over this ache

My heart is still aching over Manchester like I’m in absolute shock. If anyone has been effected by this and wants to talk I’m 100% here. Honestly, have not stopped thinking about it since it happened. Heart goes out to all the families effected by this 💔

u know i’ve expressed my love for fake married/fake dating many, many times but like. is anything better. is anything better on this earth. does any trope or genre truly care for us quite like this one. let us reflect on a few of the gifts that fake married/dating consistently gives us:

  • character a asks “hey, will you pretend to be my date for a week for [convoluted excuse that could easily be solved without a fake relationship]?” character b, fully convinced of the futility of their DEEP AND UNREQUITED LOVE, figures this’ll be a chance to spend time with them and possibly put their feelings to rest. character b is always wrong & it is always amazing.
  • having to SHARE A LIVING SPACE FOR ARBITRARY FIC REASONS. having to see eachother in their pajamas first thing in the morning, messy haired, drowsy eyed and soft faced. going from “you can have the bathroom first” to brushing their teeth beside eachother and feeling like this closeness has always existed (at the same time, painfully aware that it won’t always). 
  • related to the last one – “"practicing”“ their casual touching so that it’s easier when they’re in public. feeling SWOOPS OF ARDOR AND AGONY when they feel the brush of a hand on their neck, or an arm loop around their waist. don’t you love how fake marrieds/dates are always method actors who must FULLY INHABIT their roles. i love it. i live for it. 
  • bed sharing. :^) we all pretend we’re bigger than this but we are not. 
  • "kiss me while everyone’s looking.”
  • the character who wasn’t aware they were in love (maybe always had been) until the fake relationship is in full swing, realizing they have to sort their feelings out before their time together is up. sometimes they succeed and angst is minimal. most of the time they don’t, really.
  • telling eachother “i love you” in public and meaning it, heart aching over it, but bELIEVING THE OTHER 2 BE ACTING. my soul is still 15, this garbage still gets me. u don’t get pining better than this.
  • the days leading up to the end of the arrangement where one of them, still confused and muddy about their Feelings and unsure how to break things off, stiffens to the casual, reflexive touching and puts their walls back up. the other one accepts and respects this as the end of their agreement and squashes back down all the hope they ever had, stuffs it next to the heartbreak they’re ignoring deep in their chest. 
  • when they realize they’re actually fully and enthusiastically mutual about the way they feel and it’s, like, two parts euphoria and one part agony because they just cannOT BELIEVE, the happiness tears them in two. maybe there are weepy or laughing kisses. i don’t know but i’m usually invested like 2000%. i love fake dating/marrieds. 
  • I LOVE EM.

what if medusa was a real woman. i mean: what if the woman with snakes in her hair was once a tiny girl with beautiful braids in her black hair.

what if the stories came from her smooth hands. when she was six she could make pottery that looked like flowers blooming in your palms. could carefully create replicas of any plant she saw.

and medusa was smart. ran from home, tucked up her hair so it looked short, made herself into a little boy. besides, they liked pretty boys. medusa at school with top grades, sending her unknowable stares at the other men. because the whole time she’s learning the planes of their faces, the way they look while they’re thinking, the slight twist of their hand that meant they were lying. 

medusa going home to sketch every little figure. comes to school in the morning with her hands caked in pottery clay. medusa learns. scrubs dirt on her face to mimic their planes. tilts her head the right way when she’s thinking. doesn’t twist her hand when she’s lying.

in her back yard, a little garden grows. statues of ceramic boys only three feet tall. at first, she can’t quite get the faces right. men are not the same as plants. there is something weird about the proportions she uses. medusa frowns.

she starts making animals instead for a bit, annoyed and disheartened. she’d always just been naturally good at it, and the fact she couldn’t just make something felt as if she’d lost her gift.

she makes cats and dogs and her neighbor’s birds and keeps going.

the snake wasn’t her favorite. he just wouldn’t leave her alone, so she gave up and let him sleep on her in the cold nights. besides, he was a small garden snake, couldn’t even bite her hard, just wanted a place of warmth. she let him rest on the angles of her shoulders, right near her neck, even if he sometimes forgot and held her too hard. that was okay. when she was little, she forgot too, sometimes, and shattered the slim walls of her pottery. the snake had a lot of growing up to do.

she loved no one. not because she was cold-hearted. just because it wasn’t something she wanted. she was busy with her artwork.

she chose an apprenticeship under a master craftsman. his sculptures made her breath stop. she was careful in the workshop, kept her things simple, kept her mouth shut. he called her stupid often. she would duck her head. sometimes she would make mistakes on purpose. all the while he only made sculptures of men. said there was no beauty in women. often made savage remarks about those they saw in the market.

and all the while, she watched him. she watched him and she went home and sketched. this is how his hands were when he made a vine. this is how they were when shaping a nose.

and her back yard garden would grow. little boys became her master, over and over and over, until she could get his jaw right. ceramic became sculpture.

he was who took her to athena’s temple. who shouted at her about how beautiful the statues were against her own. every week he’d come back and shame her. asked how the women there were smarter than the man she was supposed to be. medusa ducked her head and grit her teeth.

in her back yard, she made them. she made every god and goddess she’d seen in the city. her favorite was athena. she ached over her features. had spent so long in the world of men, was blinded by the beauty of women.

it was a black night. and medusa thought her master had left the temple before her. she loosened all the bindings that kept her from breathing. took her hair out. worshiped in peace. placed on athena’s alter a small and beautiful thing. the goddess, head tilted, thinking.

when he found medusa, what made him angry was not her small frame. it was the statute. a delicate thing. much better than the ones he had ever made.

he took it and snapped it in half. threw it deep in the temple’s well to rot. pulled her by her hair. demanded to know where it had come from.

medusa, angry, tired of hiding, tired of late nights and being a boy and pretending: medusa, athena-mad, spat on him. “I did it,” her voice is strong and full of hatred, “A woman made something better than a man could.”

He meant to kill her. To bash her head into the temple steps, claim it was an accident - or better yet, the spite of a god made flesh.

when he grabs her hair, the goddess bites back. athena, patron of creators, patron of the arts, patron of girls and those who are smart - she turns medusa’s hair into snakes. 

it is a quick little thing, darts out and draws blood, almost falls from her hair as a result. she catches the creature and runs, runs until she feels numb.

and what if - while her master is making up a story about poseidon and athena’s rage, explaining medusa’s back yard full of frozen men as being evidence of her evilness - what if medusa finds friends in blind women. and they teach her how to feel what she is seeing. how to use her hands with her eyes closed to make maps of whatever she holds. she starts with plants again. her snake is big now, and has babies. she moves on to their little wiggling forms, amused when they make tiny rings around her fingers. she does not live in a cave. she dresses as a man again, goes to market, sells her roses and vines and beautiful (simple) things. buys herself and the women a nice house out beyond all the noise of it. fills their garden with frozen men.

when the men come to kill her - because now her name is known, it is whispered, sticks in the throat - they don’t find her. they find a tall man who tells them: look in the mountains. when they don’t come back, it’s no fault of medusa’s. frankly, she thinks they should have brought more supplies than their swords into the deep woods. she’s not cruel. when they leave, she makes a statue of them, as her version of a memorial.

but one man is not like the others. he finds her with her hair down, humming, dancing around a marble stone. her snakes are warming in the sun.

medusa? he asks her. it’s a name she hasn’t heard in a long while.

she is tired of being hunted. she just wants to make art. she waits for the sword point. but he hesitates. looks at her full in her face.

strikes a bargain. if she makes him a head for his shield, he will tell the others that she is good and dead. and he will sell her art to better patrons when he could - although he suggests at least hiding the signature she has with maybe a little less snake-like scrawl - he would make her name known.

but medusa knows men. knows they will chomp down on a horror story faster than that of the artist. she is already permanent. she says: no, here’s what happens.

after many months, he has his shield. she wouldn’t let him leave with the first nine hundred versions, always found something wrong with them. he grows fond of her in this time, agrees to her terms. even he can’t really look at the shield head-on. she has captured a scream, a rage, too much. it is so utterly human and at once not that it makes his skin crawl.

where medusa’s blood drops, serpents sprawl. or at least, that’s the code she uses. when he finds little girls who can make art, he sends them to her. 

medusa does not expect to be known for the school that she starts. she is a women artist in a time of men, and her name is already dead to them. but i know medusa. i know her. she is known for her work.

after all, who can speak about medusa without mentioning how she froze the world?

Model Sessions (m)

“You’re such a masterpiece… a masterpiece I want to get a taste of.”

Synopsis: Your nude modeling portfolios are due in a few days and, with all your sketches an absolute mess, Namjoon offers to help; though, his idea of aiding your lack of skill is different that what you thought…

[cr.]

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader // artist!au

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 6.7k

Includes: Blowjobs & fingering ,’:^)

A/N: my friend and i had a talk abt her nude modeling portfolio, then with my thirst for joonie, this spiraled out

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Woman - Bucky x Reader - One Shot

A/N - Woman by Harry Styles was a huge inspiration for this song and my imagination.

Bucky x Reader - You want to play office.

Warnings: Smut.

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Summary: Five snapshots of Jughead’s and Betty’s life when Jughead had nowhere to stay and Betty was hiding him in her room. 

Read on AO3

(Okay, I know this is long; I know. But seriously I can’t help the fact that I want to fill entire books with how adorably cute those two are! <3 So grab your snacks and drinks and dive in hahaha! Also I’m sorry if there are any typos, it’s really late and I’m way tired to notice my mistakes. I hope you all like it guys!!!) 


Two days had passed since the night Betty Cooper had stormed inside the Blue & Gold office like a wild force of nature, catching Jughead on the act as well as learning about his secret of not having a place of his own anymore, and coexisting under the same roof was going smoothly for the two friends. Every morning they would wake up way earlier than most people in their town, and especially than Betty’s parents, and Jughead, although not being a morning person, would sneak out with a grateful smile plastered on his lips and hands full with every new snack Betty seemed to always prepare for him, and every night she would sneak him back in once she knew her parents were retired to their bedroom for the night. Their system seemed to be flawless.

Today was a low-key Wednesday night and the first time they had the house entirely to themselves, since the Coopers had yet another late night at the newspaper, the two teens finally enjoying some peace and quiet without closed doors and hush whispers. Betty was sprawled over the bed, text books and colorful markers all around her as the blonde girl was trying to finish her homework, elbow holding herself up and chin resting on her palm, head aching over an answer sheet and calves crossing and uncrossing behind her. Jughead was over the window with blinds shut – he had made Betty promise that his secret would stay between them – sitting comfortably on her white desk chair and having his long legs crossed at the ankles, outstretched against the wooden window frame, while typing furiously on his laptop that rested on his lap. Since no one was at home he didn’t have to lurk at his usual booth at Pop’s. Plus, he found Betty’s presence a very good remedy for writer’s block.

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Relax

Harry X Reader: Smut

In which Harry distracts you from your irrational fear of flying.

Request? Yes

Author’s note: This was inspired by a video that someone sent to me! Also, I’ve only flown twice, so let me know if I’ve got some wonky details.


This is not a first. You’ve flown plenty of times. In fact, you were just on a plane a week ago, but it never gets any easier. Now, you’re boarding a flight in New York City that’s meant to take you back to London.

“Oi! Careful, love,” Harry chides, gripping just above your elbow to keep you upright. You’ve stumbled over the entrance to the plane, embarrassingly enough. You blush and thank him quietly under your breath, continuing down the aisle to your seats. Slipping into the next to the window, you pull the shade down before tucking your bag under the seat in front of you. Harry slips in beside you and raises his eyebrows.

“Y/N, yeh don’ wanna see the view?”

You glare at him briefly. He knows how you get. Heights really aren’t your forte, and you have no desire to stare down at the Earth from hundreds of miles in the air. It’s bad enough knowing how far up you are without seeing it.

“Only jokin’, love. C’mon. You’re fine. Flyin’s not so bad.” He pats your thigh and grins, partly to comfort you and partly to tease you. He finds it funny and endearing how much you hate flying.

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- WHERE LOVE AND VIOLENCE ARE ONE IN THE SAME
1.) Although you blush in pink , your knuckles are flushed in the same color , raw. How could something so soft and slow take the same hue as the most cold and careless part of you?
2.) The ocean curls and tumbles, the same way your spine crumbles ,as you both are bent over aching for breath ,until the sun rests , and your tides recede and you finally breathe. How could the violent crashing of waves ,resemble you, doubled over with your hands covering your face?
3.) The force and motion one would use to leave lovers carvings ,on the sheet of skin that conceals where the heart is, is the same amount of force and motion that needs to be issued, to bite down your quivering lip when you realize your body has been misused. How could an act of love ,feel so innocent in your heart and skin a mile above , yet a mile beneath, seep so deep , below the skin , where you swore you wouldn’t let anyone in?

Here’s the thing about selkies: they’re creatures of water. Our air is their water, in a way. Have you ever noticed how streams of water over your face make you blink and shut your eyes? The wind does the same thing to them.


If you ever see humans with eyes too big, too limpid, that cannot stay open against a gust, make sure you don’t fall in love.

It can be painful. Especially if they can never look at you.


I control the winds, you see. All the air that runs through this city (never mind its name) is mine while it is here. In a way, the life that lives here is mine, too. I am the gardener, you see.


I do not boast when I say I am the best gardener for miles. I sow more seeds, plant more things than the average green thumb could aspire to. I am the one who carries the pollen around, making more of the beautiful flora that this quaint little city is known for. I don’t bother the soils too much, instead blow fallen greenery into it. Fertile soils, you see. And I do more than that. I pick just the right plants so that there’s always flowers around, always light and joy. Just the right flowers that are always close at hand to spark the blossomings of romance. 


It is one of my hobbies (indeed there are many) to blow hair just the right way, to cause eyelashes to flutter, precious things snatched out of hands, blown just the right way, into the right hands. I am the reason the eyes meet, the reason for shy smiles and spontaneous offers of “Coffee, sometime?”


There is nothing I love more than watching love blossom among my loves, my loves that populate thus city with their busy, determined faces that would too easily forget to “Stop awhile, and smell the roses”, if I weren’t around to remind them.


So I sow my seeds and watch patiently as flowers and romance bloom hand in hand. Daffodils, Camellia and Bloodroot in spring, more Sunflowers that the eye can follow in summer, deep, red roses in the fall, and Snapdragons and Daisies to tide through the winter. I watch the flushed cheeks and wonder, with a bittersweet ache in my chest.


And then all of a sudden, cutting into my world like a winter wind, came Nerida. I watched with wonder the thick brown waves that flowed down her back, a flower I had never seen before in her hair. Waterborn. I wondered at how she could not hold her ground against even the tiniest of my breezes, blinking as if someone had thrown cold water across her face. But that was the thing. Cold water across her face wouldn’t even make her flicker. It was me. The deep rooted ancestral dislike of the air and those who breathed it. The fact that it felt like a slap across the face, even after the water had been diluted many, many times over with blood.


The bittersweet ache was replaced by a rush of a different kind of pain. The pain that tore and rented, fed you a mixture of hope and despair until there was only chaos, and only one thing to dispel it.


The flowers began to grow wild, and they were mixtures of flowers of celebration and mourning. The chaos was still beautiful, and I could see her watching it in delight. The flower in her hair never wilted.


I noticed something odd. She seemed to have taken it into her head that she would face the winds with a will. She would often sit in the midst of the clusters of flowers, forcing her eyes open, joy lighting up her face when she managed to keep it up a little longer than the last time.


How could I stay away? I began to help her with her struggle, starting with just whiffs of wind that got stronger and stronger, until nothing short of a gust could make her press the long lashes together.


As I watched the joy move across her face (I would never tire of that), she looked straight up at me and smiled. The rush that went through me blew her eyes shut, but they were open again in an instant. She spoke to me as only selkies and cats can, with a drawn out blink that means more than words ever could, and confers worlds. I could feel the flowers rejoicing around me as I blinked slowly, rapturously back.


Ooh, I really wanted to get in on the selkies fun like everyone else, and this time I finally could, thanks to @caffeinewitchcraft. Of course, it’s nowhere near as moving as her story with Isolde (I still fangirl over that), but perhaps a little story to make your day a little brighter. *stares longingly into the sunset, wishing for a love life* Hope you guys have fun!!!

Slow and Steady

Word count: 1,236

Warning: LOTS of fluff, smut, oral (female receiving)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Request/Summary: Thank you for your request (I’m so sorry I just re-read the request and it said massage, not shower, but oh well. I probably should have done that before but I could have sworn it said shower.)

After a particularly rough hunt Sam takes good care of the reader in more ways than one.

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

It had been a particularly difficult and strenuous case, but it was finally over. All of your muscles ached, you were bleeding from what seemed to be everywhere, and dirt and grime covered your body. After making it back to the motel you slumped onto the bed, relishing in the sweet rock-hardness of the mattress and the course brush of the cheap sheets against your tired skin. Dean had gone to his room, refusing to drive you back to the bunker until you had all had a night’s rest and recovery. Sam returned to the room half an hour later once he had patched Dean up and vice versa.

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Frustrations

A Sam & Dean x Reader / smut

HAPPY SMUT APPRECIATION DAY!

A/N: Here is my contribution for Smut Appreciation Day: Vol. 2. I can’t believe it’s been a year since the first epic day. I want all of you to tag me in your filth while I’m at work today, and I promise I will read ALL of them when I get home tonight. Please let me know what you think. Happy reading (and masturbating)!

Word Count: 3,615

Warnings:
- smut. this is very graphic.
- if you don’t like reading about sexual situations, abort now.
- this is a threesome and can also be viewed as a polyamorous relationship between Sam, Dean, and reader.
- there is no wincest in this fic.
- language.
- always wear a condom, kids!

Tags: (at the end)

*gifs are not mine.

The three of you were covered in mud from head to toe. This particular hunt had gone a bit south, due to the unexpected rainstorm that had decided to fuck with your mission. Dean protested the entire way home about the state his interior was currently in, constantly pestering both you and Sam to keep your boots off the floor. Although you’d accomplished what you’d sought out to do, all of you were bickering back at forth at one another like children the entire ride home.

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King of the Nerds


King of the Nerds


Characters: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: fluffy, steamy, Jensen being fake moody (yea, it’s a warning), suggestive smutty stuff, language 

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: 6k Celebration and One Year Fic-i-verary Celebration Fic ELEVEN. The line requested was, “I’m just a regular boy who goofs around, pulls pranks, and makes jokes.” It was requested by @starswirlblitz  . It will be highlighted in the fic. Thank you so much for celebrating with me. I am combining it with two gifs submitted by @torn-and-frayed. Hope you like it! This one was fun to write. I don’t usually write Jensen like this, but we all know he can get a little moody sometimes. It’s hot as fuck.

Feedback Appreciated

Tags at the bottom

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Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I’m going to regret being with you. I’m not going to regret getting hurt, or crying over you. My heart aches and my throats feels like I’m choking on my own oxygen, but that’s fine. I knew what I signed up for whenever I said yes, and because we both knew deep down it wouldn’t last. But if I could go back to the first day I ever fell in love with you, I’d go back in a heartbeat to relive every memory we ever made. You were the best god damn thing that ever happened to me.
—  An excerpt from a book I’ll never write. (#56)

anonymous asked:

135 !?

Prompt: ‘I always want to come home to you’ or alternatively, ‘part one of giving Harry a blowjob in front of his friends.’ 

I’ve taken this request from the drabble list from ages ago and made it into part one of this concept. I understand that this concept is not everyone’s cup of tea, you don’t have to read this by any means, just skip over it if it’s not for you. 😂 Thank you all for being so patient and I hope you like it. P.S. I don’t know yet when part two will be posted. 

💕


[25] ‘Bout showing you off. [MATURE.] 

Obviously she hadn’t just ended up sliding her lips up and down his cock for his friends to watch, without deciding beforehand she was going to slide her lips up and down his cock for his friends to watch.

Anyway, with that said, it’s late and she’s got to be up early tomorrow. And that would have been rough anyway but they’re only now stumbling through their front door. Harry’s head nearly spinning and she’s just shrieked thinking their coat hanger was a person.

‘You’re fuckin pissed.’ He laughs closing the door behind them.

‘Thought it was a person,’ she groans. ‘A very tall person.’

To be fair, sober isn’t what Harry is either.

She stumbles her way into the kitchen with the heels that are no longer helping anyone. She knows that if she drinks a bedtime tea now, tomorrow wont be so cruel. So she chucks her shoes off, each one flying off somewhere else as she climbs on top of their kitchen counter in search for chamomile.

‘Get the fuck down from there,’ he groans. ‘M’too sloshed to help you if you fall.’

‘If you hadn’t gone and put the bloody mugs on the highest fuckin shelf wouldn’t have to climb like a fuckin koala in my own home.’ She whines.

‘Get down from there.’ He grins. ‘M’being serious, know I don’t look like m’being serious because m’a bit drunk but m’serious. Come down from there.’

‘M’already regretting living with you.’ She knocks down several tea boxes as she finds the right one. ‘And we only just signed the papers!’ She slowly finds her way down from the countertop.

‘Coz of the mugs?’

‘Coz of the mugs.’ She agrees. She remembers the water, how she needs to boil water for tea. She was just thinking hard down at her mug trying to figure out why she couldn’t drink it yet and what could be missing.

‘Fuck!’ Harry yells from the foyer.

‘Ouch!’ She steps over her pointy heels getting to the kettle.

‘Thought you was a person!’ Harry groans loudly at their coat hanger.

‘I told you so!’ She calls to him as she flicks the kettle on

‘No, you’re not boiling water right now!’ Harry calls from where he is.

‘M’gonna be sick on the plane! M’gonna be the drunk lady that vomited on the plane. Tequila, scallops and prawns and god knows what else I ate tonight.’

‘Them chocolate strawberries.’ He pulls her away from the kitchen counter, switching off the kettle. She’s in no state of mind to handle hot water right now. But he opens the fridge to take out a much needed water bottle.

‘You let me eat those?’ She whines. She’s trying to lay off the sugar for the next week and a half. She knows nothing will come out of it, chocolate is a food group of hers but she’s interested in the experiment.

‘Three of those cookie sandwich type things too. The ones with the ice cream?’

‘Three!’ She groans.

‘Three.’ He answers.

‘And you didn’t want to remind me about—’

‘Have you seen yourself after three shots of—’

‘The worst,’ she huffs. ‘You’re the absolute worst. First the mugs and now the ice cream sandwiches with the chocolate strawberries.’ She groans. ‘And now m’gonna be sick on the plane.’

He just nods, agreeing but they really need to get upstairs to sleep. His feet are heavy, can barely carry himself let alone his girlfriend who’s stumbling just the same.

‘C’mon now, one at a time.’

‘Need my shoes.’ She wiggles out of his grasp. She doesn’t, she needs to sleep but she’s already managed out of his hold.

‘No you don’t, can’t have you breaking a foot in those when you can’t even walk without them.’

Harry doesn’t finish his sentence because he’s exchanged words for loud laughs as she slips on her heels, each on the wrong foot. ‘Stop laughing at me,’ she glares as he hunches over, his tummy aching from the laughs she’s causing him.

‘Leave ‘em, you’re gonna fall and break something.’ He pulls her up from the floor, holding her up by her arm. They manage the steps, a few at a time until they get to the end of the landing to their bedroom.

‘Drink.’ He hands her the uncapped water bottle. She takes large gulps before handing it back to him and demanding he do the same.

She gets her dress off after pulling down the straps. She turns to the long mirror to help her locate the clasp of her bra, there’s no way she’s finding it on her own in this state. This is her pajama every night anyway, just her underwear. She finds it silly not to take advantage of the weather when she’s here and not in London where she’s slept with two pairs of socks on more than once.

‘Meant what I said.’ He calls to her over the running water as she washes her face.

‘Bout what?’ He hears her as the water shuts off. She walks out of the bathroom with her body butter, handing it to him. ‘You say a lot of things.’ She grins. He takes it from her, patting the empty side of the bed next to him. She lays down as he hovers over her partially. She’s much too tired to do this herself and he likes doing it anyway.

‘Bout showing you off.’ He uncaps the scented body lotion that he’ll always associate with her.

It isn’t night time or bedtime if she isn’t rubbing lotion into her skin. One of Harry’s first memories was just this, the smell, the one she left on his sheets when they were still just ‘figuring it out.’ That smell, her smell eases his shoulders always.

He’s quite thorough in the way he works his hands across her body. She sighs, her eyelids heavy as he rubs the lotion over her. He works across her legs, laying each one down back on the bed gently after he’s finished. He leaves soft kisses by the inside her leg as she squirms slightly against the sheets. She squeals too as he kisses up her navel back to her chest.

She turns on her stomach so he can get the back of her too. ‘Showing me off?’ She asks herself, trying to understand it. ‘Hmm,’ She hums in understanding.

His hands travel over her back, he kisses the soft skin there before rolling his hands down over her bum. He’s got nice hands, big too, perfect for doing just this. And she likes his hands on her. And they like her body.

‘What does ‘hmm’ mean?’ He asks.

‘Nothing yet.’ She smiles. ‘Still thinking.’

He makes sure to get everywhere he can, rubs the body cream into the back of her hands and up to her fingertips too before kissing them softly.

‘There,’ he kisses her shoulder. ‘All done.’ He says screwing the cap back on and setting it back on the nightstand.

‘Spank me.’ She grins against her pillow.

‘Not tonight.’ He chuckles loudly. ‘Not when you’ve got to sit on a plane for hours tomorrow, m’not that mean.’

‘You are.’ She mutters.

‘How’s that?’

‘For not spanking me when m’asking nicely for it.’

‘Can’t hate me tomorrow then.’

‘I won’t,’ she shakes her head against the plush pillow. ‘Just for the chocolate strawberries and them cookie sandwiches. And the tequila, m’gonna really hate you for that.’

She shudders slightly but smiles when he’s got his lips trailing down the line of her back.

‘Put them back on,’ she mumbles. ‘Your rings.’

‘You’re really gonna hate me tomorrow.’ He reaches back over to nightstand where he’s left them before rubbing his hands over her with lotion.

‘I know.’

‘M’only giving you three.’ He says.

‘I know,’ she grins. ‘Because you’re mean.’

‘Two then?’

‘Stop.’ She whines. ‘We’ve already established that you’re the worst. What does a girlfriend have to do to get her boyfriend to spank her?’ She sighs.

Harry laughs as he props her up on her knees. He hooks his thumbs at the sides of her underwear, pulling them down the swell of her backside. ‘You know exactly what.’

‘Acting out.’ She replies.

‘Mmm.’

‘Was too drunk to remember to act out so you’d spank me when we got home.’ She bites over her bottom lip when he cups her bum, picking his mark.

She hears it long before she feels it. She exhales sharply when the sting sets in until she lets out a moan that maddens him. Her wobbly knees and his swat across her bum jolt her forward as her back arches into a picture he thinks about a lot.

‘Tell me.’

‘M’good.’ she breathes. ‘Again, do it again please.’

The silver of his rings are no longer cold against her blazing skin when they meet her backside for the second time. She’s got proper marks now, both cheeks red, some parts redder than others depending on where his rings landed.

Both of them will never get tired of this, the way her skin blossoms into a pink then into a red, the sting that aches but tingles perfectly and the sounds both of the actual spank and her moans and whimpers.

‘You’re good at this, told you that before haven’t I?’ She smirks attempting to move back slightly to get more of it. ‘Harder this time.’

‘Gonna remember you telling me this tomorrow right? When you’re whining about how it stings getting your jeans on?’

‘Won’t wear jeans then.’ She sturdies herself with her palms flat on the mattress, neck stretched back waiting.

He pulls her hair to one side, wrapping it around his hand pulling her head back slowly. ‘Remember this then, how you were asking for it.’ He whispers below her ear.

His hand comes down harder on the already red and sensitive skin. This one has her knees buckling and her moans are let out into the pillows when she falls to her stomach once her hands and knees fail her.

He lowers himself to hover slightly over her back, kissing down the line of it while rubbing his hand into the taut skin. He throws her panties to the floor knowing her skin would reject the idea of putting them back on. And he prefers this sight much more.

‘Good?’ He asks turning her to lay on her back to face him and she hums contently. ‘M’I gonna have to do this every time you ask me to rub lotion on you? Thought it was the only innocent thing we had going for us.’ He grins.

It had been. She was always too lazy to do it herself and he loved touching her. He’ll always do it before bedtime, likes he loves touching her and he likes the way the smell lingers on her and onto the sheets. That way, he’ll still get to keep some of her when she leaves.

‘Probably best we don’t mix the two then,’ she smiles turning herself onto her back. ‘Just needed something to look at until you come back home.’

He grins getting up from the bed to get himself ready for bed as well. She pulls forward the duvet on her side of the bed, tucks herself in, presses in the fluffy pillows to her liking.

‘M’about to sweat it out aren’t I?’ He unbuttons his dress shirt and however drunk or slightly tipsy he is, remembers to hang it in their closet. ‘Have to be patient and all that?’ He turns to her.

‘You’re used to it by now.’ She silences her phone after setting her alarm for tomorrow morning.

‘Hope you sleep through it.’ He grins, he really doesn’t want her to go.

He is in fact used to being patient now. He’s impatient by nature but he’s grown to become far more patient since meeting her. A lot of patience is needed in a relationship like theirs and it only works if there’s a great deal of it.

‘You’ll think about it though?’ He mumbles from the bathroom with his toothbrush in his mouth.

She has a been thinking, she’s thinking about it now. She’s giving it so much thought she’d forgotten to tell him that she’s thinking about it.  

‘Hm?’ He reminds her hovering over her once he’s ready for sleep.

‘Told you I would.’ She presses her fingertips to his lips. ‘If you keep nagging won’t have time to think about it.’ Harry understands, nods before kissing her fingertips.

It’s late and their tummies are happily full from good food and tasty drinks. He brings her close to him, his hand drapes over her waist as he nuzzles himself into the space between her neck and her shoulder.

‘Where are you gonna put it?’ She asks. ‘Make it good, make sure it’s a place where you can start a proper collection in.’

‘A proper collection huh?’ He grins adjusting the pillow behind his head.

‘A proper collection. You’re quite the talent don’t you know…’

‘Mmm.’ He hums against her shoulder.

‘Can fell you blushing.’ She smiles.

‘Stop that.’ He whines.

She never misses an opportunity to celebrate and when they’d been out and about just this morning and he got the news she knew it was the perfect reason to go out and celebrate. (Even if it meant too much tequila and many chocolate covered strawberries.)

Like this color,’ she says holding up different paint samples to the light. ‘Isn’t as overwhelming as the other one. Could go well with the couch in the sitting room…’ She realizes only a minute after that she’s just been talking to herself in the middle of the store. ‘Harry? Where’s he gone now…has the attention span of a goldfish…’ She pulls out her phone just before she feels his hand at her back. ‘There you are, need your final say about this grey.’ She holds up the sample. ‘Why are you smiling that big…where did you go…your face has gone as bright as this yellow color…why—’

‘You’ve got to come back here in a few weeks, so best you be letting your job know now…February 26th…’  

She thinks really hard, with all she’s got but comes up with nothing. ‘What’s on the 26th?’

‘Have I got to give you a hint?’ He grins. ‘Films…actors—’

‘The Oscars?’ She asks and he nods. ‘Wait!’ She nearly yells. She feels like quite the goldfish now. ‘Oh my god!’ She yells again.

‘Shhh—’

‘I told you!’ She nearly leaps onto him. ‘I told you didn’t I! Did I not?’ She laughs wrapping her arms around his neck. She can’t keep still in his hold as he wraps her legs around him. ‘Told you that you’d be nominated,’ she shakes her head. ‘When are you gonna start listening to me?’ She kisses him sweetly.

‘Didn’t think I would actually be nom—’

‘Start listening to your girlfriend then. Only been wrong twice before, ‘bout that restaurant on the west end and the sweet Irish lady losing the bakeoff.’ She grins widely before kissing him again and again.

‘Has it really only been twice?’ He wonders. Can’t be…he knows she’s usually right about most things but—

‘I’ll be there, promise. I’ll swim if I have to. M’an ok swimmer.’

‘You’re not.’

‘M’really not.’ She laughs.

But she’ll be there. She promises.

‘You’re funny.’ She sighs as he kisses below her ear. He doesn’t ever want to leave this bed. Getting out of this bed, their new bed in their new house will be terribly hard tomorrow.

‘Yeah?’ He asks sleepily.

‘Yeah, you were just nominated for a bloody oscar today and you’re blushing ‘bout being worthy of one.’

‘Suppose I am a bit funny then.’

‘Suppose you are.’

He rests his head contently at her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her waist. ‘You looked gorgeous tonight angel.’

‘At least one of us will remember tonight.’ She grins.

‘Like showing you off,’ he grins to himself but she feels it against her skin. ‘Love having you with me.’

‘Know you do, s’why you want this one thing so bad.’

‘Think you’d enjoy it love,’ he pulls her closer to him. ‘Always been a bit of a showoff.’

‘Am not.’ She pushes back against him on purpose and he groans playfully.

‘No? What about all the pictures and videos—’

‘Those were for you.’

‘This’ll be too. For my birthday.’

‘You want that to be your birthday present?’ She laughs.

‘Well I don’t want a paper weight.’

‘Who’s gonna gift you a paper weight, was gonna get you a blender.’

‘A blender?’

‘Yeah, I want a blender.’ She mutters.

‘How’s that my birthday gift then?’ He laughs.

‘You’d have a blender?’ She answers obviously.

‘Don’t need a blender.’

‘But you need me to suck you off in front of your friends?’ She grins.

‘S’more exciting than a blender.’

‘Do you know how many things you can make with a blender?’

She really does just like giving him a hard time. Because she’d be the biggest fibber if she’d said she didn’t want to be shown off once or twice before. Or that the idea, while sinful is alluring.

‘M’getting a fucking blender aren’t I?’ He mumbles against her shoulder.

‘There’s a slight difference between a blender and a blowjob in front of your friends…s’all m’saying.’

‘S’not like they’re strangers. You know all of them.’

He’s already told her that if she changes her mind that’d be perfectly fine too. And if she’ll agree to it they’ll talk about the details further. The where and how’s.

‘Know that.’

‘M’not sharing you. You won’t be sucking them off you’d be sucking me off and—’

‘Really?’ She asks sarcastically. ‘Don’t want to watch me suck them off as well?’ She scoffs. ‘Aren’t into that are you?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Think you’d like the praise and being watched is all. Wouldn’t have brought it up if I thought it’d just be for my benefit only.’

He’s not wrong, she does like being praised, being told how good she’s being, how good she is. He’s just taken this all a few steps forward.

‘Just think about it yeah? If you say yes then we’ll discuss the details then and if you say no then that’ll be that.’

She’s curious. There’s plenty she doesn’t know and plenty of questions she has. Would his friends be ok with it as well? Where exactly would this take place? How would the opportunity even present itself? But she leaves those questions aside for now.

‘I’ll think about it on the plane, give you an answer by the time m’home.’ She says and he smiles against her skin.

She’s got a tight busy schedule, it might not look like his but it’s just as busy. She’s got a full time job that she takes home with her sometimes despite Harry’s rule about not taking work home with you.

But he managed to have her for the last four days to sign off on their new house and get started with the move and decorating. He can’t do it alone, won’t be their home if he would have. But they spent far less time picking out furniture and paint colors than doing other things. And just like that she’s got to go back to London tomorrow and they’re not any closer to agreeing on paint colors.

She has to leave early tomorrow and neither of them are ready. But used to the idea. She has to get back to work and so does he. He’s had her for the holidays and these few days now but it all seems minimal and awfully scattered.

‘You don’t have to leave tomorrow, right?’ He grins. ‘Can stay with me until Sunday? Or for another week…two if it isn’t much trouble.’

‘You’re almost done here.’ She assures. ‘Just two more weeks and m’all yours right?’ It’s his birthday soon and he’s made sure to take off some time for it.

‘What am I supposed to do about the paint colors then?’ He yawns.

‘Call me.’ She kisses his forehead.

‘At one in the morning your time?’

‘Even then.’

‘Remember that when you’re groaning at me for waking you up in the middle of the night to talk about paint.’

‘Remind me.’ She grins and so does he. Her body settles against his with a relaxed sigh as he kisses her shoulder gently. ‘M’so proud of you. And m’hoping you’re proud of you too.’ She whispers.

He pulls her in tightly, ‘thank you.’ he whispers.

‘Can’t believe I know someone as special as you are.’ She kisses his neck softly. ‘Can feel you blushing again.’ She grins.

‘Stop.’ He whines sleepily.

Harry doesn’t let her get up when her alarm clock rings at eight in the morning. He smothers her, pulls her underneath him, holds her tightly to him as he falls back asleep contently. She lets him, just a few more minutes she promises.

He groans when she tries to wiggle out twenty minutes later, ‘m’gonna miss my flight—c’mon love, I know it’s hard…’

‘Tell them I was feeling poorly so you had to stay…didn’t like the idea of leaving me in the state m’in.’ He mumbles.

‘Harry—’

‘Take the next one, this evening…just give me a few hours longer.’

‘Oh my god,’ she groans. ‘I can’t believe this.’ She says aloud but it’s just meant for her. She knew this would happen, that he’d be stubborn and she’d have no willpower to leave either. Because it just keeps getting harder. She should just stop booking flights in the morning because it never goes to plan.

‘Please.’ He whispers. ‘Please, just a few more hours. I’ll get you on the next one, promise.’

‘I’m—’

‘Won’t let you get in trouble, just need a few more hours with you. Not ready yet.’

She sees it in the way he’s holding onto her. How four days only are cruel and the thought of spending nights without holding onto her makes him hold on tighter. He panics sometimes, only for a minute when either of their alarms go off on a given morning. He gets used to having her, forgets about the limited time and then he really does feel like she’s being torn away from him. He’s not any good at them, at goodbyes.

‘Ok,’ she whispers. She sets her phone back on the nightstand, shutting it off as she lets him pull the duvet back over them.

The thing about delaying their goodbyes is that it doesn’t make it any easier. Delaying them doesn’t make them disappear, just puts them off until later. He knows this by now but will still beg her to stay until she really does have to leave.

It’s eleven now, the sun is bright and warm. Harry much prefers this, waking up late without an alarm and with her as the sun streams in. He sleeps the best when it’s warm and she’s here, he catches up on sleep when she’s sleeping beside him.

The assortment of teas are scattered on the floor and the kettle is left deserted from last night. He chuckles to himself as he picks them up and heats up the water. He looks back at the clock, they still have a few hours. She could use the sleep.

He makes the tea the way they both like it. Their house is coming together slowly, still echoey from the lack of furniture that needs to be delivered. But as Harry climbs the steps back up to their room, he feels like it’s theirs.

‘I let you get away with it again.’ She groans into her pillow when he places the mug on her bedside table. ‘M’I really that weak?’ She pushes her hair off her face as he gets back into the warm bed.

He nods pulling her on top of him, she might as well be or maybe he’s just skillfully persuasive. She rolls her eyes and he’s happy to see her pretty ones even then while she’s straddling him.

She falls into his chest, resting there because she’s not thinking about the missed flight anymore. He sighs contently, this is the most settled he’s felt in a while, with her resting against him as he plays mindlessly with the ends of her hair. The stillness of the morning and the comfortable silence fills the gaps between their steady breathing that have synced up.

His hands trail down south innocently at first before he’s got a silly grin on him as he cups his hand over her bare bum.

‘S’for the best, should heal a bit first.’ He grins into her neck. ‘Still sore right?’

‘Mmm,’ she rolls her eyes again reaching for the tea mug beside her.

As the afternoon creeps up they’re sitting outside in the sun contently, eating a late breakfast together like he wanted. He wanted to go swimming too, they haven’t since they moved in and they’ve got a really nice pool too. And it’s perfectly sunny and he just has to have her against him for whatever time he has left. He grins into her neck when she mentions the cold water feeling nice on her red bum. He holds her close to him in the water, watches her swim back and forth a few times before bringing her back to him to wrap her body around his.

He’s pulling her bikini bottoms down before she’s even out of the pool. And in retaliation she’s got her hand wrapped around him and they don’t make it inside the house in time.

She admitted it all to herself then, when he’s fucking her by the pool on a perfect sunny day, that staying for these few hours were absolutely necessary. His skin is warm from the sun, small water droplets still stream down his body, between them as he thrusts roughly into her.

When he’d proposed they needed a few of these outdoor furniture pieces she’d agreed but now she’s fully thankful for them.

She wraps her legs around him tighter, needing him as close as he can get. Her sore bum rubs up against the surface beneath her, he told her to switch positions but she doesn’t mind it oddly. The sting and the tingles are always something she’s chasing after. And she’d rather him be on top of her like this now than ride him, she wants him up against her tightly, she needs him to hover over her like this and she wants to hold onto him. Because soon, these small things and remembered details will be the only things getting her through the next few weeks.

Her bikini bottoms never fully made it off with his impatient hands as they hang at her right ankle as he continues with his slick thrusts into her.

‘How am I—meant to last two weeks without this.’ He groans. ‘So good…shit you’re good love.’

She’s exhaling sharply, cracked whimpers leaving her as she comes around him. He’s fucking her through it, driving into her as she keeps tightening around him. He cups her face, making her stay with him so he can get her there again.

‘Good girl, that’s my good girl.’ He groans as she struggles to say anything back. She’s sensitive, overly stimulated as he relentlessly keeps hitting that spot deep inside of her with his name on it. She’s properly crying out now, sinking her nails into his back as her neck stretches back. ‘There it isn’t it? M’there aren’t I?’ He manages against her neck.

She’s begging him now, not only for her own release but his too. How she wants to feel him when she leaves, how badly she needs him to fill her, needs the picture of him coming hard above her.

She’s needy for his lips on hers, moaning into his lips when she gets them. She’s desperately lifting her hips up to his, matching theirs to have him closer, deeper and he nearly chokes over his own breath.

‘Please!’ She cries wrapping her legs around him tighter, pulling him even closer towards her. When he gets close, so impossibly close, her for the second time he thinks sanely for just a moment about the new piece of furniture under them.

‘This is new.’ He groans. ‘Can’t come inside of you—without making a mess of it.’

‘M’not gonna have you for the next two weeks!’ She whines tightening her walls around him purposefully and he growls in her ear. ‘Since when have you cared about making a mess—’

‘You picked these out! Thought you’d care—’ He’s shaking now, needy for it.

‘I don’t!’ She cries. ‘Please!’

‘Shit!—’ He takes her right leg, places it over his shoulder and restarts his ruthless thrusts into her.

‘Fuck what’s yours.’ She whispers to him. His sloppy, jolted thrusts serve them both as she holds tightly to his back and his fingers are pressed so tightly into the skin of her hips.

Her name in short cut off whispers mix with growled out expletives as she starts coming around him. He’s winded, bound so tight as she’s nearly squeezing it all from him. He’s spilling hot and heavy into her, with one of his hands by her hair holding tightly to it and the other holding tightly to her leg wrapped around him.

She’s panting underneath him as he attempts calming his own breaths once he’s pulled out of her and as expected, they’ve left quite a mess.

‘Already miss you.’ He whispers. He straightens out the pout of her lips as she traces the water droplets that fall down his chest.

‘Don’t tell me what time it is.’ She buries her head into his chest.

‘Won’t,’ he pulls her up to him so he’s looking right at her. ‘We’re gonna lay out for a bit.’

She nods, realizes she should soak up as much as sun as she can. There are nothing but clouds back in London. They rest their eyes for a bit, go in and out of peaceful naps. He’s content then, pulls her as close as he can. Then he realizes that this is exactly what he’d pictured when he wanted them to get a house here.

He’s holding her tightly against him in the shower too, when they need to get the day started and have to get clean before. He’s already got his lips on her before any getting clean is done.

She falls into him as he washes her hair, humming contently as he does it for her. She smiles lazily as he lathers up the bubbles across her body, he loves touching her always. She likes pushing her hands through his hair too, trailing and traveling her hands over his strong body.

She doesn’t grasp what he’s doing until he’s on his knees in front of her. With a leg of hers draped over his shoulder and his tongue at her clit.

‘God—I—’ She wants to say, that at a pace like this she’s never going to make it onto this flight either. But he’s got his mouth around her clit, sucking hungrily against her. She’s wobbly, starts shaking as he continues his long and purposeful strokes against her. ‘Shit—keep doing that.’ She moans softly over the loud stream of water as he encourages her to ride his mouth as best as she can.

He wraps one arm around her waist to steady her as he takes his other hand between her legs. He’s needy for it, just as desperate to do this for her as she wants it. He looks up at her from between her thighs as he pushes two of his fingers in as her head falls back. His warm tongue, the way he’s tasting her, the direct strokes against her whilst his fingers press against the spot inside of her, the way he’s moving them inside of her doesn’t leave her many options. She’s coming onto his mouth not long after that with his name as barely there whispers rolling over her tongue.  

She doesn’t stop kissing him until they really do have to step out, get dressed and start the already short day together.

She pouts carrying her suitcase down the steps to his car outside. They have two or three hours to continue the search for more furniture pieces and agree on paint colors.

They should really be getting this stuff sorted and done but they’re out of it, not at all focused on the task at hand. He’s just holding tightly to her hand and she’s leaned into him as they browse mindlessly through the showroom.

‘This ones nice.’ She says and he nods. ‘Could be nice in the kitchen.’

‘Stay for today.’ He turns to her.

‘Damnit Harry.’ She sighs.

‘Please love.’ He whispers.

‘It isn’t gonna be easier tomorrow or the next day either.’

‘Don’t go tomorrow then either.’ He says and realized how impossible that is before he’d even said it. She shrugs defeatedly before looking back at the furniture on display because she’ll crumble if she looks at him for any longer.

Sitting across from each other when they go for lunch isn’t doable either. He doesn’t know what it is, how he’s physically incapable of being without her. So she moves her chair, sits next to him happily. She rests her head on his shoulder as they wait for their food, kissing his neck softly.

If the circumstances had been different maybe she would have stopped to marvel at the view of the ocean behind them and what a pretty and clear day it is. They’re both like this, have a hard time seeing anything good from the current situation. Because it doesn’t matter that he’s coming home to London in two weeks, or how after that she’ll be back here for his big night. They’re trying though, he tries telling himself those things, just two weeks, that’s how much longer but it’s harder than hard to think like that when she’s leaving.

And then somehow, by then it’s already nearly four and her flight is at seven. Harry doesn’t usually wish for heavy traffic, it being a pet peeve of his but this time he does. He’s holding her hand as he drives them both and suddenly it’s the time that Harry was trying to stall away from.

He walks with her into the airport until he can’t go any further. Until she’s got to go through security and board the plane home.

He grins, remembers what they had talked about last night. ‘Think about—’

‘Sucking you off in front of your mates, I know, I’ve got a good memory.’ She rolls her eyes taking her suitcase back from him when he’d offered to carry it.

‘Well when you say it like that sounds fuckin filthy.’ He mutters.

‘Isn’t it?’ She smirks. ‘S’why you want it so bad isn’t it?’ She pulls out her boarding pass and passport from her handbag to avoid holding up the line behind her.

‘Can’t do much showing off with a blender.’ He admits.

‘You could, you could make one hell of a smoothie.’ She grins.

‘I could I suppose.’ He plays along sarcastically.

‘Can’t say it’d taste as good as you do,’ she inches closer to him. ‘Or how good I do.’ She traces his jawline slowly. ‘You could try.’ She shrugs casually. She’s properly asking for it now and she’s not being fair to him one bit. Because she’s got to get on that plane and he’s gonna be left thinking about filthy things for the rest of the night.

‘Who keeps letting you talk like that?’ He covers her mouth. ‘Fucking Christ—watch your mouth.’

She can’t answer him with his hand on her mouth but for one, he likes it when she talks like that. Craves it too. He’s just plain bothered now, wants her again but this is the last flight tonight and she will yell at him if he makes her miss this one too.

She shifts her head to line her mouth with his fingertips, he catches on far too late when she wraps her lips around his index and middle. He glares at her, looks at her like she’s actually crazy. He presses his lips together tightly when he realizes that this is nearly what he’s asking from her for his birthday and the picture starts racing through his head. His stomach tightens when she begins sliding her lips across his fingers. Her lips wet, pretty pink gliding across. And he can’t do this right now, in the middle of a busy airport with people walking by them to stand in the line she has to start queuing in soon. He’ll lose it, he’s already bothered and already missing her.

‘Wanted this didn’t you?’ She whispers. ‘This is what you want from me…’

‘Get on the bloody plane,’ he reluctantly pulls his fingers away and she laughs before he grasps her jaw tightly. ‘Before I never let you leave.’

‘M’going m’going. Just wanted to tell you I love you first.’ She grins wrapping her arms around his neck and he wraps his arms tightly around her waist. ‘Come back to me quickly yeah?’ She buries herself into his neck. ‘Too many episodes of the bakeoff to watch alone, in a house much too big for just me.’

He nods, this bit is always hard. ‘Travel safe.’ He kisses her forehead and his lips linger there because they too, are having a hard time saying goodbye. ‘I’ll see you real soon, not much longer.’ He whispers before kissing her hard then shaking his head trying to avoid getting too sad about this. ‘I love you.’ He whispers. It’s always been like this and it’s going to keep being like this, they try not to get upset.

She finds her seat before reaching for her phone in her bag. ‘You win, like always. Happy early birthday. Don’t say I never gave you anything. Much better than a paper weight and a blender I’d say.’

Harry has already stepped into a late meeting when he gets the message. He grins widely at it, his stomach tightens again but he knows he can’t afford to think about this right now. He’s about to turn over his phone to get back to the meeting when it vibrates again. A blender is on their way to their home, should be delivered tomorrow at noon. He chuckles softly into his hand turning the phone over after sending her a message.

-M’not making you any smoothies.

You have to, m’blowing you in front of your friends. Start practicing your blending.

No Pain, No Gain - Jeff Atkins x Reader

Request - “I was wondering if I could request a Jeff x reader working out together?”

“One more crunch! Yes! That’s my girl.” Jeff smiled at you. He was holding your feet and giving you the stupidest grin.

“Your turn!” You flipped up to your feet and began pushing him toward to pull up bar. He shot you a flashing grin.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m going to annihilate you.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched out his hands a few times. He jumped to reach the bar, winked at you, then started doing pull ups. Trying to hold in the drool and conceal the evident joy in watching him work out, you placed your hand over your mouth.

He grinned at you consistently through his pull ups, and when he started to tire you shouted; “C'MON JEFF!” Which fuelled him to do a few more.

“One last row?” You asked. He flashed you yet another pearly white smile.
“You’re on, Y/N/N.”

The both of you sat on the two rowing machines in the corner.

“How do you still look cute when you’re all red and sweaty?” Jeff laughed.

“Are you kidding? Have you even seen yourself right now, Jeff?” You struggled through rows.

“Well there aren’t any mirrors around.” He joked.

“Well- you look like a fucking model. As per usual.” You breathed in mock anger.

“Shut up. You know you’re gorgeous. And you’re nearly at the goal!” He encouraged. “You can do it, babe.”

“No pain, no gain Jeffrey. You better be hitting that goal with me.”

In not too long at all, you both hit your targets and high-fived each other.

“Good work, Y/N/N.” Jeff said, handing you a bottle of water.

“Same to you Atkins. First to the car gets pampered when we get home?” You challenged.

“Oh hell yes.” Jeff stretched out his arms.

“3…2…1…” you said in unison. “GO!”

You let your legs carry you and regulated your breathing. Sometimes when you ran, it felt like you were flying. Plus, with the added air of competition and willingness to be able to hold something over your boyfriend, you soared to your car, hitting the bonnet with such force your shoulder buckled slightly. But you wouldn’t let Jeff know.

“LOSER!” You shouted as your boyfriend came up beside you, panting.

“Looks like i am.” He placed a hand on your hip and pulled you in towards him. “I think I’m a little out of breath, I might need CPR.” He smiled.

“It looks like you might.” You rested your hands on his chest. “Now, don’t be afraid if I break a few hearts, that’s normal.”

“I thought it was ribs?” His face conveyed confusion.

“It is, dummy, I thought we were talking in metaphors?” You hit him playfully.

“Just kiss me you weirdo.” He chuckled. You snaked your arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to yours, enveloping him in an exhausted, desperate kind of kiss. He pushed you against the car bonnet, lifting you slightly. Smiling against him in the kiss, you tangled your fingers in his hair, wondering how many people in the Gym Car Park were watching you, and not caring one bit.

—–

“Huh.” You sighed, throwing yourself down on yours and Jeff’s king-sized bed.

“You look exhausted. Wanna cash in that winners pamper sesh?” Jeff slumped down next to you. You nodded weakly, then rolled onto your stomach. Jeff started to pull your sticky gym clothes off, with difficulty as you were refusing to move.

Jeff left, but you were too tired to verbally complain. Momentarily, you realised why upon the sensation of cold, wet, liquid on your back, and a subtle scent of olives. Your boyfriend massaged the olive oil into your lower back to begin with, and slowly moved up to your shoulders. His hands rolled over all your aches, smoothing all the knots and calming the soreness.

“I saw this, by the way.” He said in a low voice, giving your hurt shoulder some extra attention. “It’s not really damaged, but you should’ve told me, I was worried.”
You nodded a reply. “Sorry.” You mumbled, too focused on how good Jeff’s hands were making you feel. They were slightly rough from all the baseball he played, but not uncomfortably so - they were just right.

Then, Jeff leaned his head down to your hurt shoulder, and dotted kisses anywhere he could manage. He turned his head so that his mouth was by your ear, and whispered; “all better, my love.”

—–

After a relaxing evening being pampered by your boyfriend, Jeff and you lay in bed ready to sleep. You weren’t entirely sure where your body ended and his began, or vice versa, but that didn’t bother you.

“I’m proud of you, Jeff.” You stroked your hand over his chest.

“What for?”

“Well, for not giving up when I saw you wanted to. On the pull ups.”

He scoffed at you, but didn’t argue.

“I love you, Y/N.” he mumbled into your hair.

“I love you, Jeff.” You beamed back at him, as you watched his green eyes flutter shut.

“Yuuri was sure he looked awful, sweat sticking his hair greasily to his forehead, face flushed bright red from the exertion of the routine.”

“Viktor knew that it was just the natural result of skating such a technically demanding routine that made Yuuri look the way he did but when Yuuri fixed him with a piercing gaze as they passed he couldn’t help his mind jumping in a very different direction. Yuuri glared at him for a few more seconds before breaking the gaze and continuing on to the kiss and cry. Viktor watched him go, feeling unexpectedly hot all of a sudden and for a second he almost forgot that he was supposed to be getting ready to skate.”

@kazliin bless u, the new chapter was 👌👌👌