aging belt

anonymous asked:

If muscle mass has only a small impact on fight abilities, what's with the prevalence of weight classes? And why are martial arts and boxing champions generally men?

See, you were trying to sneak around it with that start on muscle mass but this is about the idea that women can fight and or fight as well as a man. We get these questions a lot, and the answer is always the same. However, the question itself always displays the asker’s ignorance on the subject matter and about combat in general. You aren’t the first to go, “but boxing!!!” as if it means something or is a winning point. Usually, “muscles” is a go to standard because that’s what so many have been led to believe makes men superior.

When I get these questions, I can always tell this person who asked has never been to a martial arts competition of any kind. If they had, they would know Women’s Divisions are a standard practice. They would also know that with an exception of major tournaments where there are enough participants to justify it, the girls and the boys spar each other at the ranks below black belt. Sometimes, the boys win. Sometimes, the girls win. The breakdown is by age (adults/kids) and belt rank, not by gender.

I’ll tell you though, none of the boy’s in the black belt division wanted to jump in with the girls. Those girls were vicious. Men’s sparring was much more laid back, and slower. Women’s TKD… yeesh.

Again, in most martial arts tournaments there are no weight classes. The breakdown is by age and rank, with gender as a secondary when there are enough participants to justify multiple divisions. Weight classes are a boxing tradition and other, similar bloodsports which rears it’s head when they have enough participants to justify one. In many Taekwondo tournaments, you can easily end up with a 150 pound black belt sparring one weighing in at 250. And you won’t know what they weigh anyway because there is no “weighing in”.

I’ve explained before why there are weight classes in boxing. The moment you stop and realize that it’s a sport with a purpose to make money, the reasoning behind the weight classes will become fairly clear. (Hint: it’s entertainment and aesthetics.)

That said, the “boxing champions are generally men” crap is, well, crap. They don’t let women box men professionally, or at the collegiate level. It’s hard to make a case for muscle mass when citing professional sports where women are barred from competing. Now, there was a time when there were women boxers who boxed with each other and against men. In the 1800s, it was called bareknuckle boxing. This is the granddaddy version of modern boxing, when it was all back alleys without gloves or handwraps.

That said, women’s boxing is making a comeback at the collegiate level. There’s a National Champion in Women’s Collegiate Boxing walking around somewhere in the US right now. There are multiple female martial arts champions from a variety of disciplines wandering around all over the world. The UFC has opened a division for female fighters. This is like asking why there aren’t female wrestlers (there are) or female quarterbacks (there are). One of the greatest snipers in history is a woman.

You just don’t hear about them or the women who did the hard work pushing back to fight for the categories to be re-added.

That said, comparing the restrictions applied in sports to a person’s “fighting ability” is a mistake. You’re not asking an honest question so much as floundering for a popular misconception. It’s essentially the same as saying, “it’s ridiculous for there to be female fighters in this historical fiction because there were no female warriors”.

1) That assertion is patently false.

2) When one gender is barred from participating by the established rules of a modern sport whose history you don’t understand, you can’t then turn around and ask why most of the champions are men.

History makes a case for a lot of female combatants throughout history, but you’re not going to know they’re there if you don’t go looking for them. Their accomplishments tend to get wiped out.


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Josephine/ Adaar fuels my life, enough to make a comic and draw sketches of them all the goddamn time.

Also I MIGHT have exagerated Adaar’s size but oh well, the bigger size difference the better am I right?

(God of secrets and knowledge in elven pantheon of Dragon Age universe.)

“Dirthamen is the twin brother of Falon'Din. He is also known as a "twin soul” to Falon'Din, rather than merely a twin. Dirthamen is the elven god of secrets and knowledge, and master of the ravens Fear and Deceit, having found them in the Fade and outsmarted them both.“ (da-wiki)

Friendly reminder that Jaehee Kang

• lost her parents at a young age
• has a black belt in judo
• did amazingly well in her studies, probably graduated early
• lived with her uncle and aunt-in-law after losing her parents and her aunt wanted to kick her out as soon as she got into university
• was blamed by her aunt of not helping her cousins enough and basically got accused of stealing their luck when all she did was work hard
• probably had longer hair before Jumin had her cut it off for her job because the assistants kept getting into things with Mr. Chairman
• was desperate for a job and to become financially independent - probably because of her aunt
• is an expert at Word, foreign languages and processing industrial engineering
• puts herself down - she has called herself a coward and thought that she’s not good enough

my point is that Jaehee Kang is a character that needs to be appreciated so much more by some parts of the MysMes fandom

1920 Lover

Okay… this was my first attempt at smut, pretty sure it’s not amazing. i have no idea how to describe it. The fic is as wild and untamed as the Jazz Age, a.k.a. my favorite period of American History. yes, it does take place in 1920, where my Fitzgeralds at?! i really hope you like it. Thank you for reading x

The man who had caught her eye seemed smitten with another young lady, with legs exposed to the maximum, and she suspected that she was a dancer from the club she currently sat in. One of his arms was resting loosely around her slim waist, and another held a garnished clear drink, cold, the water droplets dripping onto his leather shoes. His fingers softly rubbed the small area of her hip that she shamefully allowed the world to see, eyes trained on her already swollen lips.

She had seen him duck his head down and press multiple kisses to her full mouth, biting, sucking, licking her bottom lip until she groaned with contentment. She had eventually deposited her drink on the floor besides her and looped her arms around his neck, sensually tugging his frame closer to him. The sight of the two wasn’t the thing that irked her. It was the prickling sensation that swept throughout her body, a sign of self resentment because she realized that she could never substitute the girl. Men like the curly haired fellow just didn’t take interest in girls like herself.

As her gaze fell to the floor, she heard the smack of their lips grow more urgent and she could only feel his massive hand weaving through her hair and the other under her mid length dress, tugging it further up her smooth skin, tilting her head back with a soft yank of her hair, full pink lips pressed the the base of her throat. Her thighs involuntarily squeezed together on the bench she sat on, swallowing roughly as she attempted to eradicate the vulgar thoughts she couldn’t hold back about a man with piercing green eyes.

She had seen him before. He was a frequent visitor of this pub, dancing half drunkenly with women, swaying their hips back and forth against his. His hand always pressed to the lucky girl’s hip, promising a secure grasp on her to make sure she didn’t run away from him. By the looks of the girls’ euphoric expressions on their perfectly shaped features, it was indubitable that the women had no such thoughts of deserting the man. He was simply too enthralling, too inviting to leave behind and offer their bodies to another man. So they stayed with the one who brought them the most pleasure.

Most nights, the man would loop his arm around his prey’s waist and nudge her with his side, indicating toward the double doors of the exit. Everytime he did so, the girl, who sadly watched him from afar, allowed her bruised heart to sink further than the previous night since she knew that once more, her chance to please him, and to be pleased by him, would never come. She wasn’t his type.

Hell, did her mouth water when she watched him strut into the light, eyes narrowed into the crowd to search for his next victim. He never glanced back at the girl who peered at him curiously from under her thick hair, nor did he ever feel her intense gaze on his body. The way he expertly danced, the dimples that indented his cheeks, the vein in his neck when he ran out of breath while kissing another girl’s lips. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she couldn’t get.

“You look like your cat just died,” her blonde friend besides her smirked. “Or you’ve found the man of your dreams.”

The girl shook her head uneasily and swept her hair off her forehead. “Nothing like that, sweetheart.” She got a good look at the other girl whose dress was in ruffles already. “Who did you neck?”

A lazy smile etched on the blonde’s lips and with a scrunch of her nose, she dreamily began: 

“His name is Charles. He was in the war. He’s mighty fine, all tall, dark, handsome. Why, he’s single also, and intelligent! He talks about all the places he’s visited after the war. Oh he could tame a tiger with that raspy voice of his. He said he has a beach house down in Miami. Did you know Miami was in Florida?”

The other girl had latched her eyes back on the man who was feverishly biting the bottom lip of the girl he had pressed against the jazz band. Her eyes burned holes into the area where the man’s hands tugged at the petite girl’s hair, entangling his fingers almost drunkenly. There was a triumphant smirk on her lips, from where the exiled girl could see, when the curly hair was pushed arrogantly to the side by her long fingers. The lion’s mane that once burdened his neck was brushed away.

“Who are you staring at?” the blonde girl suddenly piped, noticing the absence of her friend’s attention.

The girl’s vision flickered back to her concerned friend. “Nobody.”

The Blonde’s eyes turned into slits as she trudged over, blocking the girl’s view, and arched a brow. “Tell me. Now. Have you taken a fancy in a boy?”


“So you have!” she grinned, glancing behind her rapidly. “Who is it? How cute is he? Rate him!”

Normally, the girl would have rolled her eyes and changed the topic, but this time it was different. This time, she almost wanted to blurt out her desire she’d been feeling for weeks for this curly haired man, and perhaps her friend could lend a hand to her. “He’s not cute,” she began quietly, toying with her hands in front of her dress. “He’s…” she trailed off, uncertain.

“What? He’s what?” the Blonde jumped ecstatically, grasping the other girl’s shoulders, a haughty giggle falling from her painted lips.

What could she describe the man as? Attractive? Appealing? No, he was far better than that. He was worthy of more adjectives that gave her friend an inkling about the man’s startling captivating presence. Her voice dropped to a new low. “Sexy.”

The Blonde’s mouth formed an “O” and her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Now you’ve got to tell me who this sexy man is!”

“I-I don’t know his name!” she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “He wouldn’t want me either….he’s–”

The girl was cut off with a gasp when she witnessed a final kiss being delivered to the man, his girl caressing his face once more before she was lost in the crowd. However, her eyes meticulously trailed after the girl who abandoned the beautiful man only to find her arms linked with another man. The Blonde’s own eyes followed where her friend was once staring at, watching the mop of curly head bop his head to every note of the trumpet. She now understood.

“He’s alone now,” she hurriedly whispered, bending at her waist to fold her friend’s dress inward at the hem to expose more of her skin. A weak cry of reluctance fell from the girl on top, but went unanswered as she was maneuvered towards the wall where the man stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, smiling at the jazz band encouragingly.

“Don’t do this!” she cried to the Blonde but she received no reply from her, only a final push towards her prize.

The man’s stance didn’t waver as he now audibly hummed along with the aged woman on stage belting out lyrics into the half destroyed microphone for the half damaged ears to listen to. The girl shuffling unwillingly towards him faintly remembered a brief introduction to the song months ago and giddiness exploded throughout her stressed body as she carefully approached the stranger.

At the last moment, her hand just shy of touching the man’s shoulder, she faltered and frantically whipped her head around to check if her friend was still behind her. To her horror, there was no sign on the Blonde.

In that moment, the curly haired man turned around, eyes connecting with the alarmed girl’s, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. She swallowed harshly and dropped her awkward intruding hand, allowing it to slap against her thigh.

“Hello,” the man spoke in a rich, raspy voice, evidently amused by her expression. An accent. The man had an accent. From where, it was difficult to decipher. She needed him to speak more.


His expression turned confused, eyes darting behind her to perhaps catch a glimpse of a person who accompanied her. “Can I help yeh?” he inquired, pressing his lips into a tight line.

England. Definitely England. Maybe Birmingham, or some place farther north. He was probably in the war too. He looked so young. He probably knew all about the world.

“Yes?” she seemed confused herself. What did she want from him?

“An’ how would I?”

Damn that sultry accent! If only she had known what a charmer he actually was face to face and not just an object to admire from afar. Perhaps she had pushed this too far. Perhaps it was time for her to apologize and awkwardly lie that he wasn’t the man she had spent all night pining after. The man’s eyes roamed her face as he felt her tense up, somewhat visibly quivering in front of him. This was new. He’d never met a girl so high strung yet insecure. The man towered over her by a good seven inches or somewhere along those lines, making it easily for him to analyze her body language. She was conflicted.

Finally, she cleared her throat and coughed. “I’d like to dance. Take me to dance right now.”

She swore it wasn’t sweat that beaded her back, embarrassingly drenching her thin dress. Suddenly, idea of dancing wasn’t as interesting and she opened her mouth to apologize for her abject move on him.  

“Dance? Yeh wanna dance with me?” he clarified.

The girl’s confidence faltered. Maybe she really wasn’t his type of girl.

“Please,” she still smiled seductively. “You’ve given all the girls a chance besides me.”

A small, knowing smile then spread across his startling red mouth. He tilted his head down almost gentleman-like, but the girl was hasty to catch his sparkling orbs under the heavily blinding lights of the dance floor. Her hand was grasped, quite abruptly, between his lengthy digits, and raised to his lips where a silent kiss was pressed to the skin.

His back was turned to her as he began dragging her to the dance floor. The girl blinked as he led her towards the mass of bodies wildly dancing. When he finally spun around and opened his arms, he spoke again.

“‘M name is Styles, by the way.” he grinned, dimples popping. “Harry Edward Styles.”


Harry didn’t comment on her name like she had childishly desired him to, but all her conflicted feelings seemed to disappear into the musky air when his hand pressed against her hip.

“Well, Miss Y/N. If yeh wanna dance with me, then a girl’s wish is my command.”

For a quick moment, her eyes fluttered shut, a breathy moan falling from her lips. She relished in the feeling of his clearly dominant hand on her delicate hip, his thumb rubbing flames into the flimsy fabric of her dull dress, far too aroused to even be excited. The man she had been watching for weeks was finally touching her, and it was nonsexual, but it’s really all she needed.

The hapless luck she found herself engulfed in was nowhere to be discovered as the band slowed to an older, slower song. It was a perfect song to dance to at a wedding or family reunion. It seemed unacceptable, even inappropriate to be swayed by Harry, who was the type to be disgusted by any notion of romance, yet his hands didn’t drop from her waist. She didn’t pull away from him either, instead opting to throw her arms around his neck.

“I’ve neva’ seen yeh here befor’,” Harry spoke, pressing the girl to his chest. She nearly moaned once more but humiliated from the first time, she bit her tongue.

“You’ve just never noticed me,” she boldly replied, shocking herself.

“Smart mouth yeh’ve got,” Harry noted, chuckling.

The woman’s voice at the stage hushed and the lights dimmed.

“I usually don’t speak to anyone. Dunno what’s gotten into me tonight,” the girl muttered disappointedly. Harry’s chest continued to rumble with laughter.

“Then wha’ is the special occasion tonigh’? Taken a fancy in me?”

His cockiness was evident in his smug voice. His hands were rubbing her lower back, a strong attempt to instigate the flow of hormones, deepened voice causing her jaw to clench.

“Wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” he insisted. “Jus’ say it. I already know wha’ it is.”

The girl fingered his collar gingerly with her index finger, feeling the soft fabric until her her digits touched his skin. The flesh burned her own but she made no attempt to halt. She hoped the rest of his body was just as soft.

“If you know what it is, then isn’t that enough?”

Harry didn’t reply but he didn’t stop dancing either. The girl in his arms swallowed thickly as the tension grew between the two and awkwardness arose.His fingers still rubbed her back and she still traced his collarbones.

“So yeh want to sleep with me, but yeh can’t look a’ me?” he demanded suddenly on cue when the song ended.

She hadn’t noticed her gaze wasn’t directed on him, preoccupied by the thoughts running through her head about the rest of his body under the dark suit and bowtie. She giggled as a response and jolted when the sound of the trumpet blared into their ears. Her hand slapped against her mouth.

“I didn’t even notice! I’m sorry. I really am! I was just thinking…”

“About wha’?” he narrowed his eyes.

She wondered if she should speak her vulgar thoughts aloud. In a haze of boldness and stupidness, she blurted it.

“About how you taste,” she admitted.

Harry stopped. His limbs were torn away from hers and his eyes intensified. She didn’t mean for it to happen but her panties slowly began to drench under his gaze. She evenly glared back at him. Without a further notice, he propelled her against his chest and dug a hand into her hair, swiftly tilting her head back. She could see the feet of the frantic flappers on the dancefloor and she thought he was about to snap her neck. He licked his lips and inhaled her scent before pressing a wet kiss to the base of her throat.

“Yeh smell like… flowers,” he mumbled against her skin which trembled happily under him. His tongue peeked out of his mouth, swiping just under her ear, a shudder breaking her bent figure. Before she could slam against the floor, Harry’s hands clasped behind her and forced her upright, flustered.

“Yeh ‘ere with anyone?”

It took a couple tries before she understood what he was asking and she muttered something about her blonde friend who seemed insignificant now. She wasn’t particularly useful at this exact moment. “Nobody important.”

The answer seemed acceptable to Harry, so he grinned lopsidedly and placed another kiss discretely under her jaw. He murmured, “So fuckin’ soft. Beautiful.”

Harry snaked an arm around her waist and littered more kisses on her neck before huffing and pulling her towards the exit of the bar.

It was simple finding a cab at this hour at night; they were perched by the curb, a cigarette dangling from the driver’s mouth. The pack of cigarettes in her own clutch now felt heavy with burden. The Blonde had stuffed a pack in her bag in case she needed to offer it to a man as a bribe to speak with her. Once Harry had slid in besides her in the back seats and given the lazy driver the address to his abode, she shakily reached into her bag and produced one.

“Would you care for a smoke?” she inquired as the car began to move.

Harry’s bottom lip disappeared into his mouth as his eyes darted from her beautiful face to the outstretched white stick. He reluctantly shook his head and sighed, “In the army…in the army we were trained t’ quit smoking. Said it would affect the way we fight. I hav’nt touched one since.”

A sigh of relief exhaled from the girl’s mouth. As the cab began, she tossed the pack of cigarettes out the window, praying someone healthy would not pick it up and use it to their disadvantage. Harry’s fingers drummed impatiently against his knee, and it carried on for far too long before he scooted over towards his girl and placed a hand on her thigh. He bent down and connected their lips quickly before she could stare at him quizzically.

The cab driver grunted in distaste but his mouth was heavy and hot on hers, forcing her tight against the window of the car. He tasted faintly of the drink he sipped innocently on the moment she laid eyes on him this night when she spotted him with the unfaithful woman. The mere thought of her ignited the fire in the pits of her stomach that ultimately caused her to wrap her arms around his neck once more and caress his bottom lip with her warm tongue. In response, Harry emitted a noise that made her shove her legs together, desperately hoping they made it in time to his home. She wanted to encourage more noises from him, somewhere from between his legs, but she held her lust off.

The cab driver coughed gruffly and glared at the two birds in the back, aggressively kissing on one another. He really didn’t get paid enough to endure this every night.

Harry broke the kiss first. “I must have yeh know, Y/N,” he gasped for air. “Never done this befor’.”

“Me neither,” Y/N muttered, eager to feel his tongue against hers again, placing her palms on either side of his head, curling his stray hairs with her manicured fingernails. He seemed to love it.

The cab driver coughed again, louder and angrily. Harry shot him a glance and knitted his brows together. “Got a problem do yeh? Don’t get any lovin’ at home? Probably not. How about yeh let me neck my girl and yeh can live your miserable fuckin’ life all…”

“I think we’ve arrived, Harry,” the girl gushed miserably, apologizing profusely to the driver. Harry rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, holding a wallet in his hand. He pulled out a crisp 5 dollar bill and handed them to the man. The driver squawked and grabbed it greedily, thanking Harry numerous times.

“For bearing the make out session,” he grinned and then gripped the girl’s hand, leading her to his home.

Harry was evidently wealthy but in a hushed manner. Immediately upon entrance, the girl noticed the neatness of the home. Harry shrugged off his coat and held his hand in front of him, waiting for the pretty girl to follow him inside. A chandelier hung from the ceiling of the foyer, polished wood beneath their feet. Her eyes widened immensely as she drank in his beautiful living room and grand staircase to the bedrooms, she presumed. There was no way this man lived alone.

“Yeh like it,” he said, amused.

“This is all yours?” Her expression resembles the cab drivers.

Harry nodded but then faltered. “Actually, I live with my mates. There’s 3 of them.”

Upon hearing this, the girl paled, glancing uneasily at the man who gazed down at her with his charming green eyes. His eyes were trained on her lips, almost fond over her, until he noticed her look. “But they’re not here! See—”

Then, he proceeded to call out three names, none of which she caught, and listened to his voice echo back against the white walls. He sent a grin to her direction and and tilted his head questionably.

The girl nodded and entangled their fingers bravely together, taking a moment to ponder about the length of his digits, before jutting her chin towards the direction of the stairs, almost as if asking for permission to roam his sanctuary. His thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist, a soothing gesture that should have calmed her burning skin but only added to her excitement.

His bedroom was different that she would have imagined. There was a guitar in the corner of the white room, a record player and black discs scattered around the room. Mortified, Harry stuttered to explain himself. “Didn’ except any girl’s up ‘ere tonight. Didn’ bothe’ cleanin’ up an’ all.”

The girl picked up one disc and inspected the cover. A haughty grin spread across her lips as she looked at Harry through her lashes, then placed the disc on the phonograph. The music erupted into the room and Harry couldn’t possibly be more humiliated, cheeks blazing red. “Bessie Smith? I took you for a jazz guy. But you’re just so surprising aren’t you?”

The curly haired man blinked slowly, as if he were in a trance. “Yeh know her?”

She nodded. “Of course. Only disc my parents own. All I listen to when I’m home.”

His hands pressed against her cheeks, murmuring, “I think I jus’ fell in love with yeh.”

His lips molded on hers, soft and sweet. There was no urgency, to hurry to remove each other’s clothes, but the lust was still prominent. His lips were warm as ever, something she’d never be able to forget. His hand shut off the phonograph, much to her dismay, and he must have felt her upsetting pout because he drew back and stared down at her with hopeful eyes.

“Keep her on.”

Harry laughed. “Yeh wanna listen to some blues while makin’ love?”

The girl shrugged, and looked eagerly around his colossal figure. “Have you got anything more…” she trailed off, unsure of what she yearned to listen to, a brief moment of deja vu to the beginning of the night

“Romantic?” Harry offered, bending to the floor, rummaging through his vinyls.

After a couple minutes of searching, he let out a noise of triumph from the base of his throat and held up a dusted record. He replaced Bessie Smith and patiently waited for the music to begin.

A soft piano filled the room, one that she recognized, but was distracted by Harry’s hands touching the peaks of her shoulders, rubbing the pads of his fingers on the soft skin. He muttered something about the music being perfectly aligned with the girl: gentle and relaxing. She’d blushed furiously.

Sprawled on the bed, Harry at her neck, she lifted her hips to earnestly touch his, rolling against the hardened bulge, eliciting a throaty groan from the the man. He invaded her senses, as well as he body, pressed her down onto the mattress, a hand on her hip to avoid her from running away from him.

His shirt was the first to leave as she disrobed him, throwing it somewhere on top of the black vinyls, along with her dress, eyes widening at the ink that littered his body. She traced a cursive letter just below his collarbones as he worked on providing her with delicious bruises on her skin. He momentarily lifted his head and whispered, “Gemma. ‘M sister’s name.”

He licked a stripe from her jaw to the base of her ear, a low moan falling from her lips when he bit down on her earlobe.

There had been other men who excited her so, but none treated her like this. Harry’s mouth was attacking her precious skin, yet his hands were rubbing the exposed skin of her back soothingly to assure her all was well. His swollen lips pressed once more, heavily, against the girl’s before shifting on his knees. His nimble fingers undid his belt quickly, tossing it on the floor, ready to pounce on the girl again until he head the sickening crack of a beloved vinyl.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, watching his horror filled expression. He struggled with deciding which was more important, the girl or the record he paid graciously for.

He rolled his hips against hers, puckering his lips, pressing wet, spongy kisses down her breasts, fingering the material of her baby blue panties. They were cute, he concluded, they were really cute and she was the cutest. Her bra was unclasped, his palms touching every inch of her chest, kissing and loving.

“Yeh taste so heav’nly,” he breathed in between her shallow moans of pleasure, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking softly.

Fuck!” she cursed, knitting her fingers into his hair, tugging harshly at the roots.

“Yeh like tha’?” he smirked, repeated the process to her other side. Unable to speak beneath the white pleasure he was providing her, she weakly nodded and leaned down for one more kiss. He complied, dragging her lower lip with his teeth, another moan rolling off her tongue.

The piano in the background had died off, and a new piece started, a slower ballad one, with more violins than the previous. As soon as the girl recovered, she laughed, “Debussy really gets me.”

“No,” he growled, obviously jealous. “I do. I did tha’ to yeh.”

“Right but Debussy still gets me.”

He rolled his eyes and latched his fingers onto her panties before halting. He looked at her with intense eyes, not from lust, but with fascination and gasped. “Yeh know him?”

Again, she nodded, perplexed by his interest in the music rather than the task at hand. “My favorite growing up.”

Harry’s face lit up. “Same ‘ere!”

The matter of music intrigued him more. Harry’s dominant aura broke apart as he scratched his shoulder thoughtfully and watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. She waited impatiently for him to touch her burning skin again, preferably her hips but the contact never came. Instead, Harry’s mouth opened to speak lovingly about the composer.

Strangely enough, he began toying with her hair, twisting the ends, running his hand through the roots. “Who else do yeh listen t’?”

The girl stared up at him incredulously. “What?”

He smiled innocently, shrugging. “Wanna know mo’ about who yeh listen t’.”

“But we’re making love!” she cried, sitting up. Harry’s eyes darkened once more as realization washes over his features. He waved a hand in the air dismissively, scrunching his nose as he crossed his legs in front of her, eagerly drumming his fingertips against his clothed knee.

“But I wanna know. We’ll do tha’ afterwards,” he said as if there were nothing wrong with it.

The girl just watched him in disbelief as he took it upon himself to list the composers and artists he found peace in and adored them to his heart’s content. He mentioned some artists that she knew and others she’d never heard of. At one point, he’d even gotten up to change the sides of the disc on the phonograph before sitting back in front of her. His eyes never left her shocked face but he paid no attention to either. Instead, he rambling on and on about music and not her.

He talked excitedly about jazz and his adventures involving jazz that had shaped his life. The girl eventually found his discarded shirt on the floor and buttoned it up, concealing herself from him.

Finally, she lunged forward and grabbing his hands roughly, bursting into a cry. “Is it me?”

Harry blinked unknowingly. His eyes softened at the girl’s watery features, her walls threatening to break. “Wha’?”

“You’re not sleeping with me!”

“I said afterwards, didn’ I?”

“I didn’t come here just to hear you talking about…about—”

His warm hands pressed to her face gingerly, shaking his head as she continued to blubber her words, one tear falling down her cheeks.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. I didn’ mean to—”

“Do you not want me? I can leave if you want, Harry,” she sniffled, self loathe and insecurity returning. She should have known. She should have known she wasn’t his type. She should have known.

“I do want yeh!” Harry suddenly chuckled, dropping a heavy kiss to her mouth. “Brought yeh here, didn’ I?”

She nodded, but still looked skeptical. “So why aren’t we? I know I’m not very interesting…”

Harry continued laughing heartily, which irked the girl. He looked absolutely breathtaking laughing with immense vigor, she wanted to press her tongue against his dimples, but it annoyed her how much he didn’t care about her feelings.

“Why are you laughing?” she demanded, wiping her tears on his shirt’s sleeve. “It’s not funny!”

“It is though!” he grinned, pinching her cheeks. “Yeh’re so fuckin’ beautiful and ‘m happy about all this. I really am, kitten, the cutest girl I’ve ev’r met.”

“Then why are you—” she protested but Harry didn’t let her continue.

The green eyed man just continued. “Fo’ once, a girl has brilliant taste ‘n music an’ attracted to me! That never ‘appens. I’m jus’ thankful for it.”

The girl had reached a verdict. The man was insane.

She huffed stubbornly and sat up straighter. Her annoyance had reached a peak and she had enough of his childish games. So instead of convincing him with her mouth, she slowly slid a hand down to where her panties rested snugly on her hips, and snapped the band experimentally. Harry looked pained from where he sat across the bed on his knees, and the girl paid no mind as she slipped her hand beneath her panties, letting out the smallest breathy moan.

“Pet,” Harry said in a strangled voice. “Why are yeh doin’ this?”

Her middle finger rubbed her clit in a circular motion, wetness drenching her small panties even more. Her head was carelessly thrown back as she concentrated on showing the man that she in fact did not need him to receive pleasure. “Can’t wait. All you’ve talked about for the past fifteen minutes is jazz and I think I deserve some attention too.”

“Of course yeh do,” Harry groaned, a strand of hair falling into his eyes as he shuffled closer to the girl, touching her smooth legs gently. He grasped her wrist and slowly pulled her hand away from her own personal torture. Her digits were slick with her wetness; Harry drew them closer before engulfing his mouth over them, lapping and sucking her juices while she watched him with a stunned expression. He groaned, “So fuckin’ good ‘ere too. Can I get a taste, baby, just one taste.”

He pried her legs apart, grabbing her ankles and gliding her down the bed, the buttoned shirt she adorned leaving her stomach on display as Harry dragged her panties down.

“Daddy jus’ wants a taste of his kitten,” he mumbled against the soft skin of her thigh where he promptly left butterfly kisses. Her hands had returned to their rightful throne in his hair, messy locks and fingers.

“Yes,” she implored. “Kitten wants… daddy, taste please.”

Her mouth went slack as Harry hummed approvingly and pressed his tongue flat against her center, nose bumping accidently against her clit. His tongue retreated back into his mouth; eyes nearly rolling at the sweetness that she left on him, not hesitant to dive back into the haven. Although he didn’t need to, Harry licked his lips, gathered some spit, and dipped the tip of his tongue between her slick slit, eagerly lapping her up, occasionally biting the sensitive skin above her pleasuring muscle. She mewled and tugged on his hair so roughly, he believed he had lost a couple strands of his precious locks. Usually, he forbid the girls he slept with from touching his hair, but this girl was different. The pain made him excited.

Harry pulled his head up and grinned at her, lips still shiny from her juices. “Is daddy doin’ alrigh’ down ‘ere?”

The girl’s eyes had fallen shut, too engrossed by the tortuous mouth that belonged to Harry, but she managed to weakly nod back, lifting her hips readily. Harry licked around his mouth to emphasize how much he loved her taste.

“Yeh teased daddy, and he didn’t really like it,” Harry continued, using his free hand that wasn’t holding her hips down to trace her entrance. She gasped when he slid one finger into her warmth, groaning himself at the feel of her tight walls. “Daddy’s gonna punish you fo’ being so fuckin’ greedy.”

“Sorry, daddy!” she exclaimed as her body trembled with waves of pleasure.

“Sorry’s not gonna do it this time.”

Harry’s voice had gotten deeper as the strain in his pants grew more painful, arousal finally catching up to him. To think he would waste away this night talking about some artist he could only faintly recall now!

His hand lightly came down on the inside of her thigh as he continued to pump his longest finger in and out of her, causing a heavy groan to fall from her lips. Grinning at the perfect response, he smacked the skin harder, watching in fascination as his palm’s outline looked up at him mockingly. He assumed it hurt, he had gone so far with a woman, but the pretty girl’s head only rolled to the side, hips desperately lifting again, asking for more. He could only imagine what her tightness felt around his cock…

“Fuck tha’!” he groaned, leaning over to his side table to grab a rubber. She paid no attention to him as her eyes had scrunched closed again, moaning softly every so often. “Help me, please kitten.”

Y/N’s eyes immediately fluttered open and using the strength she had once Harry slipped out of her and she shoved her sweaty hair back. Once on her knees, she watched him discard him absurdly black dress pants and boxer briefs. If her mouth wasn’t watering already, it definitely was now. The thought of blurting out her initial motif was embarrassing, but she had to mention it to him. It wasn’t everyday someone hooked up with a man with a beautiful cock. “So pretty,” she gulped. “So thick and pretty.”

Harry swallowed a moan at her words. She lifted a hand to wrap around the base but he was quick to slap it away, sending her a warning look. “Not today.”

She nodded half heartedly before taking the condom from him, opening it with her teeth. She rolled it into his tip, along with his shudder, and rolled it down effectively down his length. Grinning with triumph, she laid back down and splayed her hair around her, holding her arms out for him.

Harry leaned down and bent his neck to feverishly kiss the girl’s reddened mouth, parting her lips easily with his warm tongue, while also rubbing the head of his dick against her clit. The final plead and whimper of “please daddy” that escaped her lips was the broken barrier between the two people. No longer were they strangers, whines falling from both their lips as Harry pushed in slowly, easily sinking into her.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, bunching the sheets in his fists besides her head, closing his eyes tightly. “So tight, kitten. So fuckin’—”

He was cut off by a sharp cry from beneath him, full of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him and eagerly begged him for more.

“Yeh jus’ took me so well. Love, you’re so fuckin’ good to me!” he praised as fed her miniature thrusts, dipping his head down to linger in the middle of her chest, mouth hovering over her breasts. She mewled and opened up for him again, mouth slack, eyes clearly showing just how fucked out she already was.

Once he was incapable of restraining himself, he pleadingly asked permission softly from the girl who nodded honestly, tugging on his messy curls deliciously as she if had been taught to by someone. He began to feed her harsher thrusts, heavily breathing.

“Feel so good Harry!” she cried, clawing at his chest every few seconds before sliding them back into his hair. “So so good!”

“Tell me,” Harry demanded, the sounds of their bodies meeting together now audible. “Tell me how good I feel.”

Blinded by the pleasure, Y/N muffled her screams by biting in her palm, something Harry forced her to give up after the first time she’d done it. Instead of scolding her, he simply grasped her wrists and held them above her head. “Tell me, kitten. Tell me how good daddy’s fuckin’ yeh.”

“So big! Stretching me so much, biggest I’ve ever taken daddy, gonna make me cum so quickly.” The end of her statement turned into a hearty whimper.

For a moment, while the two gazed at each other in the eyes, they wondered if they were in love, but the thought was absurd, yet the pleasure so satisfying, that must have been it.

“Yeh’re gonna cum befo’ I do, go’ it? ‘S your reward for bein’ so good for me tonigh’.”

A high pitched yell came from the girl who lifted her body and pressed her head into the crook of Harry’s neck, whimpering against the sweaty skin. His hand released her from the incarcerating hold and wrapped around her back instead, relishing in the feeling of her breasts against his chest.

“Fuckin’ me s-so good,” she cried, body quivering. “Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, Harry!”

Waves of pleasure brushed over her entire body as her back arched, a never before noise filling every inch of the room: a squeal and a scream mixed deliciously together which made Harry eventually lose his strong hold on himself, allowing release to wash over his tired limbs as well. The girl had shut her eyes for a final time, squeezing the base of his neck and instigated his release by meeting his hips every time he pounded into her. “So fuckin’ good,” she sniffled against him.

Harry didn’t want to let the girl down from his grip, only for her safety as she would be crushed under his weight. So he discreetly pulled out of her, and held her tightly in his arms until her breathing had return to a somewhat normal pulse.

“That was good daddy,” she whispered hoarsely, when Harry tilted his head to press a small kiss to her sweaty forehead, rubbing her hands across his chest, sinking her nails into his muscular form. “Worth the wait.”

Harry then laughed and unwound arms around her, letting her upper half torso hit the comfort of the sheets. With a scrunched nose, he pulled off the condom with a wet smack, tied it, and threw it into the direction of his waste. He sincerely hoped it fell in. “Yeh’re very welcome,” he grinned down at her, glancing around for his clothes. His boxers were laid neatly next to him which he hastily slid up his legs, watching the girl do the same with her panties. While he searched for the remainder of his tossed clothes, the girl observed his disheveled state, still so enthralling. She wanted to continue kissing and loving on him.

“Can’t seem to find m’shirt…” he spoke in a deep voice, but trailed off when his eyes caught onto the white button up she was still wearing. He smirked. “‘M gonna need m’top back.”

Y/N held the hem of the shirt up innocently. “This old thing? But I won’t have anything to wear. It’s too cold for a dress now.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, delighted that there was no awkwardness between him and his girl, unlike the multiple other girls. There was a definite chance, from the look on her cherubic face, to her beautiful mind that Harry had indeed fallen in love with the girl in one night. He sighed, traces of her still there on his tongue, and connected their lips effectively together, murmuring against her sinful mouth: “I’ll let yeh keep my shirt...if yeh tell me yeh fav’rite artists.”