfuloflightning]

and another great addition:

#anyway this is how i know that harry is the 'we have a map' partner and corlath is the 'let's just ask for directions' partner#i don't think harry considers the kidnapping a personal disagreement so much as like. a natural disaster.#corlath obviously DOES feel like it was personal but he in no way shape or form feels like he's in the right#he buries all the mitigating factors because he just feels so goddamn GUILTY#(ironically a lot of the people who read through his post wind up finding NTA)#(corlath is very uncomfortable with this)#(harry finds this extremely funny and goes on his account to add an update that just says 'reader i married him')

hello hello. i must ask. harry and corlath for the aita post? (or any of the damar characters. "i (3000m) forgot to tell my gf (500f) that i can read thoughts. aita?) (i hope you feel better soon!!)

The thing is, Harry handles everything with such total equanimity that I think they have WILDLY different understandings of what their respective first fights are, and thus.

Corlath's first AITA post:

AITA for kidnapping a woman (she's not mad)

He puts every single detail of the situation that might make him seem less like a serial killer DEEP in the body of the post, and the title gets screencapped out of context by everyone who's trying to make a point about how bananas the AITA subreddit gets.

On the other hand, Harry's first AITA post, posted because she Knows She's Right:

AITA for reading a map

[catgirljaneway]

I deeply dislike the voyager fandom trope where Kathryn is everyone's mom and Chakotay is the dad. (I love found family, I hate "nuclearized" found family) That woman is NOT everyone's mother. She is however Harry's mother. Which is even funnier because from what we know, Harry seems to have a perfectly healthy and good relationship with his actual mom. He did NOT need to be adopted by an insane middle-aged woman but BOOM now he's got mommy issues and it's literally his boss.

[definitelynotisabel]

wtf do people without fandoms do with their life? like actually what do you do when you don’t have something to dangerously obsess over. the last time i wasn’t a part of a fandom was in fourth grade.

[larrylimericks]

10Apr25

Some packages get you a yacht But work with the budget you’ve got: Tag along with the crew, Snap your breakfast for two, And trust that the X marks the spot.

[whorrorfag]

DEXTER: ORIGINAL SIN (2024-) S01E01 ☼ And in the Beginning...

[spideyanakin]

Reader being a cat to reveal who the traitor is genius. And I think peter noticed the symbolism behind it.

The part with the widow pearls was sad, rip regulus 😔

I cant wait to read more on reader being Madam Black 🤭

THANK YOU HIHIHIHIHI

I'm so glad you noticed <3 I was so happy when I came up with the idea of the cat hihi. Also reg will always be in our hearts ♥️

here is mr black and mrs black reuniting to heal our hearts

all I think about now - masterlist

summary - sirius black x malfoy + slytherin! reader, the order takes a break after peter has been caught, sirius joins you outside for some fresh air (and some revelations)

warnings - revelations and reunions <3, yearning, longing, and everything in between. mentions of minor character death (r's mom who was sick), smoking (s bad for u), james being a menace, spot the Metallica reference lmao

read the part before

The soft autumn air suddenly felt heavy.

You kept facing the sea, watching as the waves grazed the sand below the cliff. You could feel Sirius shifting beside you, the sound of his leather jacket, the zipper of a pocket, and the crisp sound of a cigarette box with the wrapper still half on.

The spark of his lighter caught the corner of your eye, and soon after followed a cloud of smoke gently blown your way by the wind.

With your gaze still fixed on the waves, you saw his hand move towards you, offering you his cigarette. You took it without a second thought. You hadn't smoked since the last time you had seen him.

You took two long drags before you handed it back to him, your gazes still refusing to meet.

A sense of deja vue filled you. Suddenly you were back atop the astronomy tower at the start of your seventh year. Tension slithering between you before it would hopefully crack.

You knew how it had gone the last time. You could never stay apart from him for long. You had always felt close, no matter how far. No matter how many times life has pulled you away from one another, you still felt that tug, that string pull you towards him.

But no matter how hard it was, there was a reason the two of you had called it off the last time. There was a reason you had tried to break that unbreakable string.

You were to be married to his brother, which you now were.

You had pledged your allegiance to the dark lord.

There wasn’t a world anymore where the two of you could have attempted keeping this up.

In 7th year, you were already risking your life sneaking around. You had both risked your lives trying to see each other after graduation, and then he had risked his life coming to see you, for one the last time, the night before your wedding.

The grey area you had been dancing around had been reduced to ashes by the exceedingly fast brewing war.

And now, as you smoked together watching the waves dance upon the sand, it seemed that maybe, just maybe there was a flicker of hope for a happy ending.

But how could he forgive you for never choosing him?

After an unknown number of smoke clouds, he sighed. It wasn't out of annoyance. It was soft, as if he was finally getting rid of an unknown tension that prevented him from voicing anything.

"How have you been?" You could tell he had a hard time asking. Voice laced with rugged emotions as he kept his gaze toward the waves.

You finally dared to look at him.

"Frankly, I do not really know. You?"

He laughed the tension out his shoulders, "frankly? I don't know either."

"Well, that makes two of us."

It took him another minute before he looked at you after he discarded his cigarette.

You stayed without a word spoken as he scanned your face. Your tired eyes peering back at him.

His hair was longer than when you last saw him, and a huddle of tattoos peeked out of his clothes anywhere skin would dare show. You could tell he was probably just as tired as you, but his eyes still held that fire you loved so much about him.

Salazar you had missed him.

But emotions didn't have time to surface because soon enough his gaze tore away from you, and you found yourself looking down to your shoes.

"How long have you been on our side?" He asked, and you heard him huff as he tried fishing for a second cigarette.

"Since we left Hogwarts."

You watched as Sirius dropped his lighter, a surprised groan leaving his lips.

You both bent down to pick it up, fingers brushing as you reached for the lighter first. You handed it to him.

It felt like sparks flew from the mere brush of your hands, and you knew Sirius had felt it too by the surprise in his eyes. With a second too long of your hands lingering, you finally spoke through the ice.

"I missed you."

"Why didn't you tell me you were working for the order?" His voice was soft, and you carefully scanned his traits as he placed his new cigarette to his lips and lit it.

"To keep you safe."

"I could have handled it."

"Sirius..."

"I can't believe it."

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"If I’m being honest, yeah!" His voice rose from an octave or two until he got quieter again. "After you refused to come with me, twice. Yeah. Especially since, apparently, the second time I asked, you were already allied with Albus."

"Sirius..." you trailed as you watched him advert your gaze as he burned away his cigarette, sighing half of the smoke through his nose.

"You couldn't leave. I know." He looked down.

"I wanted to," you stepped closer to face him, trying to gain his eyes. "You out of anyone should know how desperately I wanted to be like you, be with you," your voice quivered. "But I had strings attaching me there, I had my mother to take care of, and then- then when she passed and I finally thought I could leave, that nothing kept me back anymore I-" You stopped in your rambles, too afraid of voicing the rest of your thoughts.

Sirius was staring back at you with glassy eyes, mouth slightly agape at your sudden confession. You were about to leave. You were actually going to, but then his face hardened again, the sudden reminder of reality hitting him.

He didn't need to be a genius to figure out what had kept you there. If his information was correct your son was born around nine months after your wedding. Your mother died barely two months after the ceremony.

"Another string kept you attached."

"Yes," your voice was hoarse over the suppression of your tears, and it took you another minute before you managed to use your voice again. "I didn't mean it to."

That seemed to get his attention, and you watched as confusion riddled his eyes.

You took in a sharp breath. You weren't even close to ready to have this conversation, but here you were, plotting against the dark lord, not even being sure of making it past these next few weeks.

It was now or never.

"Breaks over!" James's voice rang from the opened window, causing your shoulders to jump at the interruption.

Sirius dropped his dying cigarette before pressing it with his foot and giving you the best sad and tired smile he could muster as he headed back to the door.

"Wait, Sirius," you caught his arm before he could grab the handle. "If anything were to happen... to me or r-" you caught yourself. "If anything were to happen, promise me you will take care of Perseus."

You could feel him tense under your touch at the mention. His expression almost stoic as his movements fully stopped.

He caught your gaze and suddenly something seemed to shift in him, he almost smiled.

"So that's the little rascal's name."

The lightness in his voice took you aback, and you almost smiled too.

"Yes. Perseus Sirius Black," you sheepishly mumbled and watched his eyes widen.

"Is that why Walburga and Orion finally kicked the bucket? Must of given them both of heart attack," he mumbled and this time you couldn't help but smile.

"No," you bit your lip. "Your mother insisted he wore Reg’s name. We told her he did but we wrote Sirius on the official papers."

"First borns usually take their middle names after their fathers."

“They do…"

Sirius couldn’t decipher your expression but took it as a sheepish ‘we broke the rules, so what’ because he couldn’t even dare to even think of looking into the fact that you could mean anything else by it.

"Didn't take my brother for a sentimental," he muttered before fixing his hair in attempt to distract himself. "I'll do what I can, but I promise you, it won't come to that. You'll come home to him."

He reached for the door again, and the burning feeling that after tonight, you weren’t sure when you would see him again came nagging at your gut.

The same voice rang through your mind again.

It was now, and If not, the possibility of never.

"Regulus never laid a finger on me," you blurted out.

Sirius turned back to you with a confused expression, one hand already on the door handle.

"We, um-" You were blinking extremely fast now, heart fluttering uncontrollably as he awaited for you to elaborate. "Weneverconsummatedthemarriage."

"Sorry?" Sirius tried to comprehend the string of blabber. He had heard it. But it just didn't make sense in is mind.

Nope. Absolutely zero sense.

But then by the look of absolute terror and pain in your eyes, he seemed to connect two and two together.

His jaw opened by itself, literally like one of those muggle cartoons Lily made Harry watch on Friday nights using what she called a TV.

He wanted to speak. Say something, anything. But all words died down in the back of his throat.

Suddenly Sirius fell. One second he was leaning against the door and the next he was being swished backwards and harshly onto the wooden floor of location twelve, which didn't make any sense because there was supposed to be a door behind him.

He blinked to realize that his hand was indeed still securely on the handle of said door, with James sheepishly on the other side of it.

"Prongs!"

"Sorry mate didn't know you were behind it." He looked at you and then back at Sirius, "we're waiting for you."

[sowhatifiliveinfukuoka]

Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth) + Lydia Lunch (1986)

© Innes Reekie

[be-with-me-so-happily]

il gran finale

ONE SHOT

Summary: As photography apprentice to Lloyd Wakefield, you have been around Harry quite a lot on tour, capturing all the mesmerizing moments on stage. But at the after party of the final show in Reggio Emilia, he seems to be the one zoned in on you.

AN: I don't know if this is any good. I haven't written smut in so long, but with Love On Tour coming to an end, I needed to do something!

Warnings: Some explicit language, alcohol consumption, mild exhibitionism kink, fingering, public unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it people)

You've always known Harry Styles is a gentleman. Even before you took on the role of apprentice photographer to Lloyd Wakefield, you only ever heard positive comments about the man, about how kind and caring he is. No one ever has a bad thing to say, and touring with him has only proven those things to be true. He is a sweet guy, just as everyone claims him to be.

That's his reputation. His public reputation.

But the way his enchanting and lustful green eyes have locked in on you for the past several minutes has made you think of nothing but the other reputation he has. The dream that you and thousands of his fans indulge in. The fantasy of him taking control of every single part of you, of using you, of pleasing you. Of giving you everything he has while you are under him, and on top of him, and in front of him, and…

You reset yourself as nearby laughter pulls you out of those delicious yet indelicate thoughts, ones you may need to draw upon later in the privacy of your hotel room.

It's bad enough that he has a flirtatious side. The subtle winks, the cheeky smiles, the wiggles of his eyebrows when a mildly indecent comment has been made. Usually by him. Both on and off stage, each of those gestures can easily get you flustered.

And it definitely doesn't make your job any easier, especially considering it's your assignment to watch him, to photograph him, to view him in a variety of different angles, none of which could be considered unflattering. He always looks good.

The outfit tonight, the shaggy silver get-up, showcasing his glistening pecs and chiseled abs, only added to the assortment of desires you only dwell upon alone at night. You're usually very composed, for the most part. You know how to play it cool.

But right now, as his stare exhibits something primal, you feel as if your entire body is on fire, and you can't help but be engulfed by the flames.

Clinking of the ice in your glass as you bring it to your lips alerts you to the fact that your drink has been fully consumed, and you decide to head to the bar for a refill. If not just for another drink, then for the moment of solidarity to gather yourself and bring some air back into your lungs. Because you are sure it's not the alcohol that's causing you to feel so dizzy.

"Hi, could I please hav-"

"Another margarita?" You hear in a deep, sultry, British voice sounding out from behind you. Right behind you.

"Yes please." You utter, almost inaudibly, to the bartender, the heat from before intensifying with each breath of Harry's that you feel on your neck.

"And I'll have two shots of Tequila, please sir." He states, so casually, as you stand frozen in place.

A cold breeze hits your skin as you see him move around and position himself to your left, leaving you to miss the warmth he was just providing.

"You look like you're having a good time." He states, as he brings his glass to his lips. You watch as the rim rests on them. You watch as the liquid slides between them. And you watch as a smirk pulls in the mischievous dimple that he is so well known for, unintentionally licking your own lips in the process.

"Sorry… what were you saying?" You ask, attention moving back to his gaze and finding those glistening green irises already locking in on your eyes.

"Enjoying yourself?" He chuckles in response to your question, leaving your heart pounding with embarrassment.

"I am!" You exclaim, quicker than anticipated, clearly not playing it cool like you believe you usually do.

"Good." He replies simply.

"Are you?"

"I am." He nods, his eyes quickly flickering down your body, before switching their focus back to the bar, creating a warmth between your legs, and you try desperately not to squirm.

"Good." You reply, with a giggle, finally taking the sip of margarita that has unknowingly been sitting in front of you for a few minutes. "So we're both enjoying ourselves."

He chuckles along with you, shaking his head as he throws back his second shot. He swallows it harshly, drawing your eye to the way his Adam's apple bobs with the consumption of the liquor. You notice his body begin to turn towards you, and as you glaze up his neck to his gorgeous face, a lustful expression falls over it. His brows narrow, and deviancy sparks in his eyes, turning them to a deep, enticing emerald.

"Want to enjoy each other now?"

"Sure, that-" You begin to respond, but your eyes begin to travel down to his lips, noticing how his teeth dig into the bottom one. His look of determination makes you wonder if there's a more devious meaning behind it, and that thought alone causes an extreme yearning between your legs. "Wait… what do you mean?"

He leans against the bar, his tattoo-covered forearm resting on top, as the palm of his right hand gently slides over your hip and draws you closer with the mildest press of his fingertips against your dress.

"YN, I just had one of the best nights of my fucking life! I want to celebrate. Really celebrate."

"And… how-... umm… how do you want to really celebrate?" You chuckle nervously, every hair on your body standing straight, every nerve on high alert.

"I can show you. If you want me to." He utters, almost a whisper, barely audible in the jumble of conversations surrounding you, but loud enough that it sends the coldest shiver down your spine. He leans closer, his body following along until you are only inches apart. "And considering how tightly your thighs are clenched together right now… I think you do."

Your mouth instantly drops open, and if he wasn't actually correct, and those contracted muscles weren't holding you upright, your legs would have buckled beneath you.

"C'mon." He whispers, softly running two fingers down your arm and grabbing your hand, pulling your body to follow him.

"Harry, wait." You manage to get out, surprisingly, considering the daze he's just put you in. "This… is your party..."

"Yeah." He states, shrugging so casually as he turns back to look at you. "So?"

"We can't just leave!"

Harry stops his trek, along with your heart. He swivels around, the most salacious smirk wide across his face, and to your surprise, you manage to clench your core even tighter.

He leans down to your ear, his lip barely grazing the bottom, his breath steady but thick.

"Who said anything about leaving?"

An exhale releases all the air held in your lungs, leaving you unsure whether it is the margaritas or his suggestive statement that's making your head spin.

He turns back and maneuvers through the crowd of people that have come to congratulate and party with him. But he seems to be a man on a mission.

Through the dim lights and the loud thumps of the music filling the room, you somehow find yourself looking at a staircase leading up the the second floor of the venue.

"Just us?" You hear Harry ask the security staff member guarding the way.

"Yes, Mr. Styles." He responds with a quick nod.

Without hesitation, Harry leads you up, each step building the anxious anticipation inside of you. It's not even clear what may be waiting for you at the top, but if Harry's apparent determination is any indication, it won't be boring.

As you reach the landing, you do a quick scan of your surroundings, seeing a couple of purple velvet sofas pushed against the wall. He takes you further in, letting go of your hand and placing both of his large palms on the thick, black railing in front of him. You stand at his side, copying his stature, though feeling the sweat of your hands being transferred to the metal within them.

The neon flashing of lights is the only thing brightening the venue, as the music sounds and provides a rhythm for the rest of the attendees to move their bodies to. You feel Harry's closest arm glide its way across your back, settling itself on your opposite hip, and squeezing with enough firmness to tell you he wants to be gentle with you, but also wants not to be.

The rest of his figure moves along behind you, pulling you closer to him, as if your bodies had an unretractable magnetic connection. The warmth of his lips suddenly hits right below your ear, causing every muscle you have to practically melt under that simple touch.

"Harry…" You utter, unsure if you've been heard over the sound of the new song beginning to play. "People could see us…"

"Doubtful." He mumbles, his breath tickling down your neck. "No one's looking anyway."

Another kiss moistens your skin, and your head falls backwards to him, resting against his broad, strong shoulder, encouraging him to continue his tantalizing exploration.

He grazes your hips with his palms, running them up and down the tops of your thighs, letting out a heavy exhale when he stops at the hem of your dress. His fingertips tease the edge, sliding around to the front. One hand lifts up to your waist, while the other glides around to your inner thigh, and you could swear your panties are already soaked.

"Do you like this?" He whispers in your ear, and with the state of daze he currently has you in, all you can manage is a subtle nod. "Tell me. Do you like this?"

"Y-yes." You breathe out.

"Do you want more?" He asks in the lowest tone he's ever spoken in, barely needing to convince you that he'll give you whatever you want.

"Yes." You reply, anticipation thick in your stomach.

His fingers run up and under your dress, and you thank yourself for picking the shorter of your two options when you were getting ready for the party.

You attempt to push him back a few paces to the closest velvet sofa for some privacy, but he stands solid in place and you stretch your neck to get as good of a look at him as you can.

"Stay." He states simply, not a demand that you couldn't reject, but the way his tone hit your soul, you can't even imagine refusing him of almost anything he wanted.

Suddenly your body jumps, as you feel mild pressure slowly moving up the center of your panties.

"Soaked." Harry whispers. "Didn't realize I got you this wet, this fast."

His teeth begin to nibble on your earlobe, as his fingers snap the fabric of your underwear, causing you to let out the most pathetic and needy whimper.

"Harry… please." You whine, desperate for something, anything, that he is willing to give you.

"What do you want, YN?"

"Touch me." You reply, your legs already weak at the thought.

He listens, running his index along your center, feeling how slick he's made you. Suddenly, he dips it inside of you, and you worry he could make you cum right here and now. But god you want to feel so much more. You want him to give you so much more.

Slowly, his finger pulls out, but immediately glides back in, accompanied by another, pumping them both in unison, and sending your head into a spin.

"Do you want more?" He asks into your ear.

"Yes." You barely reply, hoping with all you have that he heard your response.

He adds one more finger, and the trio pick up their pace as his thumb puts the perfect amount of pressure on your clit.

"Oh my god." You whine, feeling a sensation ripple through your body. Nothing you've done to yourself, alone with just your thoughts of him, could ever compare to the feeling of what he's doing to you now.

In and out, his fingers pump, and you're sure if the music suddenly stopped, the noise of his motions would echo from wall to wall.

"You're so tight." He utters. "Don't know if you'd be able to handle my cock."

Just the mention of that word has you moaning, so you reach your arm up to grab onto the back of his neck, and you tilt your head towards him.

"I want that."

"You want what?" He asks, quickening his pace, and halting your words until you swallow the lump that's caught in your throat.

You look down, scanning the crowd for any prying eyes, only to find everyone distracted by their own activities below. Although, at this moment, you aren't sure if that matters to you. If that would stop you.

"I want your cock." You admit, using your free hand to push in between your two bodies and palm over his hard bulge, the feeling of his thick girth creating an even deeper yearning for it.

"Fuck." He growls, his cock twitching under the fabric of his pants.

The emptiness created as his fingers leave your body almost has you wishing you hadn't made any other request, but as you feel his waistband tug down, and the bare skin of his cock as it springs out from its confines and back into your hand, you get wetter than you've been in any moment before.

A strong thigh parts your legs, the back of your dress inches up, and as you feel his long, thick cock glide between them and coat itself in your wetness, Harry lets out a deep, rumbling growl. He runs one hand up your spine and pushes slightly on your back, getting you to bend over a bit and prop yourself up with your hands gripping the railing.

There's never been a desperation so intense as now, as you feel Harry's tip tease your entrance. You've never wanted anything more than the sensation of him pushing into you, stretching you out, giving you everything you've ever fantasized about.

"Think you can fit me inside there?" He asks, the smugness more enticing than you could have imagined possible. But his words, his touch, his everything is overwhelming and rendering you speechless. Then you hear Harry hum, as if knowing your inability to reply, and answering it for himself. "I think you can."

And just like that, he slips in. Slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size each time he pushes in a little further. Filling you completely with every inch he goes deeper, until all you feel is him. Until all you know is him.

"Oh my god." You moan out, unaware if it has been drowned out by the music and chatter of everyone else.

He quickens his pace slightly, and your hold on the railing tightens, not only to steady yourself, but also to possibly disguise your actual activities as simply enjoying the rhythm of the song.

"All these people… and no one knows what we're doing up here." Harry grunts as he thrusts into you, drawing out another, yet much heavier, moan from your chest. It's followed by a pleased groan from behind you, the sound almost as good as any song he's ever sung. "But I wouldn't care if they did… if they saw how well you're taking me… and if they heard much you love it."

"Harry…" You whine, as an extreme sensation builds in your core, feeling every nerve peek, alerting you to the fact that at any moment now, you'll be completely taken over by the intense amount of pleasure he's giving you. "I need to-"

"No." He states sternly.

"Please!" You beg, all dignity being tossed aside.

"Not yet." He replies, and all of a sudden, you feel hollow. Something is missing, and as you feel yourself clear out from the heightened state of a daze you've been in since you reached that second level of the venue, you realize his glorious cock is no longer inside of you.

"What-" You begin, stepping back and turning around to face him, finding his teeth digging hard into his bottom lip, creating an even stronger desire to have him fill the gap again.

"I need to fuck you harder, and faster." He explains grabbing both hips as he backs up and lowers down to take a seat on the sofa. "And I need to watch you when you cum all over my cock."

A shallow breath makes its way out between your lips at his statement, and you slowly lower yourself to straddle his lap, feeling a throb inside yourself as you feel another underneath you.

Your hips begin to grind on him, hoping to create an impatience in him as strong as the one in you. You cup his cheeks within your palms and bring your lips to his, smiling against them as they part and release a deep moan. You move to kiss his jaw, letting the stubble tickle your skin and you make your way down his neck. His hands begin to roam your body, exploring more than they had been able to when standing at the railing. They grip your back, your waist, and settle at your hips, gripping just tight enough to guide them back and forth.

"All I've thought about tonight… is having you like this." You hear him utter, the words hitting deep into the pit of your stomach. "Hell, all I think about most nights is… fuck… is having you like this!"

You pull back, your eyes immediately locking in on his, as if your bodies are confessing their deepest desires to each other in a secret, seductive language. Without a word, you push up on your knees, hovering over and inviting him back inside of you, where you want him the most. One of his hands holds his cock steady as the other remains on you, helping you to lower back down onto him. In this position, you can feel him ever more, much to your surprise considering he filled you so well just moments ago.

"Then fuck me how you've been wanting to." You state, your focus still fully on him.

As soon as he's given that permission, both palms squeeze tighter to your body, pulling you down on his cock as if to meld your bodies together.

"Oh god." He exclaims, throwing his head backwards to rest on the sofa, dropping his mouth open as you begin to bounce.

Almost instantly, with the new depth he's hitting, you feel your body reignited and a release drawing near.

"Harry, this is…" You mumble, the pleasure hindering a complete coherent sentence. "It's… how…"

"Tell me, baby." He replies, holding you down as he starts to thrust up into you, leaving you unable to feel anything other than him.

"This is how… oh my-… I've been wanting you… to fuck me, too…"

"F-... fucks sake!" He exclaims, no longer holding back his vigor as he goes as fast and gets as deep as he possibly can, causing moans to burst out from both of you.

"Harr-... I'm gon-..." You whine, trying to plead with him to get you over the edge and fall into a pool of ecstasy. The sight of his hair becoming messy with sweat, the feel of his hands holding you down, the taste of his skin on your lips, the smell of his cologne exuding off his chest, the sound of his breathy moans in your ear. He has completely taken over all of your senses, and you know this is the best experience you've ever had.

"Say it, YN. Look at me and say it." He growls, and as your eyes find his, the amount of lust in his begins to push you off the ledge.

"I'm gonna cum."

"Where?"

"On your cock!" You blurt, the level of volume coinciding with the intensity of your desperation. "I'm gonna cum on your cock."

"Do it." He commands, and with his permission, you immediately let go, completely melting into him as that desired ecstasy rips through your entire body.

Your face falls into the crook of his neck, only leaving enough room to draw in some shallow, labored breaths. You can feel Harry squirm beneath you, his stride becoming less rhythmic with each stroke into you, his chest rising and falling in the same, unsteady way.

"YN… if I can't cum inside you, tell me now, 'cause I'm… fuck, I'm so close."

Your head lifts and pulls away, looking into his gorgeous green eyes, pupils blown and a glaze covering them. You lean down to his ear, letting your breath puff gently over his skin.

"Cum inside of me, Harry." You whisper, placing a kiss right below his ear.

"Y-yeah? You want my cum?" He fumbles, his breathing becoming more random with every sloppy thrust. "I'll give you… f-fucking all of it!"

Harry grips tighter, bouncing you on himself with a determination you aren't sure if you've ever seen before. He lets out a moan so gritty you know it originated deep in his chest. The sound alone could have you orgasming again if it drew out a few seconds longer. It's accompanied by one last thrust of his hips and a powerful, pleased throbbing of his cock, as his cum coats your walls.

If the dj wasn't blasting anything through the speakers, the sound of your synchronized, labored breaths would be enough to fill the room. You sit up straighter, still straddling Harry's lap, and you finally take in the mess of a man in front of you. His head still rests back on the sofa, his eyes now shut, and a blissful smile stretched across his face.

"That's one way to finish a tour." You chuckle, pushing your palms against the fabric of the shirt now sticking to the drizzle of sweat on his chest.

His palms shoot up to your face, holding it so gently, but with an untapped passion behind his eyes. They flicker to your lips and he dives in for a taste, running his tongue along to part them, and sighing as your own tongue dances along. A pop sounds out as you pull apart, with just enough room for an inhale of air, and he rests his forehead against yours.

"And cheers to the next one."

Main Masterlist

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[bumblingbabooshka]

Voyager should have done a whole episode that was just a series of horror vignettes of the entire crew in increasingly malicious/difficult/terrifying situations that start off seeming like normal Voyager antics (Every main character gets their turn to 'star' in one scenario somehow tailored to them sans Harry who's conspicuously absent and the Doctor) and end with like, Janeway once again heroically sacrificing herself for the crew after finally figuring out what's wrong only for the episode to end exactly how it began. Only the first scenario plays out until the very end, every subsequent scenario ends faster and more brutally than the last and as the episode progresses we see the crew retaining scars or pains from previous deaths we witnessed though to them these wounds are mysterious or they give a narratively coherent reason for having them. Though there are some clues as to what's happening this largely remains unexplained and unresolved until the NEXT episode which is 'The Killing Game'. Everyone would have loved this! They would have cheered and clapped!

[k-she-rambles]

thinking again about Jack Dedham being absolutely outrageous re: his crush on Harry

• insisting Harry call him by his first name. He says Cassie and Beth do too, but he didn't have to do it by Flirting Like That.

• his private narration that some of the soldiers think she's humorless --but he makes her smile and laugh

• how pleased he is when he briefly thinks Harry smokes --he says Charles is always looking for more Cigar Friends. But. cigars are explicitly a Thing Guys Do in this time. Harry had to fight her father to hang out with The Guys while while they smoked. Jack wants excuses to hang out with her.

• Richard getting annoyed that Jack's more jealous than worried when Harry disappears

• the kiss. Like. My guy. You have THOUGHT about this.

• absolutely annoying the shit out of Harry when she's anxious to get her to snap out of it

• the above but specifically re: Corlath. He may have a crush but he's also a shipper.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Harry: Perturbed and disturbed.

Eliot: Goddamn smiling about it!

Leverage Redemption S02E05 The Walk in the Woods Job.

[cozyunderworld]

My new addiction

Chris 🧡🧡🧡 Last Light Cavalry Member 🔥

I have no words to describe this fine as dude. 😫😫😫 my new fav 🙈 also looks like a more evil Vinny 😂

[itsalwaysforyou]

so funny to me that jay is deeply suspicious of harry the entirety of d3 but best buds with gil the whole time. what happened

[bonobochick]

The interns at Joe's Bar at the end of Grey's Anatomy ep 21x13. 🍻

[spideyanakin]

HOLY COW YES!

Malfoy reader being in with the order!! Hell yes!! Please tell me she will warn them about Peter Pettigrew since she’s known him. I’m begging!!!!!

Holy cow yes!!!

Had this planned for a while, I'm so glad your request came through hihi!

all I think about now - masterlist

summary - malfoy + slytherin! reader, you reveal to the order who the spy is

warnings - chaos, peter's scheming being revealed

"One of our allies is here," on this fine Tuesday evening, Albus abruptly addressed the order of the Phoenix. Everyone suddenly looked around with wide eyes and whispers were being exchanged, as if they were supposed to see this ally apparate before their eyes.

"They have informed me who the spy is."

The room fell quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

Sirius’s face drained of color as he watched Dumbledore’s careful eyes scan the room, most definitely for effect.

He was getting sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone in this room, his friends, betraying him. Betraying everyone here, and by extension baby Harry, baby Neville and all the others whose families were fighting by his side.

He couldn’t think of a single person here he wouldn’t trust with his life, and that made it all the worse.

Everyone’s hearts caught in their throats. He could feel it. The tension seeping through everyone, hands itching for their wands as they awaited an answer.

Everyone kept glancing at everyone and anything that could move while attempting to see who Dumbledore had his gaze fixed upon.

A cat Sirius had never seen before was snaking around the feet of Albus’s desk, and padded towards him. It looked at him questionably, almost suspiciously with its big eyes. Sirius frowned as he peered at it.

He hated cats, they usually made his skin crawl. But this time he didn’t feel the same primitive shivers his dog self endured him with. No, he almost felt… attracted to the cat? Like he wanted to run his hand through its fur and hold it close.

The cat blinked at him, once, twice, maybe thrice before turning its gaze the other way and walking in another direction.

He looked around, no one else seemed to take notice of it.

He realised the cat was heading straight for the lounge chair Peter laid in. He gazed at his friend who flashed a worried look his way.

He could see Peter’s hand shaking as he looked down to his lap, noticing the cat who was now playing with his shoe laces. Peter looked so pale he was almost green.

Sirius watched with surprised eyes as the cat jumped onto Peter’s lap.

Peter wasn’t inspecting the sudden intrusion, his already tense body almost jumping from the chair. Everyone’s gaze turned to him from the noise and shuffling he was doing, between removing the droplet of sweats off his brow and trying to shoo the creature away.

"Worms, you alright?" Remus furrowed his brow as he stared at his startled friend.

"I think he is quite alright. Are you not Mr. Pettigrew?" Albus remained his stoic, calm collected self as he inspected the boy.

"Quite alright, thanks." He muttered, trying to pick up the cat.

As if he had squeezed the creature too hard, it suddenly hissed and aggressively scratched his hand.

There was a blur of fur, claws, fabric, skin, and girlish screams from a struggling Peter before the cat went flying to the other side of the room, barely hanging on to the side of a library by its claws.

Sirius who suddenly felt a sudden need to care for this mysterious cat, saved it from abruptly falling and hurting itself (he would also argue he wanted to save Dumbledore’s bookshelves from vicious cat scratches.)

He was surprised when the previously hostile cat actually purred in his arms when he petted its head.

"Peter-" Remus abruptly stood up from his own lounge chair. "What’s on your arm?"

Everyone’s attention who wasn’t already on Peter was now set on the boy, their wands at the ready.

Indeed the cat’s attack had ripped his sleeve off, leaving a bloody and scratched dark mark to reveal itself to everyone in the room.

If Albus hadn’t trusted your allegations towards Peter, he now had no reason to argue.

It was all a blur from then on.

Poor Peter Pettigrew didn’t even have the time to reach for his wand when Albus had already charmed him with invisible restraints.

Remus had to physically restrain James and Sirius from attacking him. Even Arthur had to chime in to help the poor werewolf keep his two friends at bay.

In his frenzy, Sirius was squeezing the cat in his arms too tightly, which caused a squeal from the animal. When he realised it seemed to calm him down, and soon enough he was muttering chains of apologies while roughly patting its fur as if he was patting a dog.

People were arguing, screaming and squealing over each other.

He was made secret keeper.

What are we going to do?

What will be his punishment?

Will my children be safe?

"Enough!"

Dumbledore’s voice rang through the crowded room, and everyone abruptly stopped talking.

"It is late. Peter will do us no harm now. Let us take a break, and then we can decide what to do with him." He muttered the last part of his sentence, rubbing his forehead as he sat on the chair by his desk.

"Albus." Molly broke the wizards sigh. "Who is the ally?"

As if on cue the cat jumped from Sirius’s arms with a light thud, and trotted to the wizard’s desk.

"Ah. Right," he nodded, swishing his wand towards the small black creature.

Suddenly, its black fur turned into dark silky expensive fabric, and stretched into a woman.

Not just any woman.

It was you.

Looking all regal despite the fight you had put up against Peter. Hair dressed up with prestige, with not one loose hair falling out. The true elegance of a Malfoy.

In the almost two years he hadn’t seen you, you had barely changed, all the while you looked different.

You had the most gorgeous black pearl necklace Sirius had ever seen, and if he remembered correctly it had been previously owned by his aunt who had received it from her own grand mother (so his great great great grandmother?, he briefly thought as his brain twisted to remember the memory)

And he suddenly remembered the grim story behind it. The mourning pearls. Transmitted from a widow to another, and worn by the youngest one in the family. A tradition that he hadn’t thought much about when he overheard his mother speaking about it at diner.

He swallowed, palm of his hands clammy as he watched you dust your skirt of silks. You looked as if you were ready for some prestigious events like the ones Sirius had stopped bothering with when he turned sixteen. He realised that, even in these war times this was now probably your every day wear. You had made it to what his mother had wished him to be.

A jewel of high society.

Maybe even more so now with your status of heirsss to his family’s everything.

You had a mischievous smile on your face when you finally lifted your gaze up to meet the room. Godric he missed that smile.

"This was a ghastly experience Albus, I do not know how you animagi do it."