#like I though she was played by the same person as Harry

[short666bread]

the lads rolling up to the (halloween) function

[hexsdexs]

I can't stop thinking about the one direction boys.

Louis, losing yet ANOTHER majorly important person in his life. His best friend. His songwriting partner for so many years. His brother. I hope he's not asking himself if he couldve done more. If he missed the signs. How much suffering does one person withstand.

Niall, the last to see him. I had this friend who I was as thick as thieves with years ago, when I saw her again after graduating it never felt the same. Because we're so different now. I stopped hanging out with her because that difference made me uncomfortable. I wonder if niall felt like that, was it a little weird? A little awkward? or did he feel like no time has passed at all and they picked up exactly where they left of? I wonder if he feels guilty because he got to have that one final goodbye and the rest didn't like some sort of survirors guilt. If he didn't see the warning signs. If he's going over their final interaction over and over and over. The last time I saw my grandmother was 2 days before she died and I play that interaction over and over and over and over.

Harry, who liam previously described as "having a sixth sense for when I'm struggling", and harry who described the death of another friend as the reason he always tries to check up on others. I wonder how long its been since they spoke. I wonder if harry feels unimaginable amounts of guilt for not seeing it. For not reaching out more. For not publicly acknowledging liam when his solo fans where bullying liam even though he preaches tpwk.

Zayn. God, zayn. Zayn who always thought they'd eventually get over their issues. Make their way back. Zayn who only months prior was discussing wanting to reach out and how he's been reminiscing and looking back at one direction much more fondly and much less bitterly. God I know he feels like he's just a day too late. If he had reached out just one day earlier, he would've been on good terms with liam. He would've had that at least. His post made me think of some friends i had to cut off. They were my favorite people in the world but too much had went down. I bawled. Life is so fucking short. They ruined my life and i shouldn't reach out but life is so fucking short. I don't want to wake up to one of them dead.

God I hope they're okay. I wish I could take it all away.

[jezebelblues]

dress to impress | h.s

summary: in which you're a famous streamer n you finally let harry join one of your streams. (though the evening ends a bit differently than you expected)

cw: smut18+ oral (m receiving), daddy kink if u squint, spitting, fem!reader, unedited

word count: approx 3k

| yes yes i know that dti didn’t come out till last year just pretend 😔 also btw if this is cringe random then pretend i don’t exist fr i got this idea cause caseoh randomly posted a dti update while i was at the gym so thank u caseoh

masterlist

December 2021 | London

Snow dusted the window softly, frosting the glass and sending melting droplets downward against the pane, dancing in the direction of the wind. The world was still in the throes of the pandemic, which allowed the lines between professional and personal to blur a bit. 

YN had been a popular streamer for a few years now, but her numbers only grew once her relationship went public with the award winning, globe-trotting man that was Harry Styles. 

She had been avoiding this moment for months. Not because she didn’t want it to happen—oh no, she had definitely wanted Harry to join her on a stream, like a thousand times—but Harry had this way of throwing himself into new situations with such confidence that it was bound to lead to some seriously chaotic results.

But her fans, their fans, had been relentless. Every single time she went live on Twitch, no matter what game she was playing—among us, fortnite, mario world—the chat exploded with one resounding request: Get Harry on the stream!

At first, she’d brush it off with a smile and a laugh, always saying something like, he’s busy in the studio, or, he’s still getting in the hang of gaming, you don’t want to see him struggling on stream, trust me. But by the time December rolled around and the UK was stuck in another lockdown, YN realized she ran out of excuses to give. It was time to bring Harry on camera.

And so, on a cold December evening, she caved.

Harry was sitting in the same room. It was originally supposed to be an office, but since YN’s online career began to take off, it slowly transformed into a streaming room. Three monitors sat on a white desk in front of a large window. The one that sat in the middle showed the view of the stream and chat, while the other two were to be used for whatever.

Harry sat on a small couch in the center of the room, his head against the arm as he lazily scrolled through his phone, completely unaware of the chaos he was about to unleash on the internet. He looked effortlessly perfect, as per usual, in his gray sweats and oversized lavender hoodie, His growing curls were clipped into a tiny bun that sat on top of his head, a pair of brown glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. 

The glow of the computers illuminated the room as she finished up last minute technical checks, string lights twinkling around the edge of the room for a warmer glow. YN adjusted the camera, smiling brightly as the viewers started to pile in, the chat exploding from the sight of Harry in the background. “So,” she began with a giggle, averting her eyes from the screen to her boyfriend that sat comfortably behind her. “y’ready to join us, lovey?”

He looked up from his phone, his features softening as he shut it off. His eyebrows quirked in that familiar way as he chuckled. “Oh, honey.” He sighed playfully as he stood up, ambling over to the spot behind her chair. “I was born ready.”

“Uh-huh.” She laughed, tilting her head backward to catch a glance from underneath him. “Sure you were.”

He placed a quick kiss against her forehead before he sat in the chair beside her, settling in and staring at the center monitor which revealed the chat that moved in an insane quickness. He leaned over toward YN, shoulders barely touching as he waved at her camera with a wide smile.

She snorted, pushing against her boyfriend as she leaned over to point to the other monitor with a smile. “Look, baby.” She said softly, adjusting the camera that belonged to that computer before pulling up the game roblox. She gently explained to him the set up of the stream, informing him that all he had to do was sit in his space and the chat would see him just fine. 

And they would, it took YN over twenty minutes to set the stream up in a split screen sort of way, which would allow the viewers to see both YN and Harry, and their respective screens for gameplay. 

“Oh.” Harry giggled, as he scrolled throughout the roblox website randomly. His gaze shifted between his screen and the center monitor, reading out whatever messages he could since the chat moved so quickly. He scoffed, shaking his head. “How hard can this be? Look at this!” He laughed, nodding toward his screen.

His girlfriend snorted, shaking her head as she pulled up the game dress to impress. “This isn’t grand theft auto or fifa, I don't think you'll magically be good at this.” She grinned as she leaned over again toward Harry, pulling up the same game on his monitor.

“Oh ye of little faith.” He chuckled as he watched the game load in, wiggling his eyebrows at the camera. “I’ve got this.”

harryfan1: OMG ur kidding i literally knew it

ynfan2: no WAY LMFAO

harryfan2: HES ON 

YN couldn’t help but laugh as she read the chat aloud. “You guys are way too excited for this,” she teased. “Harry’s not that big of a deal.” 

He feigned offense as he looked into the camera with his jaw slack, a huff escaping his lips. “Absolutely bonkers.” He laughed breathily, referring to his girlfriend that sat beside him. He let his shoulders falter as he settled in a bit more, a grin spreading across his lips as the neon lobby of dress to impress loaded in.

YN’s eyes flickered between both the camera and Harry as she explained the premise of the game, smiling at his cocky eye rolls and the flood of heart emojis and keysmashes from the chat that seemed to express a collective internet scream.

“Would you like my help?” YN asked, humor lacing her words as she stared at the theme that flashed over the screen, winter wonderland.

Harry cracked his knuckles, tongue in cheek as he shook his head, darting around the game’s lobby in search for the exact outfit he envisioned. 

She laughed at him, quickly putting on a cute outfit with hair and makeup that went along perfectly. Something elegant, a cream colored warmth. Her smile grew as she glanced at the chat, then to Harry’s screen.

user3: whos gonna tell bro

user4: oh honey…

His avatar was dressed in white, baggy jeans with a puffy winter jacket that had a hawaiian pattern on it. Harry could feel her eyes on him as he placed a santa hat on his avatar for the finishing look. The skin tone of the character was still a default gray, completely bald with no face. His smile began to falter as he looked over toward his girlfriend’s screen. “How’d you do that?” He pleaded, his mouth falling into a frown as he watched the timer go down. “I’ve got no face!”

She laughed again as she showed him how to put hair and makeup on, as well as put an actual skin tone on his little avatar. She couldn’t help but ask what the hell he was envisioning for his outfit.

He grinned as he spun his avatar around the lobby. “She’s wishing for Florida.” He said, pointing toward the screen. “She’s dressed in warm clothes but the patterns show she wishes to be elsewhere.”

user5: this guy has got to stick to writing songs

When the voting started, YN’s outfit was praised by the chat and those in the server—many of whom were fans who were able to join the same lobby.

And then came Harry’s turn.

The second his avatar strut down the runway, there was a moment of lag in the chat before it quickly exploded once more. 

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, pointing at the camera with a snap. “Five stars or m’not releasing the third album.”

YN’s mouth fell agape as she watched Harry place first, watching her boyfriend fold his hands together and shake them in victory as he hummed the tune to as it was. (a tune his fans were completely oblivious to) which only let his smirk grow wider. 

The next theme was royalty, and YN figured this one would be easier for Harry. After all, the man was basically British royalty in his own right. Surely he could nail this one.

But once again, Harry’s choices were questionable, but of course it made complete sense to him in his own mind. 

While YN opted for a pretty gown and tiara, Harry—ever the wildcard—dressed his avatar in what could only be described as a pirate. For royalty.

She stared at his screen, dumbfounded. “H..that’s a pirate.”

“Royalty of the seas, love.” He winked, “captain Styles at your service.”

The chat went ballistic again, loving every second of Harry’s presence on screen.

user6: h pulled out the arrgh 5000s

user7: HARRY PLEASE

They played a few more rounds, with Harry’s outfits growing increasingly outlandish each time, much to the delight of the viewers. The banter between them never let up, and the stream quickly became one of YN’s most popular broadcasts ever.

As the night wore on and the final round came to an end, YN leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head. “You guys are so spoiled.” She grinned in the direction of the camera. “I hope you enjoyed.”

Harry nodded, his smile unwavering. “And what did we learn tonight?”

“That this is why you have stylists?”

He scoffed before he muttered out a no, raising a finger like he was about to make a profound statement. “We learned that I am a roblox fashion icon in the making.” 

She burst out laughing again, and this time, she didn’t stop. Her laughter was infectious, and soon Harry was laughing alongside her, neither of them able to take the game—or themselves—too seriously. 

“Well baby, fashion icon or not.” She said, poking her boyfriend’s cheek gently. “I think we all learned this might not be your true calling.”

He gasped in mock offense, swatting her hand away and clutching his chest dramatically. “Rude. Just y’wait—next time I’ll come prepared. I’ll have a roblox fashion strategy ready t’go.” 

She smirked, titling her head in his direction. “Next time, huh?”

He paused with a smile, considering. “It was a bit of fun, but next time it needs to be guitar hero or something. I’ll wipe the floor with you on that one, gorgeous.” 

The chat immediately lit up again, the fans going wild at the thought of Harry in the streams more often than not, especially if he got to show off his musical side. Some were already throwing out more ideas for the future: 

Play minecraft!

Get this man on the sims! 

Releasing an album simulator (but irl) 

YN smiled again, clearly amused by the flood of suggestions. As the stream began to wind down, she and Harry took a few moments to read some of the comments and thank the viewers for tuning in. They said their goodbyes, waving at the camera and promised to do something like this again soon—though YN wasn’t sure if Harry had fully processed just how much the fans would hold him to that.

As she logged off, Harry stood from the chair and stretched his hand above his head with an exaggerated groan, revealing his belly button and the ferns peeking out from the hem of his sweatpants. She rolled the chair in his direction, resting her head against his waist with a content sigh. “Everyone loves you.”

He smiled, letting his hands fall onto her shoulders and rub them gently. “What can I say?” He hummed, a cocky sarcasm laced in his words. 

“You’re impossible.” She whispered against the wrinkled fabric of his hoodie, though the words held no bite. 

“Oh, please.” He laughed, “You enjoyed it, watching me flounder around.”

She shrugged innocently, tilting her head upward so her chin rested against his abdomen, their gaze fixed onto each other. Her smile was lazy as she parted her lips, “It was funny watching you struggle.” 

His breaths caused her head to jut softly back and forth as she continued to lean against him, his fingers running through her hair as he hummed. “Funny huh?” His tone was gentle, delicate, as his fingers ran down from her hair to caress her cheeks, making her shiver. “Y’think its a game to tease me, hm?”

She felt her pulse quicken, a tension settling around them that replaced the previous banter. “I wasn’t teasing.” She said, her voice softer than before, but the hint of a smile still played on her lips.

Harry took the teeniest step back as his hand fell from her cheek to her chin, gripping it ever so slightly. His thumb brushed against her bottom lip, beckoning her mouth open. “No? Cause you’ve been doing it all night.” His voice was low, authoritative, and sent a rush of heat through her. He tutted toward her as he gazed down at her through his eyelashes, wanting her to part her lips a bit wider. His thumb slips into her mouth, the pad of it pressing down against her tongue.

“I think y’like pushing me.” He murmured, his breaths even and slow as he continued to hold her mouth open–which only allowed it to salivate even more. His eyes flickered from her lips to hers, a smile beginning to play upon his lips.

“What should we do about that, hm?” He cooed as he dragged his thumb away from her tongue, wetting her chin as his hand dropped to the side of her neck. Her own salvia glistened in the warm glow of the fairy lights around the room.

Her breath hitched as he bent at the waist, pressing a kiss onto her lips with his hand still cupping her neck. She melted into it, a heat pooling between her thighs as she felt his tongue against hers. His breath was cool with peppermint, his hair the scent of lavender and vanilla. 

They part slowly, strings of saliva snapping from the mutual disconnect. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth as he reaches him, gripping the back of his hoodie’s collar and pulling it off overhead. His chest rises and falls quicker than before as YN’s fingers lightly trace over the ink of the moth of his abdomen, the wings fluttering with every breath. His hands find hers as he pulls it toward the hem of his sweats. “Now,” He sighs heavily, watching her through half-lidded eyes, “be good f’me.”

She nodded as looped her fingers underneath both his sweats and his boxers, tugging them down in one continuing, slow motion until his cock slaps against the skin underneath his belly button. 

Her eyes find his, to which he grabs her chin once again, jerking it to face upward toward him. He leaned down as her lips parted, kissing her hungrily before pulling her bottom lip down gently. “Open.” He muttered, watching as she held her tongue out for him. She watched as his lips curled before spitting onto her tongue, saliva drooling from his lips to pool onto her tongue. 

She could feel her heartbeat in her core as he straightened back up, especially when he combed his digits through her hair and gripped as he reached the crown of her scalp. With her tongue still out, she neared the head of his cock—slick with precum already and the prettiest shade of pink. She swirled around the slit, watching through her eyelashes as his jaw clenched shut, a heavy exhale falling from his nose.

Her lips formed an ‘o’ as she enveloped the tip completely, closing her eyes as she savored the taste of him. She started off slow as she bobbed up and down his length, closing her inner cheeks around his cock with a hum. “Fuck.” He grunted, tightening his grip on her locks as he bucked his hips slightly. YN wrapped her hand around his length as her lips fell from his tip with a wet pop. She spat onto his cock, stroking him as she dipped her head down toward his balls, lapping and gently sucking the skin there, which had him tilt his head back in pleasure. Veins were more prominent in his neck as he groaned, the coil in his belly tightening. “Such a good girl.” He moaned softly as she wrapped her lips around his cock again, taking him deeper, her throat convulsing around the head that swelled with the threat of release. “Taking daddy’s cock so good.”

She hummed again, the reverberation causing his toes to curl against the carpet. He gathered her hair into a makeshift ponytail in his fist, guiding her movements as moans continued to fall from his lips. She could feel him begin to twitch in her throat as she gagged on his length, his movements sloppy. She could feel his quickened breaths from the way his lower abdomen fluttered against her forehead. “M’close baby–” He grunted, loosening his grip on her hair only slightly. “W-where.?” He choked out in pleasure, his abs rippling and tensing under the glow of the fairy lights, glistening from sweat. 

She only trailed her hands up his bare thighs, gripping his hips as if to keep him in place. She wanted to taste him, to suck him of every drop entirely. 

His cock pulsed against her tongue as he thrusted once more into her throat, shooting white ropes of come into her mouth with a moan. Her head continued to bob as she swirled her tongue around him, licking every drop of his release to the sound of his whimpers–the prettiest sound she’s ever heard. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as she parts from his cock, placing a few lazy kisses along his navel with a smile. He swallows hard, brushing strands of hair from her face with a lopsided smile. “I could get use to this.” He teases breathlessly, watching as his girlfriend shrugged his pants back up his long legs with a grin. 

She stood from her chair, pulling Harry into a kiss. His tongue brushes past her lips, his knees weak at the taste of himself mingled with her saliva. She hums against him, cupping his cheek as she parts. “Don’t get use to it, pretty boy. You still sucked.”

He laughed, his cheeks flushing a shade of pink as he shot a haphazard wink toward her. “Actually baby, that was all you.”

[jarofstyles]

3:33

Helloooo and happy spooky season. I finally have something scary-ish to put up for you guys

This is a Demon!H fic, which means he is not following all the same morals as most humans have. He is manipulative and kinda fucked in the head but he is obsessed with Y/N.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings

WC- 6k

Warnings- demon!H, manipulation, allusions to stalking behavior, supernatural elements, spitting, smut, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, choking, impact play (spanking), slight corruption vibes, selling your soul, etc etc etc

She sat in the dark, waiting for him.

He came every night. It was like clockwork, time ticking away with each beat of the moving hands, little ticks thrumming louder until it matched her pulse. Sitting under the fluffy duvet, she felt the familiar fear trickling down her spine- but the excitement was beginning to outshine the cool flush that he originally brought in.

As humiliating as it may be to admit to anyone else, she chose the babydoll she dressed her body in for him. A soft satin with lace cups to caress her breasts, a creamy color complimenting her deeply. Her cheeks felt hot as she sat with her legs criss crossed, fiddling with the hair tossed over her shoulder as her eyes looked towards the clock.

3:32. It was almost time. One minute.

The first time he had come, she had tried to scream but he took that ability from her. The man wasn’t human. His eyes devoid of color, his smile haunting but beautiful, she had frozen as she laid in her bed with sweat trickling down her neck and tears lacing her waterline. And all he’d done was caress her cheek. Laugh at her. Tell her he’d come back next time, and when he did, she shouldn’t be so loud- screeching annoyed him. 

So she did.

Harry. Harry. Harry. That was his name. He’d known hers, but he didn’t tell her how. He was a demon, he said. He knew all he wanted to know about her. He was always watching.

3:33. Her spine stiffened as she felt the room heat up significantly as the door to her closet moved.

 He was here.

Harry stepped out of the shadows, his form shimmering into sight with an almost unnoticeable ripple. His eyes were on her, watching as her breath hitched and her hands tightened on the soft fabric of the blankets. She looked good, dressed up like that. So innocent, so pure. Such a pretty thing for a human. It’s what drew him to her, the poor thing. Such an unfortunate curse for a human, to capture the unwavering attention of a demonic man. Her kindness, her weakness for all things soft and small. She was a good person, and had a good heart. And it only served to make him want to dirty her up. Take all of that for himself.

He approached the bed, his steps silent as he stalked towards her like a predator. His eyes never left hers, watching as her pupils dilated with fear and something else. Excitement. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath hitching each time he took a step closer. He could see the pulse in her neck fluttering wildly, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to lean down and sink his teeth into her flesh. To mark her.

His fingers curled around the footboard of her bed, knuckles turning white as he fought to control himself. His nails, sharp and black like obsidian, dug into the wood, leaving deep marks as he dragged them down. His own chest heaved, the white dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal his pale, muscled chest. Each breath pulled the fabric taut.

It was silent between them for a moment. Just observation. Monster and human, watching one another in curiosity. He felt increasingly drawn to the woman by the day, and she found herself wishing for his presence at night. Getting restless until he came to her. Just as he’d hoped. This time, though, he let her be the one to break the silence.

“Hi.” She whispered, licking her dry lip as her hands fisted the duvet in her lap. What more could be said in the moment? He usually led the conversation, he was the one who seemed to know more about her, but the interest of her own had been raised. Building day by day, bubbling under her skin.

Harry’s lips twitched as he watched her. His eyes flickered down to her lips, watching as her pink tongue darted out to lick the plump bottom one. He could see her pulse fluttering in her neck, the delicate hollow of her throat bobbing as she swallowed nervously. Her fear was so delicious. The most pure sort of fear, one he wanted to have on tap.

“Hello, Angel.” He finally responded, his voice like velvet. A deep, rich rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very room itself. His tongue darted out, licking over his teeth as he watched her. “I do like the outfit choice. Very much.” His eyes roamed down the length of her, appreciating the way the lace cups held her breasts. “A little too much, if I’m being honest. Did you pick it for me?”

Y/N knew she couldn’t lie to him. She didn’t have much of a choice. It was impossible to, not when he was around- and she had tried. He’d managed to undo a lot of layers in her.

“Yes.” She confirmed with a nod. “I-I… I’m not positive why.�� It was the truth, too. Her mind was slightly confused. She knew she was attracted to him, that she had come to find him to haunt her dreams in the most filthy and inappropriate way when she went to sleep, but she wasn’t the most outgoing when it came to being seductive. and certainly not with a man who wasn’t human. She had no idea what indulging what got herself into, and yet she felt the overwhelming pull to do so.

Harry grinned wide, his teeth sharp as he stepped closer to her on the bed. “Oh, I think you know. You’re just a little afraid to admit it to yourself, that’s all.” His hand came up, long fingers curling around her chin as he tilted her head back to look up at him. “You’re attracted to me, Angel. You want me.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, pushing gently until her mouth parted slightly. “Say it.”

His eyes bore into hers, unblinking and intense. His touch was firm. Unyielding. He wouldn’t back down until she gave him what he wanted. His thumb pushed a little further into her mouth, pressing against her teeth. “I know that we’ve been having our nightly visits and you sit with those deer like eyes and stare up at me, less afraid and more excited each time I step up to your bed. You lean into my touch. A sweet little human like you, it’s unheard of really.” It’s part of the fun. Harry loved that bit of it. Her confusion over it and yet she gave into the innermost desires. “Why don’t you push those blankets off, sit up on your knees.”

“Keep your eyes on mine the whole time, understand?” His voice was deep and smooth, but there was an undercurrent of demand that left no room for argument. He released his fingers from her mouth and stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers as he waited for her to follow his instructions. Once she did, he stood in front of her with a hint of a smile. Just a little bit, his lip tilted up with a smidgen of dimple showing as he slid his knuckles over her jawline and down to her thundering pulse. “There. You follow directions well, mm?”

He continued his exploration down, finding the straps of the babydoll she’d put on in his honor. “And this… Did you put this on to tempt me?” He sucked his teeth for a second, pulling on the elastic and letting it snap back into place. “Or what, little angel? What’s the purpose?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as he touched her, his knuckles rough against her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, even standing this close to him. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing in her ears as she did as he asked, keeping her eyes locked on his. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing over her lip. "I-I..." She stammered, her words catching in her throat as he touched her. His voice was so commanding, so sure of himself. It was both intimidating and exhilarating. Y/N could feel the traitorous heat spreading through her body, settling between her legs. "I... I put it on because I thought you'd like it." She admitted, her voice hesitant. "I don't know why..." She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. What had she expected? 

Harry’s smile widened, revealing more of his teeth. “You don’t know why… or you don’t want to admit it to yourself? C’mon, sweetheart. We’ve been over it.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Because I think you do. I think you want me to like it. Want me to touch you… Want me to fuck you…” His hand moved from her jaw to the strap of her babydoll, pulling it down her shoulder. 

“I think you’ve been having dreams about me stroking your skin, licking all over you, getting deeper inside that sopping cunt than any of those pathetic men that keep trying to ask you on dates at your job could ever do. I think that it’s ironic that since I’ve revealed myself to you, you’ve barely been giving any man the time of day. And yet…” He dragged down the other strap, letting his nail drag against her fragile skin. “You put on the sweetest scented lotions for me. You do your hair nice and pretty, you make your skin so fucking soft… because you want me to touch you. You put on little outfits you want me to take off.” It made him chuckle under his breath, the entire demeanor of him towering over her slightly terrifying and fully exhilarating. Arousing, almost. “It’s so cute, it’s pathetic.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned in close, his voice dropping to that gravelly whisper. She felt her body tense as he spoke, her heart pounding harder in her chest. He was so forward, so crude. And yet… it sent a jolt of heat between her legs. She could feel her body reacting to his words, her panties damp and her peaked nipples straining against the satin of her babydoll.

Harry’s hand moved from her shoulder to her breast, cupping it firmly in his palm. He could feel the hard bud of her nipple pressing against his skin. He broke away from her gaze, looking down at the mounds of flesh spilling out of the top of her nightgown. “Look at that… so eager for my touch.” He chuckled darkly, his thumb rubbing over the peak of her nipple through the fabric. “Do you want me to touch you, pretty human? As lovely as it is to have you speechless, I need you to open that mouth and start talking.”

He continued to rub over her, his touch making her melt. So unusual, like she’s been dipped in thick, warm water. Y/N could feel her body responding, her breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coursed through her. She bit her lip, struggling to find the words he wanted to hear. "Y-yes..." She finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible as she managed to get it out of her throat. "I want you to touch me." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I want you to do... everything you said."

Harry’s grin was wicked as he listened to her speak. “Good girl. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He murmured, his hand moving from her breast to the hem of her nightgown. He slowly began to pull it up, his knuckles brushing against her stomach and sides. “Now… let’s see what you’ve got hidden beneath this.” As the fabric reached her ribs, he paused, looking down at her body. “You know, I’ve been wondering what you’d feel like. I hadn’t anticipated your desperation. Most humans stay terrified, like the first time I revealed myself to you. Their hearts pounding and their blood feeling like ice. But I knew you’d be different.”

 His fingertips were hot as they caressed her stomach, the other hand lightly brushed the hair from her shoulder. “So sweet, yet so brave. Got a monster in your room, n’yet here you go… dressing up for him. Getting all slick between the thighs for him.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly dragged her nightgown up until it was bunched around her waist, exposing her lower half to him. Her breathing grew shallow as she felt the cool air brush against her bare skin. His fingers slowly traced up her thighs, gently parting her legs further.  “Look at that.” Her body was beautiful. “See? You’ve got such an angelic body, and you want me to do such filthy, nasty, depraved things to it.” He clicked his tongue, watching her shiver. “I can smell how wet you are, little thing. S’pathetic. Sweet little angel, dripping all over those pretty panties you chose for your demon t’see you in. Ought t’just leave you here to take care of yourself.”

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as his fingers danced up her thighs, parting her legs further. A soft moan escaped her lips as a rush of heat pooled between her thighs. Her breath hitched in her throat as he spoke, his words sending shivers down her spine. She could feel her face growing hot, embarrassment mixing with arousal. "No!" she squeaked, her voice pitched as her eyes widened up at him. The idea of him leaving her like this was the last thing she wanted to happen. "Please, don't leave me like this..."

Harry chuckled darkly, enjoying the way her desperation made her voice quiver. “Like what, pretty human? All hot and bothered, with no relief in sight? Aching to be touched, toyed with, filled? All because of little old me?” His fingers continued to trace patterns on her skin, coming agonizingly close to where she needed them most but never quite touching.

Without warning, a hand tangled in her hair, pulling to arch her head back. The little gasp fueled him, the desperation in the human’s face almost humorous at this point. It hurt her a little, the grip, but he could smell that she liked it. “I thought you were this sweet little thing when I first saw you. Picking those flowers in the garden to bring to your neighbor, baking things to bring to nurses, walking those little animals at the shelter, offering directions to people you barely knew.” Her humid cunt was so close to his fingers but he only slightly brushed over the damp fabric with his knuckles. “I knew that there had to be something wrong with you. Jus’ didn’t think it would be that you’d get wet for a monster like me.”

He leaned down, his voice a dark growl in her ear. “But now I see it. You’re not just some sweet little thing. You’re a nasty, desperate little slut, aren’t you? All dressed up in your pretty panties and nightgown, just waiting for me to come and fuck you.” His tongue darted out, licking the shell of her ear. “And I will fuck you, pretty human.”

His breath was hot against her ear as he spoke, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Let me tell you what I’m gonna do.” His hand released her hair, instead tracing down her neck, between her breasts, and down her stomach. “I’m gonna tear these pretty little things you’ve got on to shreds, and then…” His fingers hooked under the hem of her damp underwear, pulling it tight against her before snapping it. “M’gonna make sure that tight little cunt is nice n’thoroughly soaked so it takes my cock a bit easier. I’m not the patient type when it comes to this sort of thing.”

He leaned down and captured her lips in a brutal, dominating kiss. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, claiming her as his. The demon bit her lower lip, making it bleed just slightly, before sucking on it and letting go with a pop. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he growled against her mouth, before kissing her again, harder this time. His hand gripped her face, holding her still for his kiss, his thumb digging into her cheeks.

As his kiss deepened, his hand snaked down between her thighs once more. His thumb found her swollen nub and began to rub slow, firm circles around it. She gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking against his hand. He chuckled against her lips, his grip tightening on her face to keep her in place. "Shh, little thing," he whispered against her mouth, his voice dark and mocking. "This is just the beginning."

His touch became more insistent, his thumb rubbing her fast and hard, like he knew she liked it. He broke the kiss to watch her face as he kept her head back, mouth open for him to do as he pleased. His other hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to keep her face tilted up towards him. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice low. "Look at me while I touch you- keep that mouth open."

"Good girl." he praised, as she whimpered, her breath hitching as he sped up his pace. Without warning, he spit into her open mouth, watching as she tried to swallow it reflexively. "Mmm, that’s it. Swallow it all down." He leaned in, his tongue darting in to lick up what was left of his saliva from the corners of her lips. "You’d let me do anything I wanted to, wouldn’t you?”

His voice was laced with dark amusement as he continued to rub her swollen clit, feeling her grow even wetter from his treatment. Poor little thing really needed a proper fuck, and no human would be able to give it to her. "Answer me, pretty human. You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you?" His grip on her jaw tightened, his thumb pressing down hard on her chin, making her open her mouth wider. "Nod if you'll be a good little toy for me."

She nodded eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before flying back open to meet his gaze. He grinned wickedly, his hand moving faster, his touch firmer. "Good girl. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you?" He leaned down, his hot breath washing over her face. "You'll take my fingers, my thick tongue, my cock, my spit... " He paused, his eyes glinting mischievously. “My cum.”

Y/n let out a high-pitched whine, her body shaking slightly as he spoke. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, she nodded frantically, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she tried to hold herself together. "Uh-huh.” The feeling was almost trance like as she rocked her hips against his hand, his dark eyes boring into her own as she felt her own lull from the heat of pleasure simmering in her lower stomach. The grip he had on her left no room for argument but she didn’t want to. As long as he didn’t stop, she was happy.

He knew he had her right where he wanted her. She was so close now, her face prickled with sweat, her breath coming in short pants. He could see the desperation in her eyes, the plea for release. But he wasn’t ready to give it to her just yet. He slowed his touch, his thumb barely brushing over her swollen bud. "Not yet, little thing," he murmured, his voice mockingly gentle. “Lay back and spread your legs. Let me see that cunt.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, his words making her feel exposed and vulnerable, but the need for release was too great. She slowly laid back, spreading her legs wide apart as he demanded. He let out a low whistle, his gaze raking over her dripping pussy. "Fuck, you're soaked," he said, his voice filled with appreciation. He reached out, his fingers dipping into her folds, spreading her open even wider. "Shouldn’t have waited this long. If I’d known you were gagging for it like this... Well, I’d have bent you over a few nights ago."

He leaned down between her thighs, his hot breath washing over her wet slit. Fucking finally. As delicious as her fear had been at first, he preferred this. Seeing her spread out and so desperate for him that she was near tears. She squirmed, her hips lifting off the bed, inviting him in- and that’s all the push he needed. He grinned against her, his hands gripping her thighs and pushing them back even further. "Greedy little thing, you’ll get what I give you." he chuckled darkly, his tongue snaking out to lap at her. She cried out, her back arching, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her.

He licked her slowly, his tongue flat against her pussy, lapping up her juices. She tasted so fucking good, he could eat her out all night- but he had other plans. He focused on her clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue, feeling it swell under his touch. "Harry- Sir.." She whimpered, her hands finding their way to his hair, gripping it tightly. Maybe she shouldn’t be touching a demon so liberally but she wasn’t thinking about anything other than the pleasure building up in her stomach. "Please, please... I need t’cum."

He hummed against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her entire body. He could feel her nearing the edge, her breath hitching, her grip on his hair tightening. He pulled back at the last second, smiling cruelly when she let out a frustrated cry. "Not yet." he chided, his hands gripping her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. He pushed her upper body down into the mattress, lifting her hips up to meet him. “You’d think that such a nice girl would have better manners. Follow instructions, little human. Your orgasm belongs to me. I say when it happens.” His hand came down rough against her ass, making her jolt.

He brought his hand down again, the sound of his palm meeting her soft flesh filling the room. Y/N whimpered, her face burying into the sheets, her back arching as she tried to meet each smack of his hand. Despite the stinging pain, her body still yearned for release. She could feel her juices sliding down her thighs, her body tensing with anticipation as she waited for him to touch her again. Any touch, anything the demon gave her was something she was hungry for. 

“Fuck. Look at you.” He was genuinely impressed at how well she took it, how much she liked it. The woman was dripping, soaking fucking wet, and it was all because of him. His ego was plenty big, but it only served to swell it further. “Such a slut.” His voice dropped low. “I think you’re plenty wet to take my cock now, considering you can’t sit still for a second.”

He crawled up her body, his weight pressing down on her back as he leaned over her body, one hand between them slipping his cock over her slick cunt. His hips lowered, his hot flesh parting the folds and he nudged her clit. "You sure you can handle it, little thing?" He murmured against her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

“Yeah, I can. I can do it, just put it in me. Please.” Even when she was being edged, she managed to be polite. How darling.

His hips slowly rolled, the thick head of his erection easing into her. It wasn’t the easiest thing, but she was so slick that it helped. The poor pussy was stretched as he sunk in, fluttering around him as it tried to get used to the intrusion- and it would. Harry would make sure of it. “Fuck!” He heard her gasp, her fingers clenching on the sheets beneath them. "So...big." She whimpered, the words muffled by the bedding. He chuckled darkly, his arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her up onto her knees, her back arching to meet his chest.

“I am big. And you’re taking it like a good little angel. Aren’t you?” He started to move, his hips slowly rolling beneath her, his cock sliding in and out of her in languid pulls. 

She let out a low moan, her head falling back against his shoulder, her body melting into his. “Yes-I’m taking it… I’m taking your cock…” she whimpered, her voice filled with pleasure. It was something different altogether. Sparks of heat all over her body, his strength keeping her up, the most full she had ever felt, and she wondered how she had ever lived without this feeling before.

“You are. Filthy little fucktoy, finally serving your purpose." His voice was a dark purr in her ear, his hot breath washing over her neck. His hips rolled against hers, his strong hand reaching up to hold her throat. She could hear the wet sounds of their bodies meeting, the squelching noises of how turned on she was, and he was more than happy to point it out. "Listen to that. That's the sound of you being so eager for me."

His grip on her throat tightened just a bit as he slowing increased his pace, gucking up into her harder. The new angle had his cock hitting a  spot inside of her that had her gasping, hand grabbing at his forearm to try and ground herself at the stimulation. it was overwhelming in the best way, making her feel a new sense of frenzied she’d never had before, "Fuck, right there. Don't stop, m’begging you- it’s so good." She slurred out, her hips rolling back to meet his thrusts. Her pussy clenched around him like a vice, fluttering and squeezing his thick length.

"That's it, little angel. You can take it. Fucking milk my cock." His pace was relentless , inhuman stamina helping him keep her right where he wanted her. It was too fucking good.

After all the time he’s spent watching her, dipping his toes inside her dreams and planting seeds in her mind to help her want him, he was taking what he wanted. She was loving it. He’d known he’d give it to her good, that she’d never be able to compare him to a human because there wasn’t a chance in hell they could give her what he could -pun intended- but his obsession with the sweet little human was far more engrained in him than he thought. She genuinely loved this. There was no way he could even compel her to respond like this. The girl was eager and he was going to give it to her. He could feel her tightening around him, her body quaking as the pressure built. "You want to cum, don't you slutty girl? Want to cum on my cock?"

"Yes, fuck- I'm so close. Please, please let me cum.” The begging was music to his ears. Matched with how she felt wrapped around him, he knew he was going to come back for more. This was his human now. No take backs. “I'll do anything, just please let me cum on your cock" She was practically sobbing with need, her pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around him, trying to milk his throbbing cock. The wet squelching noises were obscene, her arousal dripping down his shaft and making a mess over his balls but he loved every bit of it.

“Oh, you’ll get it. I’ll let you have it, little angel." He cooed in her ear, his pace slowing as his hips rolled forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her and holding there. His strong hand left her throat and reached down, his fingers slipping between them. Fingertips pressed  against her little bud, rolling it between his thick digits. “For a price.”

She whimpered as he stilled within her, her head turning to nuzzle her nose against his cheek as she tried to beg for more. His fingers on her swollen bud had her back arching further, her hips rolling to meet the pressure, "Oh, anything. Anything, jus’ let me cum.” she whined, her breath hitching as he bullied her clit with his circles. So mean, so good.  “What do you w-want?”

“Your soul.” He purred softly, shallowly thrusting inside of her. “All you need to do is promise yourself to me, sweet angel. Give me your soul, devote yourself to me… and you can have my cock every single night. No one else can have this pussy- but you won’t want to give it to anyone else.” The words were whispered in a soothing tone, mumbled against her cheek.

She whimpered at the promise, her arm wrapping back around his neck tighter as she felt like he was asking for more than her body. She bit her bottom lip, hesitating as she tried to think through the haze of pleasure. It felt hard to think when all she could comprehend was how right it felt to be stuffed to the brim with his fat cock. Every nerve ending was singing his praises. His hands kept up their work, his hips slowly rolling forward to bury himself to the hilt within her. The sensation was heavenly, and she wanted more. "You-you promise? Every night?" Her voice was breathy, needy.

“As long as you give me your soul and give me your devotion, yes. It’s the only way you’ll get me. Get this.” His fingers quickened on her clit, the other hand gently pressing the sides of her throat. “Tell me that you belong to me, mind body and soul, and I’ll let you cum. I’ll fill you with my cum and fuck it into you so you can feel it when you go do all your good deeds tomorrow before crawling back into bed, so you can wait for another load from the very opposite of what you stand for.”

She shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut as his words washed over her. The pleasure was so intense, her mind hazing over until only his voice and touch remained. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, desperate for release. His fingers on her throat made her feel so small, so owned. The thought of being filled with his sinful essence, a secret sin that would fuel her righteous deeds... it was fucked up, but it made her clench around him needily.

“Answer me, Angel. Give yourself to me and I’ll give you my cum. You’ll feel it trickling out of you as you lay in bed tomorrow morning, remember my touch. Remember that you’re mine.” He leaned into her, his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His fingers were relentless, the hand on her throat tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me.” 

Her voice was high-pitched, desperate as she gasped. Maybe she’d wake up tomorrow and regret this, but for now she couldn’t. Swimming in the hazy waters that was the overwhelming pleasure the demon could hand her, she wanted the endless supply.  "I'm yours! Mind, body, soul... it's all yours. Please, please give me what I need. I-I'll remember, I promise. I'll remember that I belong to you." She could barely speak, her breathing hitching as she grew closer and closer to the peak. Her hips jerked against his grasp, silently begging for more.

As the words left her lips, Harry could feel her surrendering to him completely. Her soul, her very essence, now belonged to him. With a deep, rumbling growl of satisfaction, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her cries as he finally allowed her to cum. His fingers on her clit increased pressure and speed, pushing her over the edge into ecstasy.

Her body stiffened, her head tilting back to break the kiss as her mouth hung open in a silent scream. His hips surged forward, burying himself deep as he let out a dark laugh, malicious in nature as he felt the binding take hold. He swelled inside of her, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around him as her release claimed her.

As he felt her surrender, Harry's own orgasm ripped through him like a freight train. His eyes rolled back, his teeth clenching in a snarl as he began to cum inside of her. His arm held her up, lightly pinching her clit to make her clench around him as he pulsed shot after shot into her, rocking his hips into her- he wanted every drop inside of his new possession. His claim to take. His cum was thick and hot, filling her to the brim as he emptied himself into her. It seeped out of her, dripping down her thighs as he finally slowed, his orgasm subsiding. He pulled out of her, his softening prick leaving her hole open. Pushing her back down into the mattress, he pressed her face into the pillow as he examined his handiwork.

He spread her apart, admiring the way his seed was leaking out of her. So fucking filthy and wrong for a girl who acted like an angel, but at night she had promised herself to the devil. And that couldn’t be undone. He smirked darkly, knowing that by tomorrow, it would have soaked into her, a constant reminder of him. What they’d done. She’d never be able to escape it. Running a finger along her crease, he gathered some of the excess before bringing it up to her face. "Open up. Have a taste." he commanded, pressing his digit against her lips.

With a soft sigh, she parted her lips and allowed his finger to slip inside. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tentatively tasted his essence, a salty and slightly bitter tang coating her tongue. It was the taste of sin, of forbidden fruit, and she couldn't help but suck his finger clean, her cheeks hollowing out. When he withdrew, she let out a soft, needy sound, her face coated with embarrassment and desire. This wasn’t her, it wasn’t a way she’d ever acted with anyone else, but the monster had effectively trapped her in his clutches- and she had no wish for escape, either. Her legs felt like jelly, her skin flushed and hot in the best way, the orgasm nearly having made her pass out. It was safe to say she had been fucked stupid.

Satisfied with her compliance, Harry grinned. Really grinned, teeth and dimples and all. He ran his hands over her back and bottom, squeezing the softness of her possessively. His. It was all his now. After months of watching and waiting, of his nightly visits, she had given in. "You're going to stay like this for a little while longer, alright?" He didn't wait for her response, instead, he flipped her over and pushed her thighs apart, spreading her wet, messied hole wide. "I want you to lie here, like this, and think about who you belong to."

Her arms were splayed above her head, her fingers clutching at the sheets. Her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, and her eyes were locked onto his, watching as he ran his fingers along her inner thighs, occasionally dipping down to toy with her, keeping her on edge. "You're mine, aren't you?" His voice was low, almost hypnotic. "Say it. Remind me of what I already know." His thumb brushed against her swollen nub, making her gasp.

“I’m yours.” She breathed, eyes opening from their state of rest. The man was hauntingly beautiful, brutal lines and soft skin, hot and silky, and all she knew was that her brain could only remember his name and one sentence to spill out of her swollen mouth. “I belong to you, mind, body and soul. I am happy to be yours.”

There was no turning back now. 

3:33

[thecuriousbeauty]

One-Love! (Harry Styles Oneshot- Tennis player! Harry x Tennis Player y/n)

Synopsis:- This is a one shot inspired by Paris Olympics Gold medalists Katerina Siniakova and Tomas Machac, a beautiful couple who broke up before the olympics to focus on their game, and teamed up in the mixed doubles event to win the gold for their country. They shared a sweet kiss after their victory.

Word Count: 4,219

Warnings: Smut. Some sweet sex, a little bit of angst, and lots of fluff.

_______________________________________________

The sun was bright, warm, and not harsh, falling over y/n’s face through the small gaps of her window blinds. The alarm goes off and she wakes up with a soft groan, expertly reaching out a hand to silence it, without having to look. 

“Wakey wakey, it’s a beautiful morning!”She hears her boyfriend, Harry, and curls up on her side, hiding further under her blankets and acting like she’s still sleeping as she hears his footsteps coming towards her.

She feels the bed dip down with Harry’s weight as he climbs on, and leans over her, his breath fanning her face. “Aw, look at you, my sleepy head.”

y/n has to trap in her smile as she feels his gentle fingers stroke over her hair, moving the strands away from her face. “What am I gonna do to wake her up?”Harry wonders, smiling as he knows she’s playing with him. “Maybe I should go with a tickle attack.”

y/n gasps as his arms wrap around her waist, and hands sneak up to his oversized shirt she was wearing. “You can’t wake people up with tickle attacks!”, she says.

He laughs, pulling her so her back is to his chest. “You’re awake then?”

“No.”, she grumbles, turning around in his arms, and resting her forehead on his shoulder blade.”Why is it morning so fast?”

“Well, we did stay up till late. You wanted to go another round and then-”

“-Oh shut up.”, she cuts him off, and opens her eyes, meeting the forest green ones staring back at her. Harry’s face splits into a big smile as he rubs his nose with hers, something they always do. “There’s my girl.”

y/n has known Harry since years. They grew up in the same neighborhood, and their parents are friends. y/n and Harry didn’t get off to a great start though. Harry and his friends were playing football when y/n and her friend were walking by, and one of them kicked the ball towards them, making it splash onto a puddle right in front of them. The murky brown water fell on y/n’s friend’s new white top. Of course the boys didn’t mean to and they apologized, but since then, her friends wouldn’t look eye to eye with those boys. It seemed like a good grudge to keep at their young age.

y/n had a love for tennis. She loved watching the matches with her dad, and her dad even set up a net for her in the backyard so they could play. He enrolled her in the nearest coaching academy, where she didn’t know that Harry was training as well. 

“Oh Harry! It’s her first day today. Good that you have a friend already, eh?”Her dad smiles as he pats little Harry’s shoulder. The older curly haired boy smiled at y/n, a little smile playing on his lips. y/n tells her dad that she would be okay, and he leaves, promising to come pick her up after two hours. 

“So, you like tennis?”Harry asks, looking sideways at her as they walk inside. 

“Yes. You too?”, she asks, and he nods, putting out a hand. “Friends then?”

y/n smiles, shaking his hand. “Friends.”

“Someone once told me that mornings are the best time to train.”, Harry tells her as he brings his hands up to cup her face. 

“Must be a crazy person.”, she smiles, admiring how some of his brown curls fell over his face. “Yes, she is quite crazy. But I love her.”, he smiles back, dimples popping as his thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “Let’s go, sunshine. Made our smoothies ready.”

“Kiss?”, y/n puckers her lips. Harry looks at her fondly, before pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. “I love you too.”, she says, ruffling his hair when they pull away and sits up, stretching her arms above her head. 

Harry and y/n get into their training clothes, after y/n freshens up and they get going to the court where they practice. They did their warm ups, and ran some rounds around the court first. Harry and y/n had different coaches, but they train together a lot of times.

“You’re going down, Styles.”, y/n says, pushing her hair back with her head band before picking up her racket.

“You can try, y/n.”, Harry grins, who was jumping on his toes on the opposite side. 

Harry was easily the best player she had played with, and played against. He was quick on his toes, his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s, and he moved on the court like a panther. He was something you would call a mastermind, he had moves saved until the last moment and surprised his opponent when they least expected it. Harry had the saddest time of his life when he failed to qualify for the Tokyo Olympics. He got injured during the qualifying match, and he couldn’t be at his best.

“One- Love!", Harry smirks, as he gets a point. 

y/n’s coach thought she wasn’t ready yet during Tokyo, so she was now looking at the Paris Olympics. Winning a medal for her country was her dream and she would do anything to get that. 

“Yess!”, y/n cheers as she gets the match winning point to beat Harry. They always get so close, and playing against y/n sends the gears in Harry’s head turning, and he has to be at the top of his game. y/n walks to the bench, sitting down tiredly and Harry walks to her, giving her a fist bump. “Nice one, babe.”

“Thanks.”, she smiles, taking her water bottle out of her bag and pouring some over her face before chugging it down. “Wanna go again?”

“I’d like to, but I’ve got a session with the coach in the evening, don’t wanna over work myself.”, Harry tells her and she nods. “Shall we go grab breakfast?”, he asks her.

“Sure.”

Harry and y/n get some breakfast, then spend the day with each other before they part for training with their coaches in the evening. 

“y/n, you have six months from now for the qualification rounds.”, her coach tells her. “We have to make a game plan for that soon.”

“I’m at the top of my game right now coach, I just have to keep doing what I’m doing, right?”, she asks. She had won silvers, and golds in the previous tournaments. She was one of the country’s best at the moment. 

“This is the Olympics, y/n, it’s not going to be easy.”, he tells her. “You have to work double as hard.”

“I will. I’m gonna go to Paris this time.”

He smiles at her, keeping his hands together over his knees as he leans to talk to her. She was sitting on the court, arms around her knees. “You know you have to let go of all distractions, right?”

“My social media and stuff? Yeah, I can do that.”

“I’m talking about Styles.”

She raises her eyebrows. “What about him? He isn’t a distraction coach, we make each other better. Besides, we’re competing in different categories, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I want your focus to be on Tennis completely, y/n.”, he stresses. “You can’t do that if you’ve got a love life. And you know as well I do, that Harry will do anything to get this win. He needs it. He’s getting older, and he’s under a lot of pressure. It’s good for both of you to stop dating for a while, at least until this gets over.”

y/n opens her mouth and closes it. “You’ve got what it takes y/n, you are so talented. Isn’t this your dream?”

“Yes..”, she whispers. 

“Then you have to let go of everything and give me your best in these next few months.”

Harry was fed the same things from his coach, and they both stopped seeing each other so frequently. They stayed over less, and there was this air of tension around them as the days grew closer. 

“Babe..”, Harry says. He pauses the show they were watching, making y/n turn to look at him. “Hm?”

“W-We, um, we need to talk.”

y/n nods, sitting up, and Harry takes her hand. He didn’t want to tell her this, but he had to. Tennis was important to him. This could be his last chance to finally make it. He had to make sacrifices. 

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”, he murmurs. “They’re right, we have to focus on the sport. It’s our dream.”

y/n’s heart squeezes in her chest. “Y-You’re just as important to me, Harry.”

Harry quickly looks up to her eyes, squeezing her hand. “y/n, you mean the world to me. You’re my person, and my everything. Trust me, I thought about this a lot.”

“Me too.”, she agrees quietly. “This is it, then?”

“No. No, please, don’t say that.”, he shakes his head, leaving her hand to scoop her into his lap. One of his hands cups her cheek, while the other lays at her hip. “We can get back together..when things are not so hectic.”

“So..we break up for a few months to focus on Tennis?”, she asks, tears springing in her eyes, and Harry’s heart breaks as he sees that. He nodded. “M-My dad..he wanted me to win in the Olympics, it was his dream. He even told me about it before he d-died. I-I have to do this, y/n.”

She nods, understanding. She had the same love for the sport. An Olympic medal is the best achievement for any sports person.

“I love you.”, she whispers, her forehead touching his. 

“I love you too.”, he whispers back, kissing her. His tongue strokes over her bottom lip and she opens up, to let his tongue explore her mouth. Her fingers play with the curls at the back of his head, as his hands run up and down her sides. “One last time?”, he whispers against her lips, eyes looking at hers. 

“One last time.”, she agrees, joining their lips again. Harry’s lips trail down her neck, and her jawline, leaving his marks. “N-No seeing anyone else, right?”, she asks.

“Do you want to?”, he asks, slipping his hand under her shirt to grope at her breast. She moans, pressing closer to him as she feels his boner through her shorts. “No..n-no one’s as good as you, Harry.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”, he smirks, rubbing her nipple between his fingers. “Let me see you, baby.”, he whispers, tugging her shirt off her body. y/n does the same to him, and continues to straddle his lap as he marks her up.

She runs her hands over his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and over his inked chest. “Just like that baby, go down on me, just like that.”, he murmurs, hands moving to her hip to get her into a rhythm. He plays with her breasts and showers her in kisses, groaning against her skin. 

“H-Harry I need you.”, she moans softly. “Please.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Harry picks her up, hands under her ass as he takes them to the bedroom, their lips connecting again. He lets her back hit the bed softly, before hovering over her. “You are so beautiful.”, he punctuates each word with a kiss down to her stomach, while his hand moves to her core, feeling the sleekness of her wet folds. 

“Right back at ya, Styles.”, she says, pulling him closer as she runs her hands down his back. Harry groans, not able to hold on any longer. “Let me get inside you, darling.”

She spreads her legs, and he pushes his dick inside her. She moans at the feeling of being full. Harry fills her up so well. He starts moving in and out of her, his eyes looking at hers. “You feel so g-good, y/n.”, he moans. “So perfect for me.”

y/n looks at the love of her life, her chest bursting with emotions. She wished they could be here like this, with only the two of them in their own world forever.

“H-Harry?”, she asks, opening her palm, wanting him to hold her hand while he fucked her. Harry looks at her, also brimming with emotions. He tangles his hand with hers immediately, squeezing it tight. “I-I love you y/n. I love you so much.”

“I-I love you too.”, she smiles, her body starting to shake as she feels her orgasm coming. She clenched around his dick, and he brought his other hand to rub her clit. Her eyes roll back in her head as she whispers his name, again and again, as she reaches her high. Harry cums after she does, and he lays on top of her, exhausted.

“We’ll be fine, love.”, y/n whispers, running her hand through her favorite head of curls. 

Harry smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We will.”

_____________________________________________

y/n and Harry hadn’t seen each other, or talked to each other for months. Harry missed y/n so much that he felt a constant tugging in his heart. He trained alone with his coach, and he missed the times when they would mess around with each other. He missed her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, he missed her scent in his room, on his clothes, he missed everything about her. The only thing that kept him going was his game.

y/n wasn’t any better. She was alright for the first few weeks, but then the empty space next to her on the bed, the lack of warmth when she woke up in the mornings, and the lack of cheesy jokes made her think about Harry. She was on a strict diet, and her coach put her on a different workout regime. It was so extreme that after a while, the only thing on her mind was Tennis. Her mind was trained. 

Over the months, y/n’s agility improved along with other aspects, and she became great at reading the game. She was beating everyone she played against. Finally, it was time for the qualification rounds. 

Harry had finished his match, and he had won, so he had booked his spot in Paris, representing Britain. 

“Back to the hotel now?”, his friend, who’s also under the training of his coach asks him. 

“Next match in court number five! y/n y/l/n versus Yasmin Reinardo!”, Harry hears the announcement and his eyes widen. He wanted to go see her.

“Um, you go ahead.”, he told his friend, before rushing off to court five. He joined the audience, making it just in time.

He felt so many emotions when he saw her. It had been six months. His sunshine, his baby, his love. She looked incredible. Gorgeous as always, and she had gained some muscle around her arms. Her hair was tied into a high pony, and she wore her favorite white head band which she thinks is her lucky charm. 

Harry was so proud as he watched his girl on the court, she was on fire. Her opponent was good, but not good enough. 

y/n won the game, and the other girl broke into tears. After all, she also had the dream for representing her country at the Olympics. y/n pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back as she mumbled something Harry couldn’t hear, but he smiled. He quickly went down to meet her, as she wiped the sweat off her body with a towel.

“Congratulations, love.”

She spins around so quickly when she hears his voice, and her eyes melt. She was overjoyed with emotion because of the win. She was going to compete in the Olympics for the first time! And the first person that she wanted to see was Harry, who was right in front of her.

“Harry.”, she gushes, before throwing her arms around him. Harry didn’t mind the sweat, he needed the hug just as much as she did. He squeezed her to her chest, holding her close. “O-Oh my god, I can’t believe it.”, she shakes in his arms.

“You made it love, you’re going to Paris!”, he rubs her back, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He heard the camera click, and knew their photos were being taken. Oh well. He couldn’t worry about that now.

“Y-You?”, y/n pulls back to look at him. Harry grinned at her, dipping his head down to rub his nose with hers. “I’m coming along too.”

She grins back and squeezes him. “I would have been so mad if we broke up for no reason. We get a free ticket to Paris!”

________________________________________

The Olympics will be held in another four months.. They caught up that day during the qualifications, grabbed a dinner together to celebrate, and then they were back to training. 

They would see each other more often now, because all the British representatives trained together. Harry and y/n were both in better spirits now that they could see each other frequently, even if it was strictly during practice. 

They would exchange subtle glances, touch hands when they exchanged things, and talk when they got time, but it was mostly about the game. One month before the Olympics, their team was yet to decide who would play for the mixed doubles. 

“You both have played together before, right?”, one of the coaches asked Harry. “y/n and I? Yeah, in the commonwealth, we won bronze.”

“I think they’re our best shot.”, the guy says, looking at the other coaches and the players. 

“What do you guys think?”

Harry looks at y/n, from across the room, like I’m okay if you’re okay.

Yes, there was their break up thing, they hadn’t kissed in months, there would be sexual tension having to play right next to him as his team member, and she couldn’t let that affect the event she was competing for. But it was an amazing opportunity, she had two chances to get a medal.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. We’ve played together the most, and we make a good team.”, y/n said, and Harry smiled. 

So that’s how they started preparing together, for the mixed doubles along with their own events. 

“Are you nervous?”, y/n asks one night, as she sits on the floor stretching. “We’re flying to Paris tomorrow, Harry.”

“I’m excited about going to Paris, but am I nervous about the actual reason we’re going? Yes.”, he says, making her chuckle. They were the only ones there, and Harry was putting his racket into its case. “It’s gonna be unreal. I mean, we’re getting a step closer to our dreams.”

y/n nods, stretching her legs out. “Any tips from your experience? About the whole adjusting to playing in the world’s biggest tournament thing.”

Harry laughs lightly, turning to her. “Babe, this is my first time too.” He crouches down so he’s looking at her. “But I’d say just focus on your game. You are the best, believe only that. Tune out everything else. You might feel like listening to the crowd who’s cheering for you, but tune that out too. You focus on doing what you’re good at. You’ve sacrificed so much for this, and you deserve to win. Play with that feeling.”

y/n looks into his eyes, and nods as his words seep into her brain. Her eyes moved to his lips, he was so close. Just one kiss. 

Harry leaned closer, but it was to grab her leg. “Let me stretch you out.”

“Y-Yeah..”, she looks away from him. Harry had only gotten more attractive, and she loved seeing him in his short tennis shorts and a loose shirt. His tattoo covered muscular arms made her go weak in the knees.

“Lay back.”, Harry says and she does. Harry’s hands slowly lift up her leg, one of his hands on the back of her thigh and the other on her foot as he applies some pressure to it. She can’t stretch herself out so well. 

“Other leg.”, Harry smiles, keeping that leg down and his hands reaching for her other leg. She lifts it up, and he stretches it out like he did with the other. He was on his knees in front of her. Then he folds her leg, making her knee touch her chin.

“Hold it for another second..”, he hums, counting down. He did the same for the other leg, and she feels like her muscles are dissolving under her touch. 

“Pancake time.”, Harry pats her thigh, and she sits up, leaning over with her hands on the floor, going into something called the pancake stretch. Harry goes behind her, and applies pressure to her back. “Head down..that’s it, hold it there.”

She groans, feeling the stretch. Harry can’t help but smile, she can’t see his face anyway. “Alright, arms up.”

He stretches her arms, holding them above her head, and when he’s done, he kisses the top of her head. “All done.”

“Thanks, H.”, she smiles. “I’m gonna get going, make sure I’ve packed everything.”

“Mhm.” He wishes he could go with her. 

“Soon.”, she promises, like she read his mind, and he smiles as she kisses his cheek before walking away with her bag.

_____________________________________________________

It was crazy. Harry and y/n were in the Olympic Village, competing in the Paris Olympics. It was unbelievable. y/n had to pinch herself when she got there. It was every sports lover’s dream. They got a little tour when they arrived, and she was awed by all the different areas for the numerous sports competitions. 

She stood beside Harry for the opening ceremony, along with their other team members as they were welcomed. She was overwhelmed, thinking about how hard she had worked to get there. 

Her own event was going to be after a few days, the first event was her mixed doubles with Harry. They knew very well each other’s strengths and weaknesses, who should cover what, and everything else. They were well prepared and planned.

They won every game they played, and made it to the finals. 

y/n wanted to win this for Harry. She was going to give it her best. 

“We got this.”, Harry squeezes her hand as she jumps around, minutes before the match. “y/n, we got this.”

She nods, taking a deep breath and looking at him. A medal was sure. If not gold, silver. But their eyes were on the gold. Everyone wants to win.

She walks to Harry, and hugs him. “We’ve gotten this far love, this is the final stretch.”, Harry whispers against her hair. “I am so fucking proud of you.”

“I-I’m proud of you too.”, she pulls back to hold his face. “A-And I can’t do it anymore. I-I can’t live without you, Harry.”

“Neither can I, baby. I need you in my life, I can’t fucking breathe if I think about losing you, ever.”, Harry squeezes her tight. “Now, it’s time to win a medal. What do you say?”

“I say yes.”, she grins. 

Everyone cheers as Harry and y/n enter the court, shaking hands with their opponents. The fans loved to cook up theories about Harry and y/n, being seen out a lot of times with each other and their chemistry on the court is just magical to watch. Harry and y/n give cheeky responses when they're asked about it during interviews. They never confirmed their relationship, but their fans think it's obvious.

“One- Love!”

They score a point, and grin at each other before their hands meet for a fist bump. It was a tight game, keeping the people watching at the edge of her seats. They won the first set.

y/n and Harry are seen whispering to each other and their coaches as they drink their water and electrolytes during the break. They knew where their opponents were weak and just how to win the second set just like they had won the first.

And they do.

y/n screams in joy and astonishment. The fact that she just won an Olympic Gold Medal for her country felt so unreal! Harry was going through the same emotions. He made his father proud, he achieved what he had been working towards for years. 

The whole world was looking at them, but Harry could only see one person. His partner and the love of his life. 

“We won Harry! We won!”, she jumps high into the air, before wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging to him. Harry laughs as he lifts his girl up, spinning her around. They were laughing and crying at the same time. When Harry lets her feet touch the ground, she grins at him through her tears, and he cups her face. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Harry.”, she chokes back, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed her. He kissed her like he didn’t for 10 months, he kissed her like he couldn’t breathe, and he kissed her like they just became World Champions.

Kateřina Siniaková and Tomáš Macháč- Gold medlists, Mixed Doubles. Paris Olympics, 2024.

[honeychamomile1]

Boards And Strings

JJ Maybank x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader takes peace with JJ while she tunes her strings and he cleans his board.

Warnings: Just fluff because I’m obsessed with it.

Note: This is my first story ever with JJ on this blog because I made a second one so this is blog is fresh as a daisy. Hope you like it though! (Also I didn’t watch the show so any mistakes I make I deeply apologize but I rarely mention plot points)

First blog: @marypaol (I write for Harry Potter!)

The instrument was in her hands, gentle and delicate for her mind as she twisted the tuners on the top, once in a while plucking the strings, the note ringing out into the air.

Her opinion of it would vary, for sometimes she took satisfaction to it or she would simply shake her head, tightening or loosening based on her desires. The string would be looser or tighter in accordance with her actions. The ukulele would listen to her every word, even the most delicate change would completely alter the perspective of the note in the air, picking it up in the wind and almost forcing everyone to hear what it had to say.

She always liked music, listening or making, it didn’t matter, for whichever one was the same to her. Music was music, and notes were notes.

The dirty blonde in front of the garage didn’t take a mind to the noise, for normally it annoy an every-day person, a note ringing out before a pause is heard, not long enough until another note sprang out. He always heard her playing, and it pretty much the opposite of annoyed him. It in fact made him calm, a sense in his chest growing every time he heard her fingers touch those strings. He loved it when she played, and simply hearing the process of the instrument sounding good was something he was more than content to watch unfold.

His hands though burned, scraping the wax off the surface with great effort. The huge board was propped up on two wooden chairs he found in the garage, him sitting in his own as he leaned over it, his back starting to form a tension that wasn’t very comfortable. The hat on his head was protecting his forehead form the morning sun, yet after a while he could feel the heat seeping into the fabric and onto his hair, and he just knew he might get sunburn on his head beneath his strands if he took it off, so he dealt with the rays.

“JJ?” He heard a gentle voice, and, looking up from crumbled up wax on his board, got to see a much better view. The girl sat on a chair, bare tanned legs curled up and leaning on the table in front of her. She wore light ripped jean shorts, a nice sun shirt covering her figure. On her toned arms she wore knitted bracelets, ones she’s made herself. She had her eyebrows knitted together, confusion pouring over her features. Her nose in fact displayed the so said confusion, twitching every couple seconds so much so that it made the Maybank boy stare for a couple seconds longer than he should have.

“Yes, Princess?” He said, using the nickname he always used around her. Her lips quirked at the corners, him loving the sight before she used her fingers to pluck a string.

“Does this sound off?” She asked, uncertainly curling around her features. He listened to her play it again. He shook his head eventually, knowing how her songs sounded and the note was right as ever, his ears knowing that sound better than any other.

“Not at all, sweetness. Sounds as perfect as always.” He assured, looking down at the wax again, picking up his tool and continuing to scrape at the substance.

He didn’t hear her get up, and it wasn’t until he felt the fabric on his head being lifted up, his locks that were held together now flowing freely once they’re wasn’t any blockage that he noticed she had came over to him. His blonde strands practically glowed in the sun’s rays, and he could already feel the heat burning his head. He looked up at the disturbance, but quickly decided it wasn’t a disturbance anymore, since it was her standing over him, her hand holding his hat and transferring it to her own locks, setting it in her head swiftly.

Her eyes locked with his over the cap, the fabric on it lightly tearing from its constant use.

“What do you think you’re doing?” JJ teased gently, lips quirking up lightly.

She grinned right back at him, adjusting the cap on her head, the strings from her bracelets wagging from the movement. “What does it look like? I’m stealing your hat.”

JJ clicked his tongue and shook his head softly, mouth still slightly open as he looked at her. He then put on a fake man voice, acting like he had higher authority than her. “Well, sorry, Ma’am, but stealing is illegal.”

She grinned at his joke, instantly deciding to play along. “Really? Well I apologize, sir.”

She fluttered her eyelashes teasingly, trying to win the so-called cop over. JJ smirked.

“Beauty isn’t gonna free you, honey.” He informed, and saw her bottom lip come out, pink mouth pouting.

“Does this mean I’m arrested?” She tested, eyebrow raising in question. JJ grinned, standing up, coming closer to her.

“It means that you are going to get punished.” He answered. Her pout deepened but he saw her eyes glistening with curiosity, wondering what his next move was.

“And what exactly is my punishment?” She said, eyes more leaving his.

JJ had a smirk on his face, coming closer to her than before. It clicks in her brain at that moment, widening her eyes. She backs away slightly. “J…”

He laughs, tackling her body and digging his fingers into her sides, a squeal coming out of her mouth. She giggles as he tickles her, both their bodies slamming into the grassy ground, him on top, limbs everywhere as her lungs burned form not being able to breath without laughing. The cap loosed on her hair, the front of it covering part of her forehead.

“JJ!” She managed to exclaim, hands on his wrists as an attempt to stop his fingers from tickling her skin. She was able to get her fingers close to his, trying to pry them off when she felt the waxy substance coating his skin.

“JJ, ew your hands are gross.” She laughed, now managing to take his hands off her, and he was smirking the whole time he was wiping his hands off on the grass.

He then leaned forward, making eye contact with her, hair sprawled out on the grass and skin tanned. He reached for for the hat on her head, and for a couple seconds she thought he was gonna take it back, but instead he fixed it, gently lifting her head with his hand on the back of her neck, making sure the cap can fit better.

She smiled at him, him at her as their noses touched, brushing skin against skin as she breathed in his scent.

“I don’t think the police should be handling me like this…” she murmured and wrapping her fingers around the collar of is worn out T-shirt, smiling wider as his mouth brushed hers, being able to feel the muscles in his lips.

“I don’t think so either.” JJ whispered, breath hitting her mouth before connecting their lips, intaking a soft breath.

Her hands went to his neck, keeping him close as their mouths moved together. He tasted like fruits and beer, along with something that wouldn’t be any one else except him. He thought she tasted like honey chamomile and something else sweet.

They slowly separated for air, breathing slightly hard against each other’s mouths. JJ breathed out, digging his face into her neck, pressing his lips to the skin there, making her light out a soft sighs at the action.

“JJ…” she whispered as a form of protest but didn’t make an effort to take his head away, instead holding it there with her hands, stroking the hair strands that seemed to be getting blonder by the day.

He hummed in response, waiting to see what she had to say. She didn’t answer right away, though, sighing more frequently as he continued to kiss wherever he could get to.

“W-we shouldn’t do this right here.” She managed out, his teeth brushing the skin before backing away, gorgeous eyes meeting hers.

“Why not, Princess?” He questioned, practically whining because he had to stop. She laughed a little before replying.

“Because someone could see us.”

JJ scoffed, pecking her lips a couple times before going back to her neck, hand going under her shirt to rub her stomach. She sighed into the feeling, almost overwhelmed by his scent and body heat.

“Let them watch, they deserve to know that you’re mine.”

-Like, reblog, and comment to make me happy! 🫶🏻

[tropes-and-tales]

Of Every Kinnë Tre

(Pero Tovar x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (death); smut (dubious consent, maybe, but I don't know if medieval times cared much for intoxicated sex acts; loss of virginity; oblique talk of sex; fingering, PiV, unprotected), 18+ only.

Word Count: 8370

AN:  This was originally requested by @justreblogginfics!

AN2: The title of this is taken from an anonymous medieval love poem called, in modern English, "Of Every Kind of Tree."

AN3: Tropes is playing fast and loose with historical fact here (and geography, and linguistics, etc. etc).

Pero Tovar never counted marriage as something written into his fate.

Starvation?  Possibly.  Plague?  There was a chance.  Death in war or battle or in a misunderstanding on the road to China and back?

All too certain.

But marriage?  Never.

Until it was foisted on him, quite unexpectedly, as he made his way back to Europa from his trials at the Great Wall.

-----

Tales from Pero Tovar’s time were largely passed down through the oral tradition:  great speakers and orators stood in front of captive audiences, or ordinary men and women sat around fires and told stories to while away the dark hours, the cold hours.  To brighten their lives.

These stories usually began like this:

Lo!  We have heard of the glory of the Spear-Danes’ achievements!

Or

Harken, my brethren, while I tell you the tale of Igor, son of Svyatoslav.

Or

Pwyll Prince of Dyved was lord of the seven Cantrevs of Dyved; and once upon a time he was at Narberth his chief palace…

So we will begin our tale the same way, as the people of Pero’s time would have told it:  around the fire, in the deep of winter’s cold—for it is a love story, and love is most appreciated when the days are short and the nights are long.

-----

Gather, friends, as I tell the tale of Pero Tovar, an orphan in want of a heel of bread, who became a sell-sword in want of coin, who became a lord who possessed the greatest treasure of all.

Pero was born in Galicia, and his entry into our world was what harried his dear mother into the next.  Motherless, the babe Pero was given to a cousin to care for him, though she had her own children and gave Pero only the remainder of anything she had.  Pero’s father, a brute of a blacksmith, was dispatched by a horse’s kick to the head when Pero was just a boy, and so he found himself an orphan.

The cousin’s house was meanly built, and the cousin’s husband was a miser who counted every peseta thrice before tucking it away in the pouch he always kept on his person.  Pero was often cold, more often hungry, and when he reached the age of ten, he heard of a boy’s army that was forming to retake the Holy Land for the Christians.

Pero ran away from the cousin’s house, and while he never made it to Levant, he found that he had a talent for survival in the rough company of sell-swords, and it became his life for the next decades.

Unlike his fellow sell-swords, though, Pero had a talent for saving his coin.  His compatriots caroused, whored, drank themselves stupid the moment a coin crossed their palm. 

Pero?  Perhaps he had learned a lesson from the cousin’s miserly husband.  He held his coin, he spent little beyond the care of himself and his horse, and he saved.  He had an idea to leave his life as a sell-sword before he lost it, to retire to some quiet green place and toil in the earth for whatever years remained to him. 

To this end, he kept his coin safe with a certain prior in a certain priory.  For a portion of what Pero earned, the prior tucked away the rest and guarded it, kept it protected in an iron box secured with a cunning lock that only he had the key to.

Pero saw much of God’s earth and beyond:  into the Emirate of Mosul, the Buyid Emirate, where leagues of golden sand stretched beyond one’s vision, and where a lush green paradise could be found over the next rise.  Then Sena, Bagan, the Kingdom of Bali—where he could not fathom the tongues in which they spoke, but where work could be found, as it seemed men across all lands always needed swords for coin.  Then further east where the Song Dynasty ruled, and here Pero faced monsters from Revelation and survived.

With the coin he earned from fighting beasts, Pero calculated that he had enough now to retire from this life.  He could find a patch of land and till it.  He could hitch his warhorse to a plow and plant seeds that would sustain him, and when it was time for him to die, he could lay down in the furrows and pass with the blue firmament over his head.

-----

When Pero returned to the priory to collect his accumulated wealth, however, he found that disaster had struck.

The old prior, a gentle and pious man, had died, and his successor was the son of a bishop, a wastrel and spendthrift whose first order of business had been to set an inventory of the prior’s wealth. This inventory included the iron box where Pero's savings where stored.

The new prior's second order of business was to take that wealth and spend it on sinful pursuits.

Which meant Pero found himself with little beyond the payment from the Song people, a handful of treasures from his journeys, and a stretch of long years in front of him where he’d have to continue selling his sword to survive.

-----

Which was how Pero found himself outside of the Holy Roman Empire, to the east where the people spoke Latin but with a thick tongue, where many kept with the old gods and customs, and where the borders changed every fortnight as men grappled for land, consolidated their holding of scattered tribes and strongholds into what would pass for a kingdom or duchy further west.

Pero took work that winter, guarding the storehouse of a league of merchants who strove to protect their wares from both marauders and quarreling nobles alike.  In this way, Pero came to understand the local tongue and customs, and he learned of the Princeling named Radomil, whose eldest half-brother had just died.

“They say Radomil murdered his kin as he slept,” spat one man in a tavern.  “Just as he slayed his own father, years before.”

Another man lifted his hand, two fingers forked to ward off the Devil.  “There will be hard times ahead, should he gain control.”

In this way, by keeping his head down and his ears open, Pero came to learn of the cowardly murderous Prince Radomil, now King. He came to learn that the people feared what this murderous king may do to his half-sister.

In some way that Pero would never learn, though, King Radomil came to learn of him in turn, and within a score of days, Pero found himself summoned to the squat stone fortress for an audience with the new King.

-----

The proposal was simple, once it was put to Pero in a tongue he could grasp better.

King Radomil wanted to see his half-sister wed.  A kindness, it was said, in light of her recent loss.   She was a widow with a small babe, and King Radomil in his infinite love and benevolence, saw fit to arrange such a match. Pero had been measured and found just such a match.

Pero, always blunt, asked, “why me?”

The King’s advisor talked at length, and though Pero was not especially versed in court intrigue, he knew enough of flattery and lies when he heard it. 

“You are a noble man,” the advisor said, bowing his head at Pero.  “We have it on good authority that you are descended from the family of Alfonso el Monje, King of León.  Ancient blood proves out, despite your meager circumstances now.”

When Pero tried to argue and claim that he was from Galicia, son of a drunkard blacksmith, the advisor waved him away.

“We have priests who have studied your lineage and found it to not be so,” he said.

It was only later that evening that another advisor, an older man with a bald pate but a long beard set Pero straight in hushed tones and darting glances.

“The King cannot kill his sister,” he told Pero.  “She is beloved by the people, and the killing of a woman would unravel his already tenuous hold on the region.”

“Why kill her at all?”  Pero remembered that the sister was a widow, and he imagined an old woman, hunched back, white hair tucked under a veil.  He could not fathom the risk she posed, but then again, he was in unfamiliar lands.

“She is a tool that others would use.  Her father the King was beloved as well, and her mother had an ancient claim to royalty in her own right.  The Princess could be snatched up by a rival for the throne, and her blood could bolster any claim.  But if her brother the King could marry her off to a nobody, no one else could claim her.”

Pero remembered a certain game from his journey to the east, a way for the idle to while away the hours.  It was war in miniature, a board with pieces, and while he watched it played many times, Pero never quite grasped how to win at shatranj.  But he knew enough to recognize it now.

“Marrying her to me would remove her from the field,” Pero replied, understanding at last. 

The old advisor nodded.  “And it would keep her alive.  Consider it seriously, Tovar.  You would save not just her life but the life of her babe, and you would come out of it a wealthy man.  You could claim her inheritance that her mother the Queen left her.”

“What inheritance?”

The old advisor glanced into the shadows, then said, “on her mother’s side, she is nobility.  There is a handsome manor far from here, further north, that belongs to the Princess.  It would be yours, should you marry her.”

In this way, Pero Tovar came to be married.

-----

The marriage took place on a rainy evening, and the ceremonies were doubled:  one performed in the Latin rite by a priest in a grease-stained cassock, the other performed by a wise-man of the local custom.  The latter, it must be said, was more boisterous—it involved winding a cord around the hand of the Princess and Pero’s, linking the two together in the eyes of the local gods.  Then, to seal it, a feast where Pero and the Princess fed each other and gave each other drink.  The drink was a local concoction, dark plum spirits that went down easier with each subsequent sip.

The Princess only took a mouthful when Pero held the cup to her mouth.

Pero took deep swallows and drained the cup when she held it to his.

Then there was dancing, and the dancing led to the great hall spinning, and from the spinning Pero found himself being carried away, up and floating away from the music, borne by the king’s men.  When he turned his head, he saw the Princess - his wife - being borne away beside him, the newlyweds floating, and he did not realize—as she did—that this was the bedding ceremony.

How could Pero know?  He had never laid with a woman before.

*****

You understood your circumstances.

You have always understood your circumstances.

Your mother died when you were young.  Too young to make any memories of her beyond a general impression of loveliness, of gentleness before the fever took her and your unborn sister to the underworld.  Your father remarried soon after, and he had a son with your stepmother, but she was a scheming woman, grasping, and your circumstances were clear forever after.

Your father, at least, lived long enough to marry you off to an ally.  Your first husband had been much older, silver in his beard, but kind.  Extraordinarily kind, in fact, and you wondered sometimes if your father knew he had given you to a man who made you a woman gently, who made you a mother to his daughter just as gently, and who died from an ague only last summer.

It was the only time he hurt you, dying as he did. 

Your second husband?  Well, you understood your circumstances.  You knew it was a farce, a noble lineage hung on the shoulders of a sell-sword.  You knew your brother’s motives when he and his advisors found you and informed you of your impending marriage.  You knew it would keep you safe, being tucked away with some rough peasant, but as you observed this Tovar—his rough looks, his rougher manner—you wondered if death would perhaps be a kinder fate.

-----

Like your first marriage, you did not properly meet your intended until the ceremonies themselves.

Unlike your first marriage, this Tovar did not seem to understand the potency of the rakija.  Unless he was a drunkard as well as a sell-sword.

Like your first marriage, you did not properly exchange a word beyond the ceremonies until you were locked in the chamber for the bedding ceremony.

Unlike your first marriage, this Tovar did not say, as your first husband had, “please trust in me, little princess.  I will do you no harm.”

Instead, this Tovar stared at you, swayed on his feet, and mumbled, “fuck, how did this happen?”

Your first marriage, you left your bedding ceremony with far more pleasure than pain—the former a revelation that your body could produce such sensations, and the latter just a faint ache between your legs.

Your second marriage, you left your bedding ceremony with neither pleasure nor pain.  You left it with confusion, at first, then understanding, then a bemusement that would one day cede to love.

This Tovar understood enough to undress himself.  He shed the embroidered surcoat, the fine-woven shirt, the doe-skin trousers.  The linen smallclothes.  He stood before you unabashed, naked, swaying still on his feet.  His manhood stood to proud attention, and you studied him.  He was not unappealing, you thought, so long as he didn’t spew from the drink.

But he made no further move, and you lifted your hands to undress yourself too.  You lifted away the headdress sewn with seed pearls and small gems.  The outer robe, heavy with brocade.  The inner dress, the woolen slippers, then the shift, and you stood as proudly as you could but felt a shyness overtake you, so you wrapped your arm around yourself and hid what you could.

Perhaps you misunderstood the sell-sword, though.  A man, you thought, would take what was his, but this Tovar only stared at you—his cock twitching—and he made no further move. 

“Perhaps,” you said, tentative.  “We could lie down on the bed?”

He nodded and gestured for you to lead.  You stretched out on the coverlet, but when he joined you, he only laid beside you, like two corpses in the tomb.  The moment grew long, and there was no noise other than each of you breathing and the distant merriment of the wedding feast in the great hall.

“Tovar, we must…you must bed me for it to be legal,” you finally told him.  Quietly, though.  He was drunk, and you knew enough of men to know that drunkenness made them violent.  And at your words, he shook his head and turned to face you, and his expression was dark.

“Pero,” he whispered harshly.  “My given name is Pero.”

“P-Pero.”  You didn’t mean to stammer, but his face was like a thundercloud, like the storm god that men worshiped here—

Saying his name made his expression soften in an instant, though.  The thunderhead passed, and his face was like dawn’s light. 

“My mother named me Pero,” he explained.  “Tovar is what my father gave me.”

“Your mother…is she kind?”

“She is dead.”

“Oh.”  You bit your lip and studied him; the darkness was edging back into his expression, so you added, “mine is dead too.”

“Mine died in my birthing.”

“Mine died when I was young, as she birthed my sister.”  You paused, added, “she died too.”

Pero’s eyes had a glassy quality to them, whether it be the drink or the sorrow of his mother, so you reminded him, just as gently, that the bedding ceremony needed to be complete before your brother the Usurper would let you both leave.  Before he returned your young daughter to you and let the three of you leave for your mother’s homeland.

To aid Pero, you reached out a hand to him, thinking you could lead him to you, but he misunderstood.  He took your hand in his, much like at the wedding ceremony, and he raised it to his mouth.  His mustache tickled against your skin as he pressed wet kisses to the back of it, to your wrist, to the inside of your forearm.

His kisses were sloppy, like a child playing at love.  You thought it was the drink.

Little by little, you led him, or tried to.  An hour passed, you judged from where the tall tapers burned in their pewter holders.  Each moment saw the man get nowhere closer to consummating the thing; he only pressed his mouth to your hands and arms, and when he got breathless, which was often, he gazed over at you.  Sometimes he touched your face with his calloused fingertips, and once he leaned forward and nuzzled his face in your unbound hair, but the time passed, and you felt your daughter—your freedom, your life—slipping away bit by bit.

“For the love of the gods, man,” you finally snapped.  “Finish the thing!”

It made Pero rear back his head from where he nuzzled against you, and his expression was not thunderous so much as baleful.

“It is uncharted waters,” he muttered.

“The terrain from one woman to another is much the same, I imagine,” you retorted, then you reached for him in earnest, took him by his shoulder and urged him to climb onto you, which he did, clumsily.  It felt so much the same, though, the warm touch of another’s body against yours, and the first real flower of desire bloomed in you.

“Perhaps,” you thought, “this may be a successful marriage.”

But Pero seemed confused still, still too addled by the strong plum brandy, and he moved awkwardly, muttered near your ear that he could map the hillocks and dales of this territory, but was unsure of the way home—

“Here,” you breathed into his ear, and your hand found where he strained, hot and heavy and ready to join to you.  You took him by the root and tried to lead him to you, but your touch alone made him groan against your neck, made him mutter some word you didn’t know, and then you felt him go rigid above you.

Your second bedding ceremony, then:  your new husband’s slack weight against you, his spend, hastily given from the mere touch of your palm, cooling against your hip.

Still, it was enough for your brother the Usurper and his flock of advisors in their dusty, moth-eaten robes.  The usual inspection of the bedchamber come morning, the usual sly smiles and off-hand jokes…and then you were away, your daughter restored to your arms and your new husband—and his aching head—off to the lands of your mother.

-----

“What is her name?” Pero asked, startling you out of your thoughts.  When you glanced at him, he nodded at your daughter dozing against your side.

“Vesna,” you replied.  “It means ‘dawn.’”

He stared at you both for a long moment, this woman and her daughter that he got at a bargain. 

“Her father…was he a good man?”

You nodded.  “He was.”

“How did he die?”

You turned away and looked at the landscape from the narrow window of the carriage.  “A fever took him. 

“You cared for him?”

You nodded again.  “I did.”

Pero made a noise at that, a grumble at the back of his throat that you couldn’t discern the meaning of.  “Why did you care for him?”

“Why would you ask?”  It was an impossible question to answer anyway, how you cared for your first husband and why.  Because he was strong and wise, but gentle in equal measure.  That he sat in council with your father, then your elder brother, his face stern and grave, then returned home and played with your daughter, pulled faces and allowed her to ride him as a pony, her small chubby fists tugging at his hair.

Pero must have heard the edge in your voice, because he answered softly, “I only hope to model my behavior on his own.”  He paused.  “I’ve never had a wife.  I should like to do well by you.”

Vesna grumbled in her sleep and turned deeper in your side before she settled.  “Will you do well by her too, Tovar?”

“Pero,” he corrected you gently.  “And I would.  I would be a father to her, and I would have her call me father as I would call her daughter.”

You laughed, the bitterness heavy in your mouth.  “Sweet words, until you have a child of your own.  Once you have your own blood, you’ll seek to cast her away.”

The man scowled but shook his head.  “You have the wrong of it, wife.”

“I’ve yet to meet a person in a second marriage to do otherwise.”

“But you’ve met me,” he snapped.  “And I am not your father’s second wife, nor her treacherous son.”  His face softened, that ebb and flow of darkness that you recognized now from your wedding night.  “I am just a blacksmith’s son, an orphan in my own right.  I would not make an orphan of her, no matter what you think.”

He sounded so injured, stung from your accusation that you nodded at his words, then reached across the carriage and laid a soft hand on his arm. 

“Peace, Pero,” you replied.  “I meant no harm.”

“No one would blame you if you did.  But I will prove you wrong, with both her—” Here, he jerked his chin in the direction of your sleeping daughter.  “And with our own children.  My hands may have slain many men, but I would cradle any child of yours, or any child of ours, as softly as a bird’s egg.”

You could not help the smile.  “You have a gift of language, husband.”

He smiled back, though it looked uncertain, like he was unfamiliar with the motion of lifting his lips into the expression.

“Perhaps you already carry my child,” he said, a bit shyly.  His gaze drifted to your belly under its thick woolen cloak.  “Perhaps I bred you on our wedding night.”

You could not help the laugh this time.  “I think not.”

At that, his smile fled.  “Why not?”

“Because…”  You watched him, uncertain.  Perhaps he had been so drunk he didn’t realize.  “Because you did not…complete the act.”

“I did!”

You shook your head.  “Pero, you drank so much, I trust you must not remember, but you did not.”

“I…”  He hesitated, glanced at Vesna to see that she was still fast asleep.  He dropped his voice to a rough whisper.  “Wife, I spilled my seed.  I remember as much.  The King’s advisors confirmed as much.”

“You did, but outside of me.  Not inside.”

You realized it far too late, but you would be forgiven for never considering it.  How many men had you ever known to enter their marriages as virgins?  Especially a sell-sword who had traveled the world, who had likely been tempted by women of all shades and hues, of all sizes and temperaments.

You realized it when Pero, your husband, looked at you.  Bewildered, he asked, “does not that count, wife?”

-----

“I do not understand how you could not know,” you told him that evening.  You were lodged in a lord’s house, a friend of your late father, and Vesna had been tucked into her cot in an adjoining room.

“I did not.”  Pero sat on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed.  He looked much like a petulant child, not unlike Vesna when she was in a sulk. 

“But you are a grown man, and you’ve kept rough company.”

“I have fought with rough company and traveled with rough company, but I’ve never fucked with rough company.”

You winced at the crude word for it.  “You have never laid with even a woman for coin?  Not once?  Or some sweetheart, back in León?”

“Galicia,” he muttered.  “And no.  I fled home before I could grow hair on my balls, and I held my coin too dear to waste it on pretend love.”

“And you never traveled with a woman, perhaps?  You were never tempted in the rough travel to curl up with a woman—”

“The only women that ever traveled with us were whores and wives.  I would not waste my coin on the first and I would not waste my life on the second.”

You were unsure how to proceed.  True, your marriage was not consummated, but that hardly registered with you.  You did not know this Pero Tovar, in truth, beyond the handful of days you had spent together on the road.  You knew little—just the few conversations, but it was more of his actions that spoke to who he was.

There was a moment early in the journey, just a half day’s ride out, that he had caught Vesna when her little boot caught in the carriage step.  How Pero had swept her up, some fatherly instinct that made it a game for the little girl, a moment to pretend she was flying instead of stumbling.

When you fell asleep and woke to find his cloak tucked around you.

When you entered an unproven tavern for a late meal, how Pero had stood between you and Vesna and the rest of the room, like a loyal cur protecting its flock.

He was rough in his ways, but there was a gentleness to him, and it was as much what he didn’t do—he got drunk on your wedding night and had been as gentle as a lamb.  And now, this line of questioning that frustrated him—he only sat and sulked with his arms crossed, when many men would strike you for being so blunt with his discomfort.

Pero Tovar, you wondered, could perhaps simply be a gentle man who fell into a rough life, and shouldn’t you foster that gentleness, now that he was yours?

“Husband, will you let me show you?” you asked quietly, and when his eyes found yours, you smiled at him.  You held out your hands, and after a moment of hesitation, he took them in his own.  His calloused hands, only recently washed of all the blood they had spilled.

“Please, wife,” he replied.  “Please do.”

-----

The first time that night, it was much like the bedding ceremony:  the moment your hand found Pero’s cock, he groaned, then erupted in your palm.

This time, though, he was sober enough to know what had happened.

“Shit!” he hissed, and he rolled away from you.  You sensed that this was a defining moment in your marriage, the entire enterprise teetering on a knife’s edge.  Fall one way, a life of stilted exchanges, closed-off conversations, miscommunications.  Fall the other way?

“Pero, please.”  You took a cloth from near the bed and wiped your hand, then reached for his deflated manhood.  You wiped him off gently, and you smiled to feel the answering twitch to it, even so soon afterwards.

“The gods did not make us like dogs, rutting in the street, with only one chance in a while,” you whispered to him.  “We can rest and try again, as many times as we like.”

“Did your other husband spill like a boy?” he asked, his voice an angry growl.  You sensed better the way this may fall, how Pero seemed to compare himself to your first husband and found himself wanting.

“My other husband had been married before,” you replied.  You set the soiled cloth aside, and you laid your hand on the side of Pero’s face so you could look him in the eyes.  He avoided your gaze, so you sighed and stroked his hair back from his face, ran your thumb over his bristly cheek.  And Pero, cur that he was, turned into your touch despite his low mood.

“I was not my husband’s first wife,” you explained.  “He and his first wife had many years together, until she died from a wasting disease.  But he was patient with me, and he taught me, just as I will be patient with you.  Just as I will teach you.”

“It is a poor husband who must be taught by his wife.”

You hummed thoughtful at that, then leaned forward to press your lips to his.  You let your breasts brush over his bare arm, and you took in the sharp inhale he made at the touch.

“Such a poor husband,” you chanced to tease.  “Yet such fun in the teaching, hmm?”

“Did I marry a princess or a temptress?” he grumbled back, but there was a teasing tone to his voice. 

“Perhaps you should take her counsel and decide for yourself.”

Pero turned onto his side and faced you, and his eyes finally sought yours.  “I would be a good husband to you,” he said.  “I would be a man who could give you pleasure.”

“Would you be humble enough for your wife to teach you then?”

He nodded, and his eyes grew darker with desire.

“Consider me humble.  Consider me your pupil.”  His voice fell to a lower register, and it sent a frisson of heat through you.

-----

Your lessons, as you came to call them, were strenuously applied and practiced until the pupil became a master in his own right.

You taught him the pleasure of simple touch:  of feather-light strokes and firm grasping, of where to caress and where to lightly pinch, where to soothe and where to worry. 

You taught him how to use his mouth—such a sulking, pouting mouth with such full lips, and with such a wicked tongue.  You taught him how to suckle and lick, how to lap against which parts of you, and you taught him how to kiss with more skill and finesse than that first night together.

You taught him too how to receive the pleasure you could give him beyond the mating.  You used your own hands and mouth in turn, and by the time he strained against you again, his cock ruddy and leaking from its broad tip, Pero was a panting, pleading mess.

“Please, wife,” he cried against your shoulder as you stroked him, then stopped, then stroked him again.  “Please, show me—”

“Here.”  You took his hand and led him to the place between your thighs, let him feel where he should seat himself.  “Just here, husband.”

“It is slippery, your cunt,” he whispered, his voice wracked with awe.  His blunt finger prodded at you, slipped inside, and his groan was a twin to your own.

“It m-makes the joining easier.” 

Pero slid more of his finger inside you, then pulled it out, then sunk it back in.  A preview, you supposed, from your eager pupil.  You moaned again when he added a second finger, and you felt his eyes on you, peering down at you.

“Does that give you pleasure?” he asked without a bit of guile.

You nodded.  It did.

He furrowed his brow.  “I would mount you now, but I may spill too soon.”

“I would not care a whit, Pero.  We have the time to master it together.”

He nodded, then pulled his fingers from you.  He made to climb between your legs, and you parted them for him, spread yourself wide to fit him in the cradle of your hips.  When he lowered himself, you felt his cock brush against you, and he reached down to grasp himself.

It only took him two tries.  Just as you opened your mouth to guide him, he found your entrance, and then he pushed into you, the searing heat of him finally inside you.  Pero groaned to feel you, but he did not spill—he stilled once he was buried in your depths, and he lifted his head to gaze down at you.  The look on his face was somewhere between stupefaction and bliss, and you imagined you looked much the same.

“There,” you told him, brushing your fingertips over the planes of his handsome face.  “Now we are wed, husband.”

*****

In this way, Pero Tovar became a man in love, who was loved in turn by his wife.  Their journey to her mother’s homeland lost much of its earlier speed, and it took them far longer to arrive.  Their servants—the carriage driver, the footman, the guards and lady’s maid, and child’s nurse—could guess the reason for their delay.  After all, Pero and his wife were newlyweds, and they often stayed abed until late in the morning, though no one supposed they slept.

In this way, Pero Tovar came to be a father, the seed planted on that journey quickening in his wife’s belly months later.  The daughter that followed thereafter, and the sons that came after that, and then a final daughter who looked so much like her father that despite the name her parents chose for her, she was forever known as Peročka.

True to his word, Pero never treated little Vesna as anything other than his own child. It had to be said that when the girl was grown and married off to a boy in a nearby city, Pero was the one who openly wept at the loss of her.

In the tales of this time, once the dragon is slain or the kingdom regained or the treasure earned, the tale ends.  And so should ours, except to remind that Pero Tovar had traveled the known world only to end up with a treasure beyond compare in his wife and the family they created together.  He never found the life he sought for himself—that spot of green land, dirt to furrow, plants to coax into life.  Instead, he found a better life with a wife and children, with a community of people who came to value his wisdom…though he did end up with a garden where he tended to a grove of small plum trees and distilled their sweet fruits into a brandy that young men often toasted with on their wedding days.

If there is a lesson to Pero Tovar’s story, then, it’s this:  sometimes the life we desire is not the life we need.

And to add that when his wife died from a wasting disease when only a bit of silver threaded through her hair, Pero spared no expense in building her the finest stone crypt to hold her bones.  He had her dressed in the gown she wore to marry him so long ago.  In her hair, he tucked the small jade and enamel comb that had somehow survived his journey from the Far East when he fought monsters in another life entirely.  As was the custom in his adopted home, his children and grandchildren took hawthorn branches—in full bloom, as his beloved wife died in spring—and laid them in the crypt with her.

And to add too, when Pero himself died from a fever years later, his children and grandchildren dressed him in his finest tunic and opened the crypt so he could be laid beside his beloved.  As was the custom, they took hawthorn branches —laden with red berries, as he died in the autumn—and laid them in the crypt with him.

And to add finally, Vesna, by then a mother in her own right, reached into the crypt and adjusted the two bodies so that their hands were clasped in their eternal rest.  How could she do otherwise?  They had loved each other fiercely in this life, and she prayed to the gods that they would do so in the next life too.  Her mother and her father both, and she did not hide the tears that fell as her brothers and husband slid the heavy stone lid in place, sealing both Pero and his beloved in their shared tomb.

*****

He only has a single evening, and the surfeit of options in D.C. paralyzes him with choice.  The Phillips Collection?  The Renwick Gallery?  Or the National Gallery of Art?

He mentions it to Ruiz, who laughs and says, “c’mon, man.  The National Gallery, obviously.”

“I’d like something a little more off the beaten path,” Marcus replies.

Ruiz studies him, thinks on it.  Finally says, “you know, I know a woman over there.  She’s curating this huge exhibit that’s coming out next year.  You want something unique, why don’t I set you up?”

“The exhibit isn’t even up yet?”

Ruiz waves him off.  “Nah, but it might be fun to see how the sausage is made, right?”

-----

Which is how FBI Agent Marcus Pike comes to meet you.  Ruiz is on your bar trivia team (he’s your ace in the hole on sports trivia), and when he calls with a favor, the call on speaker between Ruiz and Marcus, you happily agree to show him around your budding exhibit.

“It’s called ‘Stronger than Death,’” you tell him after you hold your hand out to shake.  “After the Thomas Mann quote.  ‘It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death.’  Which is cheesy, admittedly, but it’s my first big solo exhibit I’m pulling together, and it’s the culmination of years of research and work.”

Marcus smiles.  “I don’t think it’s cheesy at all.”

“Tell Tony that.”

“Eh, Ruiz is just jaded.”  Marcus follows you into the storage area where some crates have already been unloaded and unpacked.  “Tell me about this exhibit.  Ruiz said it already has a lot of buzz.”

If Marcus thought your smile was lovely when you introduced yourself, he finds it utterly beautiful now, because you are passionate about your exhibit.  An intersection of art and architecture and history, across time and distance, focused on the two most human emotions, you explain:  love and grief.

“No matter when or where, it’s the two constants, you know?”  You gesture widely, taking in the breadth of the crates, but even further too:  the breadth of human history across the globe.  “If you’re talking about humans in fourteenth century Iran or Berber tribes in the twelfth century or a Lutheran and Catholic couple during the heart of reformation, the story is the same.  The details change, but the love is the same, and the grief when death comes is the same.”

“So the exhibit is…”  Marcus trails off, and you take a deep breath. You’ve gone breathless in your explanation, a fact that charms him. Then you continue.  Your exhibit is everything that encompasses that central idea of grief when love is ended by death, and how grief is an outpouring of that endless love.  You have everything from big pieces to ephemera.  There’s Victorian memorial photography.  There’s a gravestone from a Catholic cemetery that edged against a Protestant one, the stone bridging the two graves because neither church allowed the couple to be buried together.  There’s a letter found in a grave from the 1500’s in Korea, where the woman pours out her grief and love for her husband who is buried there. 

You show him the artifacts already unpacked and catalogued.  You hand him a pair of cotton gloves and allow him to touch some of the sturdier pieces, and you’ve pulled him into your wavelength because as he touches each piece, he feels weak in the knees, heavy with kinship he feels with strangers separated from him by centuries and thousands of miles.

“Here’s an interesting piece,” you tell him, and you lead him to a smaller crate that’s been opened, its packing material piled in a small snowdrift around the box.  On the table beside it, there’s a smaller box.  You open it and pull out a delicate-looking piece, and Marcus holds out his palm, flat.  You lay it there, and he studies it in the light.

“Jade?”

You hum in agreement.  “And enamel.  It’s consistent with craftsmanship from the Song Dynasty.”

Marcus reaches back through his memory to his eastern histories and civilizations course.  “Is that…. eleven hundred A.D.?”

“In part.  It lasted over three hundred years.”

Marcus peers at it closer.  “It’s amazingly preserved.”

“It was found in a grave in Latvia last year.”

He looks at you in surprise.  “Seriously?  How?”

“Trade wasn’t unheard of then, east from west.  It was far more popular in the Holy Roman Empire, though.  This part of Latvia was rural in that period.  A collection of city-states and loosely-stitched tribes.”

“The comb must have been buried later then.”

You shake your head and take the comb from him, lie it gently back in its box.  “That’s the story.  It was buried around the year one thousand A.D.  Archeologists found the grave five years ago.  A bunch of kids were riding dirt bikes around the countryside in Latvia.  One kid hits something, goes flying.  It turns out it was a stone, but when they look at it, it’s carved.  Too square, right?  Has markings on it.  It turns out, it’s this perfectly preserved medieval town.  The archeologists did all their digging and carbon testing.  They are still digging, honestly.  But it looks like through soil samples, the best theory is that a tributary to the Daugava flooded at some point in twelve-hundred A.D and buried the entire place.”

“I never heard about it.”

You snort.  “Yeah, a rare well-preserved medieval village will never hit the front page when there’s war and political scandals.”

You reach for a large envelope on the table and open it.  You pull out a sheaf of photos, high resolution, and Marcus sees the link between the delicate jade comb and the overall theme of your exhibit.

The photos show the grave, a carved stone tomb that the river mud preserved for nearly a thousand years.  It is simple by today’s standards, but Marcus can guess the care and expense of it.  There are flowers and trees carved into the lid of it, a flat-faced woman who was probably a saint or local goddess to the time.

Then the photos cede to shots inside the opened grave.  Again, the river buried the village and preserved it for Marcus and you to stare at it now:  the pair of skeletons, on their sides and facing each other, their empty eye sockets seeming to stare at each other, the tiny bones of their hands a jumble as they were clearly buried together.

“They died together,” Marcus muses.  “Plague, maybe?”

You shrug.  “Who can say?  But if it’s plague, it was several years apart.  That’s why I’m putting them in the eastern corner of my exhibit.  The archeologists spent a lot of time on this tomb, since it’s such a rare find.  The skeleton on the left was a woman, roughly forty years old when she died.  She was buried with the comb, and the archeologists found hawthorn branches with her.”

You tap the other side of the photo.  “This one was a man, died around his sixties.  Also buried with hawthorn branches.”

“So, how do we know they were buried at different times?”

“That’s the punchline.  Archeologists found flower petals on her branches, but berries on his.  They were buried at different times of the year, at least.  Which means that the tomb was reopened to put the latter one in, and they were turned to face each other.  Their hands were clasped together.  It’s significant, especially when records seem to indicate that many burials of that time and place were cremations.”

Marcus turns to the next photo, a closeup of the hands.  Sure enough, he can see the dusty, dried remnants of blossoms, the wizened berries.  His eyes drift to their hands, the delicate bones a jumble to where he could not tell who’s belonged to which skeleton.

“Can you imagine the love they must have had for each other?  First to build such an elaborate tomb for such a rural area that likely lacked craftsmen of this caliber.  To choose to bury instead of cremating.  And then to reopen the tomb and place the second body in, to turn them towards each other instead of facing up to face heaven or down to face the underworld.  The jade comb is only a device to open the story, but the real story is the most common one across time.  It’s love, and grief when the love is ended by death.”

“It’s beautiful,” he says, his voice low.  “Sad, but beautiful.”

“We’ll never know their names, you know?  We’ll never know what they looked like, or even really what language they spoke.  If they had children or what they did.  But we know…”  You pause, take a breath.  “We know they loved each other, and they died but the proof of that love can be witnessed by us a millennium later.  And here we are with smart phones and airplanes and dating apps, but if you boil us down, we are just the same as them.  Exactly the same.”

What can Marcus say to that?  He agrees with you completely.  When your voice cracks on the word exactly, his own throat grows a lump in it.  He’s always been a romantic anyway, but the scope and scale of this project makes him feel like he could easily be pushed into tearing up too. 

“This exhibit is going to be amazing,” he finally tells you.  “Honestly.  People are going to love it.”

You grin at him, and your eyes are a little glazed with tears, but Marcus wonders what would push you to take such an interest in this topic.  Many curators home in on a much narrower niche, but yours is universal, so broad it could be sloppy or unfocused.  But you seem to be taking a broad cross-section of artifacts, an attentive lens at different times and places and cultures.

“Thanks, Marcus.  I appreciate it.”  You turn and slide the photographs back into their envelope.  “Ruiz didn’t say much about why you wanted to check this out.”

Marcus follows you out of the storeroom.  “I didn’t, really.  I’m only in town for the evening.  I fly out in the morning.”

“Where to?”

“Texas.  I live there.  I’m just in town for an interview.”

You lead him back to your office where his coat is stashed, and you hand it to him.  You grab your own, grab your purse, and lock up.  Together, you walk out of the building and into the evening.  D.C. glitters: it must have rained while you were inside, and the lights sparkle on the wet pavement and buildings.  You walk together for a few blocks, chatting amiably.

“Ruiz said you were FBI too?”

“Yeah, I’m in the Art Squad.”

You laugh.  “Art Squad.  I love it.  You armed with an FBI-issued oil pastel?”

When Marcus starts to explain that he investigates stolen art and artifacts, you elbow him gently and cut him off.  “I was teasing.  I know what you do.”

He chuckles, shakes his head.  He can feel his face flush a bit.  “Anyway, there’s an open position here, and I thought it might be a good move, career-wise.”  He pauses.  “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Texas to D.C.  It could be a fun move.”

He agrees, but before he can stop himself, he’s talking about Teresa, how he has fallen in love, how he has a ring picked out and an idea of proposing—and you listen to it, nodding sympathetically, cooing when he sings Teresa’s virtues.  Agreeing when he says his life is finally shaping out the way he always wanted:  career and love, both moving forward in wonderful ways.

“That’s really great,” you reply.  “I’m happy for you.”

He feels slightly asshole-ish, rambling about his life.  He asks, more charitably, “what about you?  Married?”

You laugh, a dry single ‘ha.’  “No.”

“Boyfriend?  Girlfriend?”

“No.”  You glance at him.  “Let’s just say I’m married to my work and leave it at that.”

He lifts his palms in surrender and in apology.  “Fair.  I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.”  You pause.  “But Teresa sounds great, and you’re lovely, so when the two of you come to D.C., look me up and you’ll give you both a private tour, okay?”

Marcus smiles at the thought of him and Teresa together in the capitol, hand in hand at your wonderful exhibit.  “Deal.”

You stop in your tracks and point at the intersection.  “I’m this way.  It was really nice to meet you, Marcus.”

He holds out his hand and you take it.  “Thank you so much.  You have no idea how much I enjoyed it.”

“For one of Ruiz’s buddies?  Anytime.  And for real—you and your girl.  Private tour, on me.”

The private tour, obviously, will never happen with Marcus and Teresa.  Marcus will move to D.C. and Teresa will never follow.  He’ll go through a dark period that he assumes will last the rest of his life, but it hardly lasts at all because by then, the city is plastered with advertisements for your exhibit, which is as big as Marcus predicted.

The private tour will happen with just Marcus, and it will hit different to see it laid out with the lighting, the flow, the signage.

It will hit different considering his recent breakup and recent heartache.

It will hit different when he shakes your hand again, when he takes in your soft, steady voice as you explain every artifact, as you offer him that lovely smile that turns beautiful as you talk about your work.

And it will hit different as you lead him through the history of love and grief, the history of what makes him no different from, say, a man who lived and loved and died a thousand years earlier.  A man, perhaps, who thought his life would venture into one direction but instead went in another:  how the life he desired was not the life he needed, but how it ended in love all the same.

In that way, Marcus and Pero, separated by a millennium are the same.

[missmielyhoran]

Familiarity

in which you and Harry have a strange relationship...

Sugar Daddy!Harry Styles × Sugar Baby!Reader

[Warning- Angst, Little fluff, children, sadness, Harry being filthy rich]

Masterlist

*****

You were painting your nails when you heard the knock on the door. You got up from the floor fanning your hands in the air to dry down the nails.

You opened the door and there he was the same old man who visits you every weekend. Alberto, his name, you got to know after a few weeks in.

He hands you a new bag full of brand new clothes like every weekend, you take them with a smile and close the door as he starts ascending down the stairs.

You set the bag down on the floor where you were sitting previously when your phone buzzed. You picked it up from the floor and looked at the text sent by him.

Be ready at 5.

That was all it was, always. He was never the man of many words you got to know. You sighed as you took out the outfit he sent you this time.

It was an oversized sweater and a plaid skirt. This weirded you out at first. You expected a sexy lingerie or dress at first, but he never sent you anything like that. It was always casual outfits like this.

The clock stared back at you. It was 3 already, and if you didn't want to be late, you had to get up and get ready.

You had whole weeks to yourself but weekends you had to day how he wanted you to, every single step. He gave you shampoo, to body wash, skincare everything and that only reserved for weekends. Yes, if you liked something you could use it everyday and he paid for everything and even more.

He was sort of like your sugar daddy, well who were you kidding you did found him on sugar daddy website. Well not you technically, it was your best friend, Taylor. She was the one who suggested you go on the website when you were struggling to pay for your college, she was also the one who found him.

You couldn't even say no when you saw him. Those beautiful eyes held so much familiarity that you just couldn't.

He pays for you everything, from college to your groceries, everything anything. In return, you just had to play dress up and go on a date with him, not even sex which you were mentally prepared for, well sort of.

You got on with your usual routine of showering, washing your hair, putting on moisturizer, sunscreen, and then getting started with the same makeup you always did on weekends for him. Simple makeup, no foundation, and a bold red lip.

Soon enough, it was 5, and Alberto was on your doorstep, ready to take you with him. You got in the car. Very luxury car, something you only saw in your dreams.

Your heart was racing, even though it was a deal which you have been doing for the past 7 months you didn't know when it became more than that.

I mean, can you blame the girl for falling for a tall, hot, rich, generous man? with eyes like his? you were bound to.

Car stopped, and so did you thoughts. Alberto stood with open door, you got out and saw what was a small restaurant nothing fancy but not bad, it looked cozy.

You walked inside and saw it was empty, all the chairs were made but not a single person was there not even staff, from what you could see and guess with your intuition of knowing him for past 7 months, there was not more than 3 to 4 staff inside.

There, he was sitting on the bar stool, the lights from the small bar illuminating his side profile. His messy hair fell on his face just right, his ring cladded fingers holding the whiskey glass. He was dressed in nothing fancy himself, a simple orange sweater, and blue jeans.

You slid in beside him, catching his attention. His face lit up in a smile, and you just melted.

"You're here" He said, breathing out looking at you up and down. Your cheeks turned flaming red under gaze, "You look beautiful" He said, looking up into your eyes.

"Thank you" You mumble out. You didn't know why you felt this shy. You should be used to it by now, but his charm, his face, his hair, everything just made you fall and fall deeper.

You guys talked like you do, him telling you all about his week from his hectic work, the meetings, the annoying investors, to his daughter going through her runner phase.

Oh yes, he has a daughter, Aira who is 7 and going through her runner phase. She runs anywhere and everywhere whenever she gets a chance.

He shows you the pic of her showing off the teeth she lost yesterday, and you smiled. She had his eyes and curls and was an adorable child. He always kept you updated on her every single detail about her, and it never felt odd. Which you should have cause she was a stranger's child, to be honest, but she felt like your own.

It was late when you stumbled out of the bar with him. His arms around your torso holding you so you wouldn't fall down on your face.

You squealed when he picked you up in a swing, followed by a hearty laugh, which made him laugh also.

It felt like this had been happening for so long, not just 7 months or so but forever. It was as if he had been picking you up like this for years, but it wasn't. Was it?

It further got proven when he called you the name he always does, "Cherry". It would've been cute if you would've fed into your delusions and thought it was a nickname he gave you, but no.

The contract, the talk, you weren't here on a real date with him no, you were playing a part. You were not you but Cherry, his first love the one he couldn't have.

He slid in beside you, his arms around your shoulders. You put your head on his and closed your eyes. You wanted to sleep, fall into a deep slumber with his smell all around you forgetting who and what you were here for just him and him only.

So, you did. You fell asleep.

Harry smiled when he saw you fell asleep on his shoulder. It was your usual habit, every car ride no matter how long or short you fall asleep.

He sighed as he pushed some hair away from your face, your cheeks still red from all the booze, you were never one to hold liquor.

It was a sweet torture for him, this whole thing, this whole persona, yours and his both.

Alberto stopped the car in front of your apartment complex that was also chosen by him. He got out first carefully not to wake you up and rounded around to your side and picked you up to start to walk towards your apartment.

The familiarity of those steps always made him tear up, can't blame a guy for being emotional, right?

The routine had become so usual for him that he could do it with his eyes closed.

So, he opened the door, walked towards your room, and set you down on the bed. He took off your shoes and jewelries he knew you don't wear every day and set them on your nightstand.

Taking off his sweater, he walked out of the room to get some water when he heard the sound. He looked down and saw the cat circling around his legs purring.

"Yes Evie, still doing your witchcraft, huh?" He said, chuckling. He sat down and gave her all the belly rubs and scratches, "You being a good girl for Mama? I know you are" He said, kissing her forehead and getting up.

He took out the cold water bottle from the fridge, knowing you would have a headache in the morning.

He set everything on the nightstand and then slid in beside you. You smell engulfed him, and he melted into the bed.

For the first hour, he just watched you sleep. Was it creepy? totally, but he couldn't help it. He never could.

His phone buzzed, taking him out of the trance. He smiled when he saw the selfie Aira had sent him with her gummy smile.

Grandma made me pancakes for dinner.

How much did you bribe her darling?

I didn't! She loves me

That is true. Still

When you will be back Dada?

On Monday morning love

Okay

He heard the voice note say. She still couldn't type properly, but god did she sent him voicenotes.

Are you with Mama?

His heart stopped for a second as he looked over at you sleeping beside him. It was a difficult situation. It was difficult for an adult while she was just a kid. He couldn't even think how she was coping.

Yes my love.

Tell her I love her and miss her.

I will. Now go to sleep or I will sell all your toys.

He chuckled when a shrill No came in the reply. He put the phone down and shifted closer to you and brought you into his arms, and as always, you fitted right into it.

He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, "One day Cherry. One day you will remember me"

*****

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs

I think my writing is getting a bit rusty. It's not that good but I wanted to write it so yeah

Please Like, Comment and Reblog.

Tell me how it is here♡ would love some feedback

Love you

[finelinevogue]

he’s just harry

summary - a couple of fan interactions with harry on the streets of london

word count: +1.1k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

Even though the media make it out that Harry hates being out in public on his days off, you know it is actually one of his favourite things to do.

Especially with you.

Harry is known for being a private man, but he can’t help what fans secretly record and post on the internet. He would do the same for Stevie Nicks and you would do the same for Taylor Swift, so neither of you are opposed to reporting anyone for secretly filming. 

A favourite pastime of yours and Harry’s is to actually watch back story-time videos of fans, from when they have met you and Harry. Which is what you were both currently doing, after having your dinner. 

Harry is laying on the bed in your shared hotel room. You lay against his back and are held tight to him by his arm wrapped around your waist. 

He leans down to look at you every few minutes and leaves a kiss on your forehead, just because he can. His fingers around your waist snake under your Pleasing sweatshirt - the one that is actually his - and stroke tiny circles on the skin of your tummy.

With some light jazz music playing in the background, you and Harry can’t feel anything but peace. 

He has your phone in his hand whilst he scrolls through the latest videos on TikTok with the tag # harrystyles.

The next video he scrolls to after and edit of himself on stage is from a meeting of a fan in London.

“I just met Harry Styles.” The girl screams from the inside of her car. The video pans around and her boyfriend is sat there with a grin, no doubt because his girlfriend is so happy.

“I get to say that every day.” You comment, making Harry pinch the skin at your waist. You laugh and carry on.

“Can I just say, first of all, I have been waiting for this moment for years. Always in my mysterious girl era, just in case. And the one day I am wearing slouchy clothes I stumble upon him on a random back road in London. Life clearly hates me.” She begins her story.

“She looked great, I thought.” You said and Harry made no comment. Most likely because he never paid attention to looking at anyone with interest anymore - not since he had found you.

“And Y/N. Oh my God! She’s fucking stunning. Like, I understand why Harry snatched her up.”

“I did find a pretty good egg.” Harry agreed.

“I am not an egg.” 

“Whatever you say, baby.”

“But they were both so lovely. Harry was really kind and thanked me for supporting him. I asked for a photo but they politely declined, which is a little frustrating, but maybe it was for the best since I looked so bad today!” The girl continues her story.

“Fuck sake.” Harry mumbles out and you pause the video, already knowing what thoughts were relaying through his mind. 

You turned your head so you could see his whole face before speaking to him.

“You’re not a bad person for not taking a photo with them. You shouldn’t make yourself feel bad either. You’re a person, just as they are. People are allowed to close off their privacy for the day if they want. Okay?” 

“Thank you.” Is all Harry responds with. Well, that and a minutes worth of kisses. 

You move onto another video, so not to upset Harry any more with the previous one. You couldn’t know whether she might say something else bad and you weren’t prepared to make Harry sad, so the next video it was.

This came from a girl in London airport.

“Oh fuck.” Harry instantly says when he sees the girl on the screen.

“What?” You asked, confused. You hadn’t even been aware this interaction had taken place and you were with him in the airport. Now you were just curious as to what had gone down.

“This is going to be so embarrassing for me.” He wines and tries to bury his face in your neck. You kiss the tip of his nose and push him away.

The video starts by the girl looking really nervous, before Harry pans into view on the other side of the screen. It was only their chins in the view, but it was still a very lovely view of your boyfriend.

“Hi.” The girl fumbles over her words.

“Hello.” He says, removing his sunglasses from his face since he had been found.

“I just saw you from over there and had to come and say hello. I know this is probably really annoying for you and I’m going to leave so as to not be a burden to you, but I really love your music and you are an amazing human being.” The girl rambles, but that might be the nicest of things you have heard a fan say to Harry.

Before the girl can leave, Harry asks that all important question.

“Thank you so much. Would you maybe like a photo?” He asks. 

“Aw Harry.” You pout and he pinches your waist again. “Quit that, will you?” You hit elbow him in his ribs gently.

“Yes please. Wow, thank you.” The video then tilts so Harry and this girl come onto the screen. Harry smiles a small smile and holds up his fingers in a peace sign. He looks very cute.

“Have a safe flight.” Harry says and goes to hold his hand out for the fan to shake, but instead knocks her phone out of her hand and it drops to the floor. 

“Harry!” You gasp and sit up a little more attentively.

“I know.” He cringes.

Luckily the phone was alright, but Harry had to prolong the conversation with the fan and even offered her a new one. She turned that down and thankfully he didn’t have to owe anything to anyone. You can tell at the end of the video he is embarrassed though.

“You dickhead.” You laugh at him. 

He puts the phone down and joins his other hand under your sweatshirt so they are both enjoying tracing over your skin. You hum in delight and breathe in the air that is scented by him.

“I’m tired.” He says, knocking his head against yours to rest.  It had been a long day of rehearsals and meetings for him today, but he didn’t mind because he knew that it would be worth it to spend an evening of peace with you. 

“I know, baby.”  You say, reaching a hand up behind your head to stroke over his curls. “We can go to bed now, if you want?” 

“Okay.”

You and Harry end up spending the next twenty minutes getting ready for bed and cuddle before you are both fast asleep, awaiting the first, last, ‘Love On Tour’ show tomorrow. 

[whorediaries-09]

imagine eldest daughter!reader not being able to love anyone and flinch whenever someone touches her, and remus being the only person that can touch her and stay with her while she wants to be alone

oh wow. did u really have to...call me out like that?

archer;

pairing- remus lupin x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, details of child abuse, touch sensitivity. (let me know if should add more) a/n- i really went ✨self - indulgent ✨ on this one.

ps- the beginning is from the movie 'five feet apart'. it's a really good one, make sure to check it out.

little train

' i've been the archer, i've been the prey.'

touch. the first form of communication. it began with a soft caress of the finger. or the brush of lips on cheeks. it connects one in the times of happiness, bolsters one in the time of fear and excites one in times of passion and love.

to be touched, was to communicate the feeling of security, the feeling of safety and comfort. but to understand the importance of touch, was different, was difficult. to need the touch from the one you loved was as important as the air needed to breathe.

and you understood it's importance, the need when you had none. perhaps it was because you didn't feel the security, the feeling of being safe when you were being touched. even a simple hug or a handshake could set off ringing bells in your head.

it reminded you of the time when your mother would slap down her hands on your back for a small mishap like spilling the juice on the floor. or burn her cigarettes onto your skin, punishing you for wasting the juice and make you clean up.

'you stupid bitch! i don't have enough fucking money for you to spill juice all over the stupid floor!' she'd scream, boxing your ears. she'd pull you by your ears, taking a ladle and letting the wooden handle rain on your back, make you understand the consequences of your mistake.

'please don't cry angel, she'll beat you again,' your father would comfort you, rubbing a cool soothing balm on your burning wounds. you'd cry into the safety of his arms, his callous and rough palms soothing you. his voice was deep and warm, and he'd hold your face close to his chest to let you cry, so your voice was as muffled as possible. the tears would stick on your face and you blacked out, the exhaustion so deeply rooted within your body. you'd fall asleep in his arms.

because the monsters were gone, and your dad was home.

it was difficult to make friends within the community of witches and wizards. where everyone had their own fears but they had mastered the facade of pretend, to hide behind their smiles. and even in this difficult time, when the war was at large, people still found a way to sneak in a ray of hope and happiness into their life.

they appreciated the hugs and kisses. they never knew when they'd lose it. so you watched from a distance as ron weasley was smothered in kisses by molly weasley. and even though he puckered up his face, by his calm stature, you knew he enjoyed it. he liked it and appreciated it.

but oh how you hated it. you hated the fact that you'd have to stand different, reflect within the clouds of happy cheerful faces. perhaps it was you who was in the wrong. you hated the fact that you flinched when somebody tried to touch you. you wanted to feel the same comfort the others felt when they were touched.

'want another drink?' hermione asked, grabbing your attention from the overwhelming scene that played out in front of you. mrs. weasley going around and distributing gifts amongst the children. hermione had been scratching a purring crookshank's ears. your eyes darted down on your lap, where your finger circled around the rim of the empty cup.

'no thanks,' you smiled.

'you must try the eggnog! sirius is the best at making it!' harry said, a proud smile on his face. sirius threw his arm around his shoulders.

'it's fine harry, i'm sure you've never tried other variations of eggnog, if you find mine to be the best,'

'it'll always be the best to me, sirius,' harry said. sirius let out his usual bark like laughter, his gray eyes full of a raw emotion. in harry's eyes, he saw himself to be the father figure he never had.

'you flatter, me harry james potter, you really do.'

'he's not flattering you sirius, you know your way around the kitchen.' remus said, walking through the door. he set down his battered coat onto the chair. with a loud creak, he pulled it out his chair.

you noticed the aging lines around his eyes and lips. his usually pale skin was red. you assumed it was due to the lack of a muffler and the cold gusts of wind that blew outside. he tried to warm himself up by blowing air within the crevice of his palms and rubbing them together. when he noticed you staring at him, he smiled at you.

'merry christmas,' he whispered. his voice was deep and rich, a beautiful vibrato from the depth of his throat. you gulped slowly, watching as the redness from his face slowly faded as he gave you a warm smile. you felt your heart drown in an inexplainable cozy feeling. you smiled back, toasting the air with your empty glass.

'merry christmas,'

*-

the marks on your skin were evident. to be best described, they were like crescent moons staining your skin. the cause, however was not as pretty as the description.

to be wearing full sleeves on a hot summer day was exhausting and itchy, but it was the only solution to hide the burns from the time when your mother had decided to use you as her ashtray. the abuse had been settling upon you. your mother had been growing sicker as each day passed by.

and grief was a weird thing. you wanted to be sad that your mother was sick, and as each day passed, the days of her life were coming to and end. the woman that birthed you, that cared for you- that threw you into an emotional turmoil when your brother was born was dying.

you didn't feel grief, but neither did you feel happy. you were numb, trying to escape the coddling fumes of the tremendous torture you'd been through. to try and be the best role model for your brother.

to try and not keep a corpse in the cradle.

and again, in the realms of your plethora of emotions, you were numb. you didn't feel the pain when you jumped in front of the curse that was thrown at sirius, dodging him away from the soul trapping veil. it was like a white hot curse that burned through your skin and your mother's voice echoed in your brain.

your eyes closed, and while you could still hear your heart beating and the obnoxious screams, you let the darkness succumb you into a madness of sereness. perhaps you'd meet your mother again. perhaps you'll ask her if she ever loved you. perhaps, you'd asked her why she'd have to make you adore her with her hands around your neck.

perhaps you'd ask her the reason she set fire to the rain.

so, when your senses start numbing and you feel yourself falling on the cold hard ground with your head bursting open, you let the blood flow. you don't dream of the warm, calloused hands tending to your wounds and buying you ice cream to allow your mood to lighten. you don't dream about the monsters who were gone when your dad was home. perhaps you'd meet your dad when the world succumbs.

*-

the moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, falling on your face. the sheets underneath you were warm and cozy, pulling you into a beautiful haze of sleep. your eyelids were heavy when you opened them, and you slowly tried to move around, searching for recognition of the place.

you could only recognize the slumped up man sitting within the folds of his jacket. his hands were wrapped around a folded newspaper. his mouth was open slightly, and through the lens of your groggy drowsiness, you could see the lines on his chapped lips, the wrinkles around his eyes. his spectacles dangled off the edge of his nose.

slowly, under the sheets, you wriggled your toes to feel your body. you suddenly felt as if you were on fire. as if somebody had slayed you alive. you were laying down, for once, and not escaping the endless turmoil thrown at your back. for once, you didn't feel discomfort laying down and not doing anything. but it was hot under the sheets.

'sleep well?' remus asked, rubbing his eyes and fixing the angle of his spectacles. it surprised you, and you flinched slightly. he gets up, keeping his jacket on the chair he'd been sleeping on.

the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have deepened. you felt his eyes wander over you. he lower lip was tucked under his teeth, his hands buried in his pockets. he waits patiently for you to answer.

'yes, mr. lupin. where am i?'

'call me remus please. you're at my house. the order's headquarters weren't safe for you anymore. that's because the death eaters are after you. well specifically bellatrix, because you dodged the curse she threw at sirius. for old times sake, she wanted to end it for once and for all.'

you gulp slowly, letting the realization settle into you. you move your fingers slowly under the sheets, testing your capacity to move. you felt bandage clothe rip into your skin.

'you've broken your fingers.' he says moving closer to your form, lying on the bed. 'it's brutal, because your skeletal muscles have been damaged too. do you understand?' he says patiently, gently. you feel a clump in your throat which burns down into your very core. it makes your eyes water.

'y-yes,' you say, your voice wobbly. he stands beside you, letting you fight your tears. he doesn't say anything. and perhaps, you don't want him to.

it's as if, he can't ever leave you. as if he would stay. so, for once, when his gentle, calloused hands touch your body, helping you sit up, you don't find yourself running away from him. you find yourself chased into his warmth, which echoes a gentleness that stills your heart.

because, there's no invisible smoke, or a fire within the crevices of your body. he helps you hold onto him.

********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

*********************************

a/n 2- i know this is a self indulgent statement, but if any of my sirius girlies want me to write something like this with him, please let me know!!

[pogueswrld]

*•.¸♡ make up sex ♡¸.•*

pairing: fred weasley x fem!plus-sized!reader

summary: Freddie talks too much, and his girlfriend is exhausting all the ways she knows to shut him up. Softly, of course.

warnings: smut🦢!1!1!1!1! there's plot and fluff, and everyone's of age ofc, although it is hinted that reader is still in Hogwarts, kinda sub!Fred top!reader, like he's whining and panting and begging and shit (bites lip) ANYWAY, dick riding hehe, no usage of y/n.

note: it is 2:59 pm on a Friday, let's see how fast I write this shit. note 0.2: Okay so it's 5:54 pm on the same day, I think I'm done. This isn't edited, but it took me 3 hours to write 😁

He was still talking. Why, in the name of Merlin, was he still talking?

Dating Fed Weasley is fun, there's no denying that, but Good Heavens isn't that a boy a handful. Both literary and figurative. He's got a wide imagination, a never-squelching desire for knowledge, and a big heart. That is a dangerous combination for a somewhat intelligent and never-quiet man.

She's a saint, his girlfriend, and Ginny made a point to always express that to her. "How do you put up with that all the time?" Gesturing to Fred, who was using his hands in elaborate motions as he went on his fourth rant of the morning on the same subject to George. She'd only shrug, lips engulfing another spoonful of whatever ice cream the girls were sharing. "In one ear and out the other darling."

Not to say that she hates it, or that it bothers her- quite the opposite actually. Fred's excited and hyper personality is what made him so interesting to her, it was what drew her to him in the first place. She enjoys listening to him rant, even about the most random things -he stopped her the other day and explained in great detail how penguins mate and how once the female accepts the male's proposing gestures, they're together for life- and she adores it.

Yes, it sure can be a bit much at times, but she wouldn't change it for the world. Imagine loving a man who was as boring and dry as his older brother, Percy? She would have to jump out of Ginny's bedroom window!

Today was her first day back in the Burrow from Hogwarts for summer break, and she was exhausted, to say the least. She was up from dawn, finishing up the last bits of her packing before leaving for the train station with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. And because she's a good friend, she made sure each of her friends made it to their transportation safely before she and Ron were picked up by Fred and George.

In the car, Ron opened the untameable can of worms by mentioning Bill who was staying over at the Burrow for the summer as well, taking a couple of months' worth of vacation away from the dragons and such. That was the spark Fred needed to blast off into a hundred rants one after the other.

He spoke about seeing Bill again, which is understandable, he hasn't been home in years. He spoke about the dragons, which led to his excited mention of his favorites and how he's going to ask Bill how it was training them. Then he turned to Quidditch training, and even though both him and George had left Hogwarts a year or so ago, the both of them still found time to play the game as a side hobby. After that was all done, George gave her and Ron and update on the shop, and Fred went on and on about all kinds of new candies and flavors and combinations they were working on to add to the store by the beginning of next year.

She was understandably tired by the time the Burrow came into view. And as much as she adores her boyfriend, she needed him to shut the fuck up for twenty minutes. But he's so sweet, and his eyes light up when talking, and he gets this beautiful energy surrounding him when he does it that she doesn't have the nerve to ask him to be silent for a bit. So she excuses herself and tries to bury her body under the covers of his bed.

But he finds her there, and he reports to her that dinner is ready, and that Bill is here, and that she looks so gorgeous on his bed, and that there's a strange animal in the backyard, and that Ginny tried to curse the bathroom when he went in to use it, and that he doesn't understand why she'd do that, and that George is out in the garage, and that-

She jolts up on his bed, her eyes twitching as she stares at him. He looks so beautiful, but he's talking too damn much. She cups his face, and he goes silent and stares at her with wide eyes.

"Wha'?" He mumbled, his lips squished together as she squeezed his cheeks.

"You talk too much, ya' know that?" She said, her thumb slightly caressing the apples of his cheeks.

He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, and tilts his head ever so slightly. "Do' it bothe' yo'?"

She giggles breathlessly and lets go of his face before pressing her lips tightly against his. "Not all the time, but times like today..." She rests her forehead against his and sighs, "It can be a lot, and I need you to read the room and tone it down a little bit, d'ya think you can do that for me?"

He stares, something in his gaze changes, and he nods. "Of course, baby. Whateva' you want."

Great. Now she feels bad. She sighs and pushes past the blankets swallowing her to sit up on her knees. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a hug. "I love you, truly love you, and I don't mean to be mean to you, and you know I love it when you ramble, but I'm really overwhelmed today, darling. I'm sorry."

Fred wraps his arms around her waist in return, hugging her tightly. It's true that he can't always read the room, and now that he's no longer attending school he's got much more free time on his hands than he knows what to do with. It takes him a couple days to be able to read his girlfriend's body language like he used to once she's home from school, and he feels terrible that he was one of the reasons for making her feel so incredibly overwhelmed. He also feels slightly ashamed of his non-stop rambling all day.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, mumbling something into her skin that made her shiver and giggle away from him. "Stop," she breathes in a giggle, "It tickles."

He chuckles, his hands squeezing at the skin of her waist as he stares at her dreamily. "I said, I'm sorry I made you feel overwhelmed, I promise to try and do better."

She grins at him, so brilliantly, that he can't help but lean down and capture her lips in a soaring kiss. "I love you." He mumbles against her lips, and she smiles while trying to kiss him back. "C'mon now, love, let's go have dinner."

Her eyes darken; her pupils widen, and she smiles that mischievous grin that he adores so much, and he groans while throwing his head back. He knows exactly what is on her mind.

"I have a better idea." She whispers, giggling as she throws herself into his lap and kisses him with such force that she's pushing him down on his bed. He yelps, his hands traveling to the bed and her waist, holding on to her for stability. Bubbling heat travels across his body through her kiss, and he sighs when her cold fingertips trace down his arms, sending goosebumps across his body.

Her kisses transfer from his lips to the sides of his mouth, his cheeks, down his jawline, until she's pampering open-mouthed kisses across his neck like stardust.

He sighs, his eyes closed and his head thrown back on the pillow. "Please," He breathed, a low whine undertoning his voice. She shivers above him, her teeth grazing his skin in a teasing bite.

She's always hated the effect his voice has on her.

"Please what, darling?"

He whines. It's low, for her ears only, it's a barely-there breath, but his mouth is right next to her ear and she hears him loud and clear. Her panties dampen almost immediately.

"Please touch me," He whispers. His hands gripped tightly to her thighs. He knows better than to roam her body without permission. She pulls back slightly, blinking up at him with a soft smile and long lashes. "But I am touching you, Freddie."

He knows this game. This cruel, cruel game she adores to play. He whines in pretentious of hating his role, but his hips buck, and his cock twitches underneath the fabrics of his boxers and trousers.

He slowly traces one of his hands from her thighs to her palm before letting her fingers rest on his aching cock. He guides her hands to gently rub him through his clothes and he lets out a breath when her fingers squeeze around him. "Touch me there." He gasps.

She entertains him, allowing him to set the pace and buck into her hold. He releases deep breaths and low whines, stuttering moans every time she tightens her grip around him. She can feel herself getting wetter by the second, how his eyes are shut desperately, his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, and her name is gasped out of his throat with every other movement. It makes her feel powerful, it makes her entire being vibrate.

"That's enough." She mumbles, pulling her hand out of his grasp and bathing in his complaining whines as she pulls off her shirt. He blinks up at her, watching her boobs bounce in the push-up bra she's wearing before she unhooks it and slides it off her shoulders. He blinks again and swallows whatever drool and saliva has gathered in his mouth, causing his Adam's apple to pop along with the action. She smiles at the sight and quickly bends down to leave a swift kiss on it.

"Take off your shirt." She commands him, and he does so without hesitation, throwing the garment somewhere on the floor of the room he shares with his twin brother. He watches her hands intensely as she teases him by running her thumb on the inside of her trouser's elastic, before slowly pulling the item down and off. He groans at the sight of his favorite panties on her; a partially lacey red thong that settles up between her butt cheeks. She always told him how uncomfortable it made her, but the look on his face when he saw it on her made every second she spent wearing it worth it.

"You're trying to kill me, love?" He groans, daring himself to take a dangerous leap and push his thumb against the damp cloth, pushing down on where he knows her clit hides. He glances up at her, watching the way her lips part and her mouth hangs open at his action.

"And what am I to tell George when he asks? Death by a red thong?"

He grins up at her, picking up the speed at which he's rubbing on her bud of nerves. "Only if you're the one wearing it."

She shudders, forcefully holding herself back from grinding against his thumb. Instead, she grips his wrist and pushes it away from her. She hooks two fingers on each side of his trousers and boxers before meeting his eyes, watching as he licks his lips and nods before pulling the clothing items down his hips and legs.

His cock bounces out from underneath the fabric happily, it smacks against his lower abdomen and she giggles at the sight of precum beads rolling down his slit. He whines, throwing his arm on his face to cover the embarrassing blush that matched his hair color. "Don't laugh at me, why're you so mean to me today?"

Her giggle grows louder, and she leans down to push his arm off his face. "I never intend on being mean to you, my darling, you just bring it out of me. I'm sorry." She mumbles as she meets his gaze, her hand cupping one side of his face and he leans towards her touch. "Don't hide from me, yeah?"

He nods.

"Good boy."

He whines, his eyes squeeze shut and his jaw drops when her fingers wrap around him again, but her thumb is collecting his precum before spreading it down his length before she works a steady rhythm going up and down. His whines slowly turn into moans. His noises were so heavenly that she could swear her wetness was flowing through the fabric of her thong and onto the skin of her thighs.

She sees his muscles contracting and she stops, removing her hand from him altogether. He opens his eyes, blinking up at her in confusion as a noise of complaint slips out of his throat. But he swallows it back up when he sees her push her thong to the side and spread her folds before sitting on his length, and she grinds back and forth on him without actually allowing him access to her.

He groans, throwing his head back. She's coating him in her juices and there's a delicious squelching noise coming from between them and it's driving him insane. He sucks air into his lungs through clenched teeth and shudders when she allows a single moan to slip through her parted lips.

Suddenly, he's engulfed in her warmth and he hisses. His hands grip tightly to her thighs, hips, and any plump skin he can find. He squeezes her, hissing, and pants until he's sheathed completely inside of her. "Slow down," He gasps, "Slow- slow down, slow down, slow down." His voice turns from low breaths to almost high-pitched whines, and she leans down and captures his lips in a silencing kiss.

"Need you to lay here and keep your pretty mouth shut, darling, can you do that? Can you stay quiet for me so your family doesn't hear us fucking?" He whines, hips bucking into her warm cunt causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head as he nods mindlessly. "Yes, yes, yes. I'll be quiet. Fuck- please, baby, please fuck me."

She giggles at his desperate whines, and slowly rocks her hips back and forth, just enough movement to send pleasure jolts but not enough to get them going. She was testing the waters, trying to see how loud he could get without giving him much of anything.

Fred was losing his mind, he could feel her walls clamp down on him every time she moved back, and he could feel himself nudging against her feel-good spot every time she moved forward. Her wetness made a mess out of both of them, making it easy to slide into her and pick up the pace.

He arched his back slightly, just enough to hint at her to go faster. Because she was starting to feel frustrated, she obliged. She switched from grinding down on him to bouncing, her knees and hips working overtime to not make a noise every time her ass cheeks met his thighs.

She's now moaning, leaning down to muffle her noises by his neck or breathe them directly into his ear. Fred's eyes roll to the back of his head every time, and his hands grab onto the fat of her hips to help her.

"I-" She gasps, pushing herself upwards, clamping down on him tightly before forcing deep thrusts with her movement. "I'm gonna cum." She whimpers, and her legs begin to shake and fail her. Fred let out a loud breath that turned into a whimper before pushing himself up and, with a tight hold of her hips, forced her up and down his cock.

"Wa- wanna feel you. Wanna feel you gush around me. Give it to me, please." He whines, his words muffled into her temple, his eyes closed as her walls flutter around him, her body shivering against him and her lips part in long whines. One of his hands sneaked in between them, and his thumb drew quick circles around her clit, just enough to electrify her over the edge.

She freezes up, squeezes down on him and Fred is gone. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly down on him, the repeated squeeze of her walls stimulated him over the edge and they were shaking through their highs together. Her hands were buried in his hair, his hands holding onto her hips, while their lips interlocked in an overflowing kiss.

A few seconds later, their mouths parted as they gasped for air, holding onto one another as their highs dwindled. He traced random shapes on her bare back while she scratched at his scalp in a way she knew he loved.

He was the first to pull back, looking up at her with nothing but love and adoration. He tilts his head and grins, "Do you still want to go down for dinner?"

She laughs, heartily and loudly out of his arms and back onto the bed. "If you'll be going downstairs for a plate, get me one with you. There's no way I can look your mum in the eye after this."

[descendant-of-truth]

If I may throw my hat into the ring here, I think the source of a lot of problems in the writing of Miraculous can be boiled down to its confusion over its target demographic.

There are two very clear audiences the show is trying to cater to:

Grade school girls around 5-10

Teens/young adults around 15-20

And this results in some. unique conflicts in the show's internal logic.

Because it's a superhero show for little kids, it's full of fun, bright colors, wacky villain-of-the-week designs, and the characters are all very straightforward with exaggerated personality traits. The cheerful, clumsy, scatterbrained girl protagonist, her utterly charming and goofy (but slightly clueless) love interest, her cool best friend, her mean bully, etc.

This extends to the romance; the show is so comedic that Marinette's nervous crush and Cat Noir's flirting are played up for laughs. Their more "problematic" behaviors read as cartoon shenanigans first and foremost, which I do think was the intention - they're both shown as being more than a little ridiculous for acting this way, so they're not exactly trying to encourage people to emulate them. They're allowed to be genuinely wholesome, too, because it's nice to give the kids something to go "aww!" at, but it's not meant to be more complicated or deep than that.

And of course, it's gotta follow a sweet and simple episodic formula! A conflict in Marinette's civilian life, an inciting incident to get a side character upset enough for Hawk Moth to turn into a villain, Ladybug and Cat Noir show up, there's fun banter, Ladybug uses her Lucky Charm to figure out a wacky solution to the problem, and boom! The day is saved, Marinette and/or someone else learns a moral, and we get a cute little end screen showing all the key players of the episode.

The one aspect of the show's setup that's a little more serious is the fact that Adrien has a super controlling and distant father, but even this is something that doesn't necessarily break the kid-friendly tone for the first season or two. Superhero shows in particular like to put in some stuff that's a little more emotionally challenging for the viewers, even when they're mostly comedic, so it's not totally out of place here.

For example, while they tend to have more grounded tones overall, Spider-Man cartoons are aimed at kids and regularly keep the conflict between Harry Osborn and his father, Norman, intact; often including the plot point of Norman being the Green Goblin, a notorious villain. It's a similar deal with Adrien, and his dad secretly being Hawk Moth.

You can easily anticipate drama coming from this, but the show primes you to expect it to work out fine in the end because every other conflict so far has been wrapped up in a nice little bow once the episode's over. Though I will say, the choice to have Hawk Moth be Gabriel instead of his own, separate character is perhaps the first sign of the tone shift to come.

And, uh. it sure is a shift.

See, Miraculous does not start out with what you'd call a... plot. It vaguely alludes to there being more going on behind the scenes, but the only thing it really tries to get you invested in is the Love Square dynamic. Marinette and Adrien dancing around each other while fighting crime IS the plot, and it's clearly going to end with a cool final confrontation with Hawk Moth.

You expect it to end like... well, like the movie. Identities are revealed, Gabriel realizes the error of his ways when he finds out he's been fighting his son this whole time, and they may or may not make up but he almost definitely gets arrested. Marinette and Adrien kiss, roll credits.

This is not what happens, because the plot the writers actually had in mind is complex in a way that I would argue is meant for the same audience as YA novels. And with that plot comes a lot of darker, weightier traits to these otherwise silly characters.

Marinette isn't just scatterbrained and nervous, she has debilitating anxiety and an increasing need to be in control of everything due to the stress she's under. She has panic attacks on-screen. She's not just great at strategizing, she also knows how to manipulate people, and does so with increasing frequency - and to Cat Noir at times, no less. Her positive traits haven't gone anywhere, she's still loving and creative and sweet and doing her best to help everyone she can, she just. has all of that other stuff going on, now.

Adrien isn't just a charming, goofy, clueless love interest with a gazillion skills and a controlling father, he's like. actively being abused, and in some cases straight-up mind controlled. His tendency to heroically sacrifice himself so that Ladybug can do her Cool Protagonist Thing is gradually but unmistakably reframed as being a sign of suicidal inclinations. He has identity issues out the wazoo and he doesn't even know he's an artificially created human yet, because everyone in his life is keeping secrets from him and/or lying to his face about crucial information.

Information like, uh. how his dad died???

Yeah, so we're at a point in the story now where there was no satisfying conclusion to the Gabriel plot, no team-up, no moment where he realizes he's been fighting his son, none of that. He still has something akin to a change of heart, but he also still kind of gets what he wants - the Miraculous of the Ladybug and Black Cat, which he uses to rewrite the universe with a wish. It's just that instead of reviving his wife, he trades his life for Natalie's. Of course, he was already dying anyway, which was his own fault but he did force Cat Noir's Cataclysm onto himself, so, that's another thing poor Adrien is going to have to deal with at some point.

And because there's all these astronomically messed up things in Adrien's life, and Marinette's the one who got to learn about all of it before him, she decides that maybe it would be better if he just. didn't know about it. Which is understandable, if I was 14 and had all this information about my boyfriend's life that he didn't, I wouldn't know how to begin telling him about it, either.

But. can you see how we've maybe lost the plot, here?

Here's the thing: starting with a simple framework and gradually getting more complex and subverting the audience's expectations for how the main villain is going to be dealt with is not a bad thing. The fact that it gets darker over time is not an issue. I actually think that all these developments are, themselves, pretty cool! I'm a sucker for angst and complex character dynamics and the show is absolutely giving me those things.

The problem is that it didn't just start with a simple framework, it started with the framework for a different demographic entirely, and perhaps just as importantly, it never actually... stopped.

For as much complexity and intensity they're injecting this story with, they're still working under the logic of it being "for young kids." We still get goofy villain-of-the-week designs with equally goofy motivations, and the supporting cast is stuck remaining two-dimensional no matter their circumstances. Chloe is the most blatant example of this - she was made to be a simple bully first, so no matter what else they do with her, she has to remain straightforwardly evil.

This, I think, is the reason that Gabriel is a more nuanced and "sympathetic" antagonist than her, and why so much care goes into Adrien's character as a victim of abuse while Chloe is just a Problem Child despite suffering similar neglect; she wasn't made to be interesting, and so the show is resistant to changing that. Gabriel and Adrien, however, were already made with nuance in mind, and so they're allowed to develop as characters. And at the same time, it's a kid's show! We need to teach the kids what kind of behavior is acceptable, and Chloe's home life isn't an excuse to treat people badly, so--!

...Oh crap we're supposed to be teaching kids about acceptable behavior. Uh. Um. Quick, bring back the ice cream akuma who cares way too much about his ships so that Cat Noir can learn about consent! Uhh, but don't change his character too much afterwards, he's only marketable because of his silly flirting, and we can't lose that.

Yeah, remember when I said that the romance having problematic elements to it used to work well enough because it was clearly just exaggerated cartooniness? It wasn't free from criticism or anything, but you could see how it was intended to be endearing and silly, right? You were supposed to point and laugh at Marinette's convoluted plans to spend time with Adrien, at Cat Noir's dramatic flirting attempts that Ladybug herself fondly rolled her eyes at.

The tonal shift into deep character exploration kinda paints the previous stuff in a worse light, and to an extent, I think the writers know that. It's hard to laugh at Cat Noir being flirty all the time when he's also supposed to be taken completely seriously, and the more Ladybug rejects him, the more it turns into harassment, and it. kinda just stops being funny, even with the comedic framing.

It's also hard to laugh at Marinette's crush being so all-consuming when they try to tell us (in what I can only assume was an attempt to get people to stop complaining) that she's like this because it's fueled by an event in her past, one that made her so scared of loving the wrong person that she now needs to know Everything about them before asking them out. Her cartoon antics aren't funny under that light, it's just concerning, but they're dedicated to keeping it up anyway.

The show runs on straightforward cartoon logic where you're not supposed to think about it too hard just as much as it runs on grounded, closer-to-real-life logic where people are messy and complicated and actions have consequences. It's so divided that you can hand-pick parts of the story that are influenced by one or the other pretty easily, and depending on the episode you can find instances of both in the same 20-minute time span. Maybe even multiple times!

Neither thing they're trying to go for is bad, and neither is a better approach than the other, but forcing them into the same show makes both sides suffer.

It's not just hard to laugh at the parts I mentioned earlier, it's hard to take Gabriel seriously as a villain whenever you rewatch an episode and remember that he has a once-per-episode pun-based speech that he says so self-seriously that you can't help but laugh at. It's hard to take him seriously when you remember that he repeatedly akumatized a Literal Baby and practically threw a tantrum every time it didn't work, or when he randomly steals (and enthusiastically performs) his nephew's musical dance number, or something similar that you would only do for a cartoon villain aimed at five-year-olds.

And I can only imagine this whole show is a marketing nightmare, too. Hey, little girls, here's your cool role model! She's cute and smart and talented and powerful and can fix anything by shouting the title of the show! Hope you're having fun watching her tell her boyfriend that his newly-deceased father (who used deepfakes of him to sell merchandise that's built to enslave the population and then locked him in a solitary confinement chamber in another country) was actually a hero who sacrificed himself to stop the main villain instead of, y'know, being the main villain! Aren't you excited to watch her wrestle with the guilt of this lie for the next season or so? Doesn't it just make you want to buy her merchandise??

Like. what is even happening right now. what am I watching. how did we get here and why did we start where we did if this was what the story was going to be about

[shanastoryteller]

happy halloween!! i would adore anything severus related, please :D

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

They buy a new house, mostly with Sirius's money even though it's in Severus's name because he's the only one of them that doesn't send sellers scrambling, as he's not a known werewolf or ex-convict.

"Oh, how I've fallen," Severus sighs, looking around the charming townhouse in despair.

Remus considers hiding his grin, but Severus always knows anyway so it'd be a wasted effort. "It's significantly nicer than your apartment. Not that I minded it, of course, Andromeda did wonderfully."

"We're down the street from the Weasleys," he says with the same level of horror that Remus has used other people use to describe an imminent Death Eater attack.

"Lots of kids for Harry to play with," Remus reminds him. "Right down in the middle of a magical community. An excellent preparatory school."

Severus looks like he's going to be ill.

"If you're done chitchatting, why don't you help with the unpacking?" Sirius interrupts crankily. Harry's in his arms and kicking his feet like he wants to be let down, but they haven't done anything to baby-proof the place yet. "Merlin, we're going to have to buy so much furniture. And things. Why does being a person require so many items?"

"An intriguing question," Severus says flatly. "Why don't I go ask Andromeda what she recommends? Good luck unpacking."

He apparates away with a crack.

Remus had only gotten halfway through a laugh and Sirius an outraged yell when he returns with another crack, plucking Harry from Sirius's arms and settling him against his chest. "Wouldn't want you to get distracted." This time the sound of him apparating away has a distinctly smug tinge to it.

"Side-long apparition is dangerous!" Sirius shouts, even though Severus isn't around to hear him.

"This is going to be fun, don't you think?" Remus asks brightly.

"This is all your fault," Sirius tells him petulently. "You just had to go and make friends with him."

"Yes, so sorry that I became friends with the person who cleared your name, freed you from Azkaban, and saved Harry from being raised by Petunia," he says dryly. "How could I?"

Now Sirius is the one who looks ill.

It's like he's living with three children, honestly.

[alonetimelover]

My love, we were in Paris

pairing: Harry Styles x tennis player!reader (fem, she/her)

summary: After winning her third French Open title, YN was excited to call Harry, not knowing he had rather big surprise already waiting for her.

warnings: a few swear words and just fluff!

word count: ~1,7k + a few social media posts!

more of a tennis player!reader here: masterlist ask, come say hi, request!

She won. 

For the third time in her life she won the French Open. 

After the second set and the first half of the third one, when she was ready to give up. It was all foreshadowing her eventual loss. At least she felt like it. Her serve somehow lost its force, the precision she always praised herself to have got forgotten in the middle of the match. For the audience it must have looked like she was done with it, unbeatable YN YSN finally defeated on her favourite court. 

Well, it was all wrong. Not knowing how, the precision she craved, came back. Her serve felt like it doubled in force and the confidence sprung like flowers in the spring. When she defeated the break-point going for 3-5 in games for her opponent, she said to herself ‘you got it’. 

And she won. 

Now, squatting down on the ground, crying tears of joy she couldn’t believe it. Third time champion in Paris sounded proud and surprisingly good.

Her mind, though, was just made of two things right now: ‘you won’ and ‘call Harry’. 

After receiving congratulations from her opponent and speaking to her briefly about the match, she stood in the centre of the court clapping for the crowd. The squeals and whistles were overwhelming, but being there in the middle, acknowledging all of it was the first move to thank all of the people for their support. 

Moving swiftly to her bag, she unlocked her phone and chose ‘Harry💜' from her favourite contacts. It was so loud, she knew she wouldn't be able to hear half of the things he was going to say. But she called anyway. She promised him last night, when they were speaking through FaceTime.

“Call me right after the match,” he said, yawning. 

“Goodnight, sleepyhead. Right after? So from the court?”

“If you’re allowed to then why not? I want to hear it from you, whatever it’s going to be.”

Harry knew she would win. And at the same time he knew that saying ‘I want to hear it from you “I’m the champion.”’ would put too much pressure on her shoulders. She was stressed enough and what he could provide was his lifelong support. 

“I’ll call you. I promise.”

After four long signals, the smile on her face was slowly but gradually diminishing. She quickly remembered that the eyes of all people interested in tennis were on her, and put that smile back on.

In a few hours Harry was playing one of the biggest shows in his life, a concert for 80 000 people to be exact. She shouldn’t be mad and wouldn’t be. Maybe sad, but she would allow it after getting back to her hotel room. 

Tossing her phone back to the bag, she ran towards the box where her coach and loved ones were sitting. Getting closer and closer to the stands she finally looked up as to plan her way to her family. 

She stopped in her tracks. Right next to her parents was one and only person she was thinking about for the last hours. Person, she was unwillingly (deep down) mad at not picking up her call just a minute ago. 

He was here. Harry was here. His beaming smile, brightening her mood in seconds. He was clapping his hands then whistling on his fingers, and repeating the process. The white hat matching hers, and a simple black t-shirt so as to not draw attention towards himself. But she would recognise him anywhere, in the dark, in the place full of people, at the end of it all. She would know him because nobody had his divine smile and kind-hearted eyes.

Eventually, she sprung to jog up the stairs and around a few corners. In what felt like seconds she was at the stands. People were reaching for her, saying and shouting ‘bravo, YN’, ‘you did a good job!’ and all the congratulations. But she couldn’t bring herself to care right this moment. There was only one person’s opinion she cared about. 

When only a few steps were between them she jumped into his arms, embracing him, wanting to never pull back. 

“What are you doing here?” She whispered into his ear. 

“What d’you mean?” Teasing smile was growing on his face. “I came here to watch my girlfriend win her third title in Paris. You know when she’s startin’?” 

She pulled back a little to swat his shoulder playfully, “stop it!”

He just smiled, looking at her lovingly. Pride and happiness just swelled in his chest, making him all warm and fulfilled. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She laughed at the absurdity of the situation. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t have thought about Harry coming to her match just hours before the concert he was playing in another country. “What are you doing here, really? You play in, what, six or seven hours?”

Harry brushed one unruly strand of YN’s hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. 

“You really thought I would miss this match?”

“Yeah. You said it yourself, didn’t you?”

“Well, if I didn't, you wouldn’t be this surprised. Also if you knew I was here, you would think about it too much.”

“Because you’re such a distraction?”

“You said it,” he teased her back.

YN was looking up at him, still trying to comprehend that it was, indeed her Harry embracing her and caressing her cheek and waist. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. He actually flew over to Paris to support her.

How could she not love him?

“Thank you,” she said, tears in her eyes, daring to fall down her face. 

“Nothing to thank me for.” 

They kissed softly. Knowing, in the back of their heads it would draw so much attention, but they couldn’t not do it. It had been a week without seeing each other. They missed it. 

“I am so proud of you, lovie. So fucking proud. You’re unmistakingly the best player out there. And don’t argue with me. Take it in. I’m so proud. I love you,” Harry whispered into her ear, squeezing her even closer to him. “Now, go. You have a trophy to accept and a speech to make. Go be the best out there.”

After stealing one more little kiss from Harry and saying ‘I love you’ back, YN hugged every member of her team and her parents. Then she ran back on the court where the podium was placed.

She was going to accept the cup for the third time in her life. 

“Woah, thank you so much and sorry for breaking the cup,” She started her speech with a laugh. “Ah, there are so many people that I’d like to thank. My team - my coach, my psychologist, my physiotherapist - without you guys my body wouldn’t be able to pull any championship. To my family, my boyfriend tha-” she needed to stop because of the cheers erupting around her. Yes, people loved Harry everywhere. “Thank you all for believing in me, bringing me joy and so much support, I’ll never be able to pay you back. Thank you! And thank you to all of you here, the fans. For your support and kind words. Thank you! Je t’aime Paris!” 

***

It took them two hours to finally get to the hotel. Harry closed the door behind them, placing a card on the table in the corridor. 

“When do you have a plane back?” YN asked, while looking for some clean clothes to wear after the shower that was calling her name. 

“In about two hours.”

“Fuck, give me 5 minutes to shower and I’ll ride with you to the airport, okay?” She said in a rush to get ready as quickly as possible. 

On the way to the bathroom Harry stopped her, gently catching her by hand. “Wait. What if you pack a small bag and come with me?”

“Come where?” YN asked with a laugh. 

“Dublin. And then Slane for the concert.” 

“Wha- but, well. I have a media day tomorrow from 11 a.m. And a dinner tonight with the sponsors. Harry, I can’t miss it,” YN answered with a frown on her face. 

Harry smiled mischievously, “what if I told you I already talked to your coach and team? And they said it was okay for you to go with me as long as you come back for tomorrow's photoshoot?”

“No way.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Harry nodded his head, taking YN’s clothes in his hands and throwing them on the bed. 

“Yes way. I’m very convincing when I want to be.”

“Oh, are you really?” YN mirrored Harry’s smirk, placing her hands around his neck. 

“Oh really. You are coming with me.” 

He pecked her lips. 

“I am coming with you to Slane. And then what?”

“Then I’m playing the concert in front of 80 000 people. But-”

“But, what?”

“I think I’m gonna care about only one person there.”

YN shook her head with a smile. She knew him for more than three years now, but he still could make her blush. He was still so smooth with all the flirty comments and compliments. She was sure, she wouldn’t be able to find any other person who was as appreciative and thankful as Harry. Not like she wanted to. 

“You wanna know the plan for the next few days?”

“Tell me all about it,” she encouraged him, pulling her hand through his curls. 

“Mhmm, we’re flying back here in the morning. You have a photoshoot and a media day. And then in the evening I’m taking you to my favourite restaurant here to celebrate our achievements so far this year. Aaand the day after that we’re going by train to London.”

YN’s eyes lit up at the mention of the train ride. “Did you buy tickets for the train already?”

“Yes, I did. I know how much you wanted to try that route.”

“Do you know you’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask the universe for?”

“You can remind me of that from time to time. Feed my ego,’ he laughed, hugging YN. 

“Thank you. I love you, Harry.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” He tightened the embrace. “I love you and I am so proud of what you did today and the days before.”

——————————————————————————————

harryismyfriend

liked by harryfan11, harrysfan202 and 810 others

harryismyfriend I saw Harry in Paris this morning!!!!!

view all 1 021 comments

harryparis I've met his as well and he asked not to upload any pictures! please take it down!

harryupdates he's there to surprise yn, please take this down

hArrysbtch dont spoil the surprise!!!!!

ynupdates delete this, please

harryismyfriend im so sorry, im deleting it right now!

this post has been deleted

——————————————————————————————

tennisworld

liked by ynupdates, harrystyles and 2 201 830 others

tennisworld You hear it first here! TREBLE French Open Champion - YN YSN! Congratulations!

view all 92 201 comments

ynupdates THEE champion!!!!

harryupdates the best player out there!

ynshands i love this woman

ynsmybestie god is a woman after all

hArrysbtch i don't know her personally but im so proud of her, i wish i could hug her

harrysmoustache did you guys see harry cheering????

⤷ hArrysbtch oh god, yes! he was so cute

⤷ ynsmybestie that man clapped and whistled more than me during his concert

——————————————————————————————

harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 58 301 others

harryupdates YN AND HARRY AFTER SHE WON THE THIRD FRENCH OPEN IN HER CAREER!!! It seemed like Harry's presence was a surprise for YN!

view all 9 201 comments

ynupdates i love them

ynupdates and im so proud of yn. she overcame so many obstacles during today's match

ynshands 😭i😭love😭them😭so much😭

hArrysbtch this man is playing the biggest concert in his lifetime in 4 hours and he's not even in the same country right now

⤷ hArrysbtch and before all of you start hating on me: i love that he found time to support yn during one of her most important matches this season

harryandynforever im gonna sleep on a highway tonight

tennisyn THEE couple, ladies and gentlemen

——————————————————————————————

harrynews

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 23 301 others

harrynews Harry and YN landed in Dublin just two hours before the start of the show in Slane. The ride from Dublin to Slane takes about 40 to 60 minutes. I hope they'll be there on time!

view all 3 201 comments

ynupdates she went with him to Ireland?????

ynsmybestie they are so supportive of each other, I can't

harryupdates this man loves living on the edge

harrysmoustache outfit repeater!!!!!

ynsfan101 so she won't have a media day today? i hoped to meet her 😞

⤷ ynsmybestie i think she'll be back tomorrow. she needs to do a photoshoot in front of the eiffel tower

⤷ ynsfan101 oh, that's reassuring! i hope to get an autograph or even a photo!

——————————————————————————————

ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 93 301 others

ynupdates HARRY DANCING FOR YN VIA HER IG STORIES!

view all 18 301 comments

harryupdates i-

harryupdates wow, just wow

ynshands if that was my man, i would post it too 'see, world? and that's all mine!'

ynsmybestie girl..... don't throw it in our faces like that, we know

hArrysbtch 🫠

hArrysbtch what do you mean it's the same harry scared of performing life just few years ago????

harrysmoustache unhinged, both of them

harrysfan82 why is he so hot and cute at the same time

ynupdates can we take a moment to appreciate their support for each other? harry went to Paris event hough he had a show tonight. and yn went to Slane even though she has a busy day tomorrow in Paris. amazing, just amazing how they can cooperate and work with their busy schedules

——————————————————————————————

yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, taylorswift, annetwist, ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 4 392 027 others

yourinstagram 🎶my love, we were in Paris🎶 ... and then in Slane and in Paris again. And then no one needs to know where 🗺

view all 72 302 comments

harrystyles we were somewhere else

⤷ yourinstagram 💜

⤷ hArrysbtch not you singing Taylor, Harry!

⤷ ynsmybestie yn turned you to the bright side, i see

⤷ ynshands and he finishes what she sings???? 😭

⤷ harrysmoustache harry is a swiftie, confirmed!!!!

taylorswift Congratulations on your third French Open title, YN! I hope to see you on one of the concerts!

⤷ yourinstagram i'll be there, wherever and whenever it is, i'll be there

⤷ ynupdates talk about being a committed swiftie

ynupdates posting a pic from Harry's concert before hers with a trophy??? medal for the best girlfriend goes to yn

harryupdates enjoy your free time!

wimbledon See you soon, yn!

[jarofstyles]

Flower 2

Okay so I really love these babies so I think I'm gonna do 3-5 parts! I'm loving the tension hehe. Let me know your thoughts!

Flower Masterlist

Check out our Patreon for early access and 180+ exclusive writings

WC-4.6k

Warnings- mention of age gap romance, mention of bdsm, mention of bad sexual experiences, loads of sexual tension, low-key sugar daddy h, trust me

Sleep didn’t come too easily for her, but she felt absolutely wired when she woke up. Her coffee only made it worse as she wrapped herself up in the dark wash denim jacket she’d borrowed from Harry when he drove her home a few weeks back. His truck pulled into the driveway and she was grabbing her tote bag and phone, making sure to lock up before turning to face him. 

There was a weird expression on his face- something she couldn’t place. It wasn’t quite angry or mad, but it was a little darker as his eyes ran over her face and then body. He remained quiet until she got down her porch steps. “S’that… my jacket?” He asked lowly. The tone was strange to her as he stepped closer, tugging on the collar of it. 

“Yeah, it’s really cute and I figured I could wear it around today and give it back to you at the end. Is that… is that okay?” She worried her brows. “I can take it off now if you want to wear-“

“No.” He cut her off. “No, it’s totally fine. It just… it looks really good on you, is all.” He mumbled, squeezing her shoulder. “You look beautiful, as always.” His compliment was genuine, feeling his finger tap her nose, making her crinkle it. “Put the shiny stuff on it again? Your fairy sparkle?” 

Y/N laughed out loud at his nickname for her highlight on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Mhm. I got a new pink one, think it suits me.” And maybe she’d been a lot more meticulous about her makeup now that she had a feeling this may be a more-than-friends situation. “I really like this look.” It was a tease, considering he wore the same thing off duty. Jeans and some sort of tee shirt with a quirky phrase or obscure musician on them. Today’s was relatively tame with a bee surrounded by some words about honey and health. Cute. “I actually like the tee today. A bit muscle-y.” His arms looked real fucking nice in this one. Of course he would have some considering he worked with his hands and was a pretty physical person but… damn. She allowed herself to admire it, respectfully. 

It wasn’t something she’d caught before but a slight pink brushed his cheeks at her compliment. “Thanks, petal.” He smiled. “I… I got us some coffee, got your favorite. It’s only half an hour away but I figured….”

“You know I love coffee. You’re the best, as usual.” She sighed, leaning into him to have a hug. It wasn’t usual for her to do it first but he reacted quickly, pulling her close as he rubbed her back, content to keep her there forever. He was never the first to pull back from a hug, but Y/N would happily stay like this for hours  if the option was there. He smelled good, was so warm and sturdy and he knew exactly how to play with hair. Unfortunately she did have to pull back, shooting him a shy smile as he took her by the shoulder to the car. 

Of course he opened the door for her, made she she was in properly before jogging to his own side. He ever did the whole hand on the back of the seat while backing out move, which… wow. It never missed. The weirdest turn on, but something about it just elevated a man. 

His car smelled ridiculously good, and judging by the little clips on his air vents, he had just changed them. He had a few lanyards for access to work yards and membership cards to certain stores, but no fun little fuzzy dice, or a air freshener with a kitty on it like she had. There and then, she took a mental note to get him one. Maybe a puppy one, though. His German shepherd was his best friend.

“Are you getting any books?” She asked him after a little time passed. The chatter had been casual so far, easy. The tension she felt since last night wasn’t bad in the car if she continued topic switching and slight gossip. 

“Mm, I dunno. I haven’t done much reading lately. What are you gonna get?” He questioned, sneaking a peek at her as they stopped at a red light. 

“Probably romance. I’ve been most interested in that. I’ve seen some good book recommendations online and the girls sent me some, Gia and I wanted to do a book club thing for one of the books by our favorite author. It’s a bad boy romance but it’s called Reaper.” She figured he’d have no idea what that was, but she watched his brow raise as he gave her a look. 

“Well… you do have a naughty side, don’t you?” He snickered, watching her eyes widen. “Think m’clueless? Just because I don’t read a lot doesn’t mean my ears don’t work. Tony told me his wife was reading that and it’s full of sex. Basically erotica.” He licked his lip, looking her over. 

“Oh- well, yes there’s sex but there’s plot to! Just because a book has sex doesn’t mean it isn’t good!”’she crossed her arms, huffing at him. It was a bit to rile him up a bit considering he was doing it to her and it worked. She watched his mouth open and close before rushing out an explanation. 

“No! No, m’not saying that. It’s not bad at all. It’s empowering, but uh, I was just saying I didn’t expect you to read books like that.” He had to pull away as the light turned green but he looked a little stressed that he offended her. 

“I’m joking, H. I know you didn’t mean it like that.” She snickered, watching his face turn to a bit to a scowl. “What, you thought I’m a nun or something? Just cause I’m not spilling all my stories at the table doesn’t mean I don’t have them.” She knew a lot of the group was very open about their sexual experience which was more than fine with her. Y/N was nosy and loved knowing other people's business, But in her life she didn’t share sex related things. It was private, for her and her partners. She didn’t want to betray their trust either, regardless of the terms they were on. 

“I….” His face was more pink now, hands flexing around the wheel as he cleared his throat. “I just thought maybe you didn’t care as much about it. Which is fine, by the way! It’s cool. I just wasn’t sure you cared too much. You never talk about it when we have our confession nights so I… I was being a bit presumptuous. I’m sorry. It just shocked me a little.” 

It was funny to make him squirm a bit but he didn’t need to feel bad. “It’s fine. Promise. No one really asks anyway, so I don’t offer it up first. I’m usually private about it because some of our friends are loud mouths but you can ask me stuff if you want. Maybe after we get our books you can ask me whatever questions come up.” She knew there would be plenty based on his face alone. 

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “Yeah, sure. I mean, I’m not trying to be weird or anything but you know about the time I called someone by the wrong name and the girl who put her tongue in my ear so….” He shrugged one shoulder. 

“Oh, god.” Her giggle was muffled by her hand. He had shared some of his horror stories and she’d found out he was a bit of a bondage fan and dabbled in kinky stuff but until now that info had been locked away in her brain under padlock and key. Suddenly someone had taken nippers to the lock and it was spilling out again, staining the floor. “Yeah… I suppose that is fair.” Angling her knees towards her, she stirred her coffee with the straw. “I think the worst thing that’s happened to me… hm. Probably the time I went home with a guy after a few dates in college and his place was really gross, but he was even more so. Like…” her nose scrunched. “Took his pants off and there was a smell coming from them. I couldn’t do it.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He hissed, wincing at the thought. That was pretty much a nightmare situation. Harry always smelled good and never seemed to be anything but hygienic so she knew he gave a shit about it but still. No one wanted to think of that. “That’s… unfortunate for both of you. Was he embarrassed? How did you get out of it?” 

“He wasn’t, is the thing. Said ‘girls should like a natural musk’ and I told him that it wasn’t a musk, it was a stench. He wasn’t happy with that so he didn’t refuse when I left. I had to take a long shower after that.” Shuddering in disgust, she hated recalling that. “At first I felt really guilty too, cause that’s such a hard thing… but he ended up being such a dick. It was surprising considering he had been sweet on the dates but apparently men change a lot in the bedroom.” That was an understatement. 

“I can agree with that, but I’d hope it’s a positive change.” He shook his head at the thought. “Like, sweet in the streets and freak in the sheets or whatever the saying is.” 

A laugh peeled from her throat, leaning her head against the headrest with her face turned towards him. “Yeah, close enough. But ideally they would be. I dunno, you don’t have to be crazy to be good in the bedroom but I’d hope for the same level of respect. Some men have no idea how to actually handle women so it’s partly why I stopped dating.” And why she had stayed up looking at his Instagram last night and thinking about how she’d look inserted in his life. Harry seemed like a man who could potentially handle her. 

“I wish I could disagree but I can’t. I’ve heard many horror stories from girls, way more traumatizing than men. It’s why…” he stopped himself. “Sorry, was gonna overshare. But I can only imagine how it is and if it’s any consolation, I’m sorry for all the men.” 

God, he was cute.  But… wait. 

“No no, you can definitely  overshare.” She perked up. “If you want to, anyway. I don’t mind.” Blinking at him, he cut a look at her and let out a laugh as he lifted a hand to run it over his chin, the slight sound of skin scratching stubble audible in the cab of his truck. 

“Well, I was gonna say it’s why I try t’be aware of that when I’m with someone that their comfort is first. If there’s anything they don’t like they can say it, that m’not gonna be mad. I don’t want someone to walk away from something with me and feel uncomfortable.” Seeing him a little shy was really fucking adorable. “I don’t really do hookups anymore. They’re not fulfilling, at least not to me. Lost their appeal a few years ago but, the few relationships I’ve been in the whole goal was to make them feel good. I think there’s a lot of selfishness that’s mainly revolved around men and sex, which I noticed a lot. The fact that a lot of women aren’t getting off at all is fucking ridiculous.” He scoffed, looking truly bothered by it. 

Another point added to his growing list. 

“Yeah, it is. It was rare I could because for me, and I think a good amount of women, there needs to be the foreplay aspect of it. Mentally, I need to be stimulated. Y’know, like teasing or not so clean talking.”

It was her turn to feel a little shy but she powered through. “And men can dive right in. It’s where we differ a lot of the time. I think part of it is biological too, I guess. I tried hooking up for a while but it never did anything for me either. I prefer someone with a connection so it’s easier to get to that point.” Now she was the one oversharing. 

“I understand that. I like those things too. A bit of cat and mouse can be fun…” he pushed his hair back before returning his hands to the wheel, squeezing it. “It’s laziness and selfishness. I’d say for me personally, M’more of a giver. Not saying it to praise myself or anything but it’s just… it’s what I like.” There was a pause. “Sorry if that’s a bit much.”

No, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to know more. Her neglected cunt was more than interested in how he was in bed and if he’d like to be a giver for her, but she had to at least try to behave. 

“It’s not. We’re just being honest, right?” She placed a hand on his knee, giving a daring squeeze and let it linger for a few moments before peeling it away. Again, testing the waters of initiating touch. Once she’d realized last night that she hadn’t shown her own interest much she had vowed to at least try today to see how he'd respond.

In this instance his smile grew and he couldn’t look right at her, but he nodded at what she’d said. “Yeah. I jus’ don’t want to seem like some creep. But uh, what other sort of books do you like? Romance, yeah, but what sort of tropes?” He did know some of those. 

“Oh, I’m pretty adventurous.” A double meaning. “I like the grumpy and sunshine ones, the billionaire romances, mafia is a guilty pleasure. Meet cute is something else I enjoy for a light read. I dunno, I think I mainly go for what the summary calls to me for. I do read some darker stuff but it’s nice to have a little fantasy world to escape to. And the fantasy men know how to find a clit.” Throwing the joke in there was meant to diffuse some of tension but somehow it seemed to make it grow. 

Not in a bad way, per say, but he looked at her curiously. “Don’t tell me that all of them couldn’t….”

“No, no. Some of them did, but majority no. They rub the side and think they’re doing something. But I’ve never faked it, I refuse to give a man an ego boost for something he didn’t do.”

“Good on ya, petal. S’bullshit that they get off and you don’t.” He genuinely seemed bothered by it. “Buncha pricks is what they are.” 

“They are.” She snickered. “But I’ll let you read some of the blurbs for the books I pick out today, you can get a read on what sorta books I like.” It was yet again, another way to experiment. 

“I’m very intrigued to see what you’re into.” 

Y/N hopes that held a double meaning too. 

—-

Harry was hovering a bit. 

Normally that would annoy her. She’d huff and tell him to sit in the cafe, or go look at his own books- but she hoped that it was because he was paying attention to what she picked up. 

Plus, he was holding the basket for her. 

The store was earthy and rustic, exposed wooden beams running along the ceilings. There was a little cafe that served teas and coffees which she definitely planned on getting after her shopping, and from her nosy look over when Harry greeted the owner she had seen a blueberry scone. That would be coming home with her too. 

The shelves were high and they had multiple different sections. It was far bigger than any indie bookstore she had been to in the past , and that lead her to quickly realize quickly she was going to make a monthly trek out here. Maybe Harry would be interested in joining her in them. 

Maybe he’d be interested in doing a lot more with her. 

“I’m almost done.” She promised, plopping a used copy of a vacation town romance into the basket. It had to be a little heavy but Harry didn’t complain. It didn’t even look like the weight bothered him, the basket hanging off his arm. They’d stuck mostly to the used section considering they were far cheaper, but she was ready to go for the new ones now. 

So what if she took a little bit out of her savings for this? She deserved a little treat for once. 

“There’s no rush, Flower.” He assured her, following closely behind her as she moved towards the new books. “I was wondering if….” There was a pause as she looked up at him. It seemed to make his brain buffer for a moment, his eyes looking over her face before he blinked out of the stare. “Uh, it you wanted to have lunch or something after?”

Why was he so cute, and why did he look so nervous? Maybe Y/N wasn’t giving the signals she needed to. That would be her own fault, but it was hard to flirt when she was as serious as she was about her books. 

“On the condition that the iced mocha with a pump of caramel and the blueberry scone I get for the car ride doesn’t count as lunch, yes. I would very much enjoy that.” She chirped, watching the nerves melt off of his face. It was mind boggling that her of all people could cause him to be nervous in the slightest but you learned something new every day. 

“I’ll agree, because that’s more suitable for a dessert.” He drawled. Harry did like to tease her about her sweet tooth which always made her roll her eyes. So what if a girl liked to have a brownie with each meal? Life is nothing but spinning on an orb in space. You may as well enjoy the creature comforts. 

“If that’s your dessert I don’t think you’ve had a true one in a while.” The flirtation was light, testing the waters as she looked over the book covers. His eyes could be felt on the side of her face as he was quiet for a moment before letting out a little laugh. 

“Suppose I haven’t. You’re right. Maybe I’ll need to try yours and see what you mean.”

And oh. Oh. She did everything in her power not to react besides a little smirk, though she could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks. Harry could most defintely try her dessert whenever the fuck he wanted. 

“Should you be so lucky.” Was her slightly snarky reply, but he followed it up quite quickly. 

“One could only hope, Petal.” 

And yeah, maybe she felt her new heartbeat between her thighs as the newly heavier silence settled on them like oil in water, but it wasn’t necessarily bad. The anticipation was in her stomach as he got a bit closer, looking over her shoulder at the book she had picked up and was currently reading the back of. 

“What’s this one?” He asked, so close that she could feel the heat of his body against her back. 

“It’s called The Highest Bidder. It’s about… a girl who goes on an auction block at a BDSM club, he is one of the owners? Well he’s one of the richest. Anyways, I saw someone recommend it saying it has sugar daddy vibes and there’s some juicy stuff in it.” Y/N explained, taking the moment to lean back into him as she held the back cover for him to read. 

If he was surprised he didn’t show it. Instead, his hand came up to rest on her shoulder, pinky finger nearly grazing the side of her neck as he looked over to read. Such a casual touch of affection, but he seemed to like it. “And you’re gonna get this one?” It was a bit weirdly arousing feeling the vibrations of his words through his chest and onto her back. 

“I think so. I haven’t read an age gap for a while. Just hope the sex scenes aren’t shit. It’s hard to tell with books sometimes, even if they’re more kinky oddly enough. I’ve seen books that have the best summaries and seem super steamy have a two pump sex scene- or fade to black. Which, you know, is fine. Not all books need to have that, but what’s the point of making the book seem like it then?” She muttered. Clearly she had been victim to it a time or two.  “Then the authors get mad about low goodreads reviews. It’s like, cmon! Don’t mislead the readers about the book then.” 

It was something the woman did get passionate about when provoked, but Harry had opened that can of worms in the car when he had given his go ahead that he didn’t mind discussing things like this with her. 

“Mm. I see.” He nodded and she swore she could hear the smile in his voice. “Show me the others you want to get.” 

Y/N felt increasingly more comfortable as she went through the next five books, letting him read the back covers and giving him the low-down about what she had heard about them. Each time they moved their position would go back to where it was, with his hand on her shoulder and her back leaned into him, only he had gotten a little braver with running his smallest finger back and forth over the side of her neck. 

It nearly made her choke when she first felt it. She definitely stuttered when he did it, but she didn’t comment on how the little action felt incredibly intimate and soft, yet charged with an unspoken sexual energy that would probably kill her if she thought about it too long. Harry was being casual about it, but he always had been. He’d been the first to initiate most touches with her that Gia said were abnormal. Of course he didn’t start off their friendship by being super grabby and touchy but it had morphed into that, and it definitely did take him by surprise when she had initiated last night and again today. Kind of like she was reinforcing that it was more than okay to touch. 

“Are you sure you’re done?” He asked after placing her final book in the basket. Y/N felt like if she didn’t stop this weird, hot position of him asking questions about the books earnestly and his chaste-yet-sexy touches she may bend over the book table and get inappropriate really fucking fast. 

“Mhm.” She assured him. “Please, I’m gonna have to dip into the rainy day fund to afford all the stuff from today but it’ll be so worth it.” The sun shone through the windows and highlighted his features which, god, had her testing her own willpower. Of course she was far too shy to be super direct with him verbally, but she didn’t hide the fact that she was admiring him. 

Considering she had already been successful in her little experiments today, she saw the lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead and decided to push it back. Letting her fingers card through his hair, she pushed the strands out of his face and back into place. If she hadn’t been looking so intently she wouldn’t have seen the shiver he had from the action. His hair was so soft and obvious that Harry took care of it, and she had never really touched it all that much but the temptation had been too much. “Sorry, it was bothering me so it must have been bothering you.” She said simply, giving him a small smile. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom quickly and then we can check out. Okay?”

“Course.” He cleared his throat, nodding his head as if the question had taken a moment to load in his head. “I’ll be by the cafe then.”

Y/N really hated that bookstores made her have to go in there but it was a right of passage. Taking care of her business took only a few minutes, but when she came out she didn’t see him at first. 

He wouldn’t just leave her, so it took her a second to realize he was leaving the counter, two bags of books hanging off his arms and two coffees in the little tray. A brown paper bag clutched crumbled in the hand he used to balance the drink tray, making her eyes widen.

“Hey! I was gonna pay for our coffees and stuff.” She pouted as he approached. “You’ll have to let me get lunch then.” Her eyes went down to the two tote bags with the store logo on them. “Ooo, that’s so nice that they gave you these to hold them in. Let me just grab my wallet and we can go to the till to-“

“Don’t worry about it.” He cut her off, shrugging a shoulder. There was a pregnant pause, her eyes blinking rapidly before her eyebrows crinkled. 

“What do you mean? I have to pay.”

“They’re paid for.” The reply was simple and matter of fact. Again, words escaped her as she looked between him and the books. 

“Did you-“

“I paid. It’s fine, Flower.”

“Uh, what?” Her eyebrows shot up as her stomach dropped. It did the weird thing that had her feeling a little lightheaded as he stood there, like he didn’t just spend probably close to two hundred on books. “No way I can accept that.”

“If I told you I got a discount for building this place will it help?”

“Harry.” She said quietly. “You…. Why?” 

“Because I’m happy you agreed t’spend the day with me.” The reply was so to the point, not hiding anything at all that it almost felt unreal. Hell, it did feel unreal because who the fuck spent two hundred on books for a friend? Granted, she had a feeling-or a hope- there was a crush in there, but it felt like a huge gesture. 

“You already do so much for me.” She swallowed the lump down her throat. “You help me at my place and you drive me home from get togethers and you buy me drinks when we go out and… I feel like it’s a lot. I surely don’t do as much for you.”

“I’d do even more if you let me.” He stared honestly, nothing but truth on his face. “So jus’ let me do this for you. I want to. It makes me happy.” 

Y/N didn’t know how to argue with that. Instead, she nodded, and reached to take the bag and coffee tray from him since he had the much heavier books. “Thank you. I could cry, probably.” That wasn’t a joke. Her eyes felt like they were stinging. 

“None of that, Petal.” He shook his head. “C’mon. I’ve got plenty of questions and you’ve got answers you promised me on the way here.” Without thinking twice, he grabbed her free hand with his own, tangling their fingers before leading her to the truck. 

Y/N had no idea how so much had changed in 24 hours,

But she had a feeling it was about to change a whole lot more.

[sideprince]

Re-read this bit in Half-Blood Prince again and thinking about how blatantly it seems to be telling us that Harry is biased against Snape and our impression of him thus far has been clouded by seeing him through Harry's eyes (emphases mine):

‘The Dark Arts,’ said Snape, ‘are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.’ Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? . . . ‘He tried to jinx me, in case you didn’t notice!’ fumed Harry. ‘I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn’t he use another guinea pig for a change? What’s Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defence? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff -‘ ‘Well,’ said Hermione, ‘I thought he sounded a bit like you.’ ‘Like me?’ ‘Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorising a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?’ Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words as well worth memorising as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.

Half-Blood Prince, Ch. 9

There's a direct contrast being drawn from one scene to the next between Harry's perception of Snape and Hermione's less-biased, more critical one. Where Harry hears a "loving caress" for the dark arts in Snape's voice, Hermione hears the passionate, determined explanation that Harry gave a year earlier - one based in a firsthand understanding of what it takes to protect oneself from harm against dark magic.

This is also the first scene in this book where we see Snape teaching a class. The first time he shows up in the book is when he's entrusted by Tonks to deliver Harry safely to the Great Hall from the school gates. So the first encounter with Snape in HBP is as Harry's protector, be it begrudging or not, and the second is one where an immediate parallel is drawn after between him and Harry, Hermione questioning the latter's bias and hinting to the reader that judging him based on Harry's perception may not paint an accurate picture of Snape. Through the rest of the book we see Harry have an increasingly hostile relationship with Snape while developing a great fondness for the Half-Blood Prince, despite it also being Snape, only Harry doesn't know that, so he's able to see his humor and cleverness.

This theme is a dominant one throughout the book, though it doesn't become clear until the end when we find out Snape was the Half-Blood Prince, but by then our impression of the Prince is murky given the unexpectedly violent outcome of Harry trying out Sectumsempra (and it can be argued he's to blame for doing so against another person instead of finding out what the spell does in a safer way), and our impression of Snape is even worse given that he'd just killed Dumbledore. We don't find out until the next book that Snape had been fighting on the same side as Harry the whole time, risking - and eventually losing - his life for the same cause. In retrospect, Rowling (boo, hiss) spends a lot of time in HBP dropping breadcrumbs that Harry's impression of Snape - and thus the reader's - is affected by bias and thus inaccurate.