#handyman!harry
Text
The Handyman
Summary: When you inherit your aunt's estate after she passes away, you hire Harry to fix up the old house but that's not all he winds up being good for.
A/N: This was requested! Also if you'd like to see early access content like this (plus more exclusive content) consider joining my Patreon! xoxo
Word Count: 10.9k
Warning: smut, mentions of a close relative dying, and tons of sweetness
When you pulled up the long dirt driveway to the old estate you used to spend your summers at, it was as if you could feel your aunt Gayla’s presence all around you again. You could remember running through the fields and the trees and dawdling your afternoons away on the big wraparound porch with extra sweet lemonade and book after book.
Your aunt would have her old radio playing with records or cassette tapes, volume turned up so loud you’d be out climbing a tree a quarter mile off and could still hear the sounds of Credence Clearwater Revival or Stevie Nicks crooning over the distance. When the sun would begin to dip in the sky, oranges and pinks coloring in where it was bright blue just before, she’d change the record to Bill Withers or maybe even Louis Armstrong and she’d call you in by screaming at the top of her lungs that it was time to eat. But when you’d arrive she’d pull you into her arms and dance with you and tell you how important it was to read, write, dance, and love.
And everything she did and the way she lived her life had the biggest influence on yours these days. She had been your favorite person, next to your mother of course. But your mother died when you were 17 and your aunt filled in to help raise you when your dad was overwhelmed with the loss of his wife and trying to reign in a hormonal and emotional young woman. He tried his best but you knew it was lucky your aunt stepped up to help guide you into adulthood.
So it came as almost no surprise to anyone when your aunt passed and she left you everything she had. At the time you didn’t realize she had so much. At the reading of the will, it was just you and your father. The lawyer said you’d be inheriting her estate and every dime she had to her name. But when he read off the number, well, that part very much came as a surprise.
It was a life-changing number. And her old, huge house set on 16 acres in that old, small town was worth far more than you ever imagined it would be. You were advised to sell it at first. And you certainly considered it. What would you be needing with so much space all by yourself so far away from the big city you currently lived in? That money could just be piled on top of the already large sum she’d left you.
But the more you considered selling it the more you hated that idea. All the wonderful memories you had there, all that gorgeous space with expanses of marble and hardwood and tall trees and meadowland could be a sanctuary. It could be a place for you to live. To enjoy the large space, tall ceilings, and windows, the sunrises and sunsets… To play music loudly and dance in front of your oven as you baked muffins and write to your heart’s content.
It could certainly be far better than your studio apartment that cost nearly as much in rent as what you made working your ass off at the paper. You could move out of your rundown, mouse-infested building and fix up the old estate to your liking. You could quit your job and begin writing full-time like you always wanted. Your aunt’s house would be the perfect place to begin your new adventure. A refuge of peace. An oasis of your own to spark inspiration and creativity.
And so here you were, standing with the key in hand on the big front porch, old, rotted boards bending and cracking as you stepped up to the door to open it for the first time in years. When your aunt had fallen sick, she’d been transferred to the city to live with your father as she was unable to care for herself during the end of her life. You helped as often as possible. On Saturdays, you’d take her to the park to sit on the bench and watch the birds and the trees and you’d chat about the books you were reading and life. You did that every Saturday until she could no longer be moved from her bed. But you were always with her every Saturday, by her side and holding her hand until she had no more Saturdays left.
You felt a surge of emotion as you walked through the space. The old funky vintage chandelier that hung over the dining table was covered in cobwebs. When your aunt had it installed you helped her paint the little ceramic flowers in various shades of green and yellow. It had been all white at one time.
But it was the window that stretched along the wall that overlooked the back acreage that drew you closer. Pulling the dusty curtains aside, sunshine filled the room. Sheets covered the furniture that had all been left behind.
The whole place was yours. And you had a great feeling about this next phase in your life.
. . .
After a week of cleaning, working in the garden, peeling wallpaper down, having a new refrigerator and oven range installed as well as a washer and dryer for clothes, and attempting to tear out wooden boards from the front porch all by yourself, you’d hit a wall. It was clear you’d need help to get the house in tip-top shape.
Scouring the internet for handyman recommendations, you were left feeling quite hopeless. So you made a trip into town to talk to the owner of the hardware shop you met some days earlier when you were buying paint and tools. He had mentioned he knew someone who could help if you ever needed. A local man who took over his father’s business. You imagined there weren’t a lot of people willing to make the trip out to the small town and then even further out to the old house miles from the main road.
When you arrived, as you expected, the place was empty aside from Mr. George shuffling about behind the counter. When he spotted you his face lit up in a grin, “Miss Y/n! How can I help you this Thursday morning?”
“Hi, Mr. George. I was uh, wondering if I could get the number of that handyman you were telling me about? I think I’ve done all I can do by myself at this point. Some of the electricity needs rewiring, the boards in the porch are rotting away–“
“Say no more, my dear. I’ll call him right now,” he placed his hand over the phone receiver, “We’ll see if he can make some time today or tomorrow and if not, I’ll bet he can fit you in next week for a quote.”
“Next week?” You frowned.
“Well, he’s the only one who runs the business these days. His pop passed away a couple of months back so I’m assuming he might be a bit busy. Good guy, though. I wouldn’t recommend him if I didn’t think he’d do your aunt’s place justice.”
You nodded. That would have to be good enough you supposed. If not this week, next week you figured would be okay. Things were different in the small town than they were back in the big city. Life moved a bit slower and that was something you would just have to get used to.
Mr. George dialed the number he pulled up from his desktop Rolodex as you patiently waited to find out if the recommended handyman would be interested in helping you or not.
“Harry! My boy! How are you?” Mr. George spoke into the receive with a big smile.
“Yeah… I’m well too. Hey, look,” he glanced at you, “I’ve got a lovely young woman here who needs some help with her new house… yes. It’s that old mansion off Timbert. The one about a two miles from the main road… exactly. Gayla’s old place… It’s her niece, uh,” he cupped the receiver and looked at you with his brows raised as you spoke your name to him, “her name is Y/n.”
Seemed everyone in this town knew your aunt. You watched George scribble down something on a piece of scrap paper before sliding it over to you and began to make a little small talk with the man called Harry.
It was a number and the name of the company, Styles and Son. Mr. George pointed at the paper, and looked at you, “Write your number down here for me.”
You picked up the pen he used and wrote your number with your first and last name next to it, handing the paper back to him.
Mr. George tore off the section with your number and nodded at you, “Okay, ready for the number?”
He read it off to Harry before looking at you and holding out the receiver, “Wants to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Oh, sure,” you reached for the phone and stepped closer to the counter so you could put it to your ear, “Hello?”
“Hi. You’re Gayla’s niece?”
“Yes, sir. She recently passed and left the house to me and I wanted to fix it up a little.”
“My dad used to help Gayla out whenever she needed things done. I’ve never had the opportunity to see the inside but I’d like to come by maybe tomorrow afternoon when you have an hour or so to spare?”
“Sure! I’ll be home all day. Any time works for me.”
“Great. Let’s say around 2? I’ll give you a call before I head that way. George gave me your phone number, and make sure he gives you mine.”
“Oh yeah. He already did. I’ve got it written down here.”
“M’kay… well, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/n.”
“Sure! And thank you again!”
Mr. George took the phone from you and placed it into its cradle to hang up the call, “You know… Harry’s a single man. Bout your age. My wife says he’s a looker and I reckon you two might get along well.”
“Is that so?” You grinned at the store owner as you folded up Harry’s contact info and stuffed it into your pocket, “Appreciate this, Mr. George. So much. Truly.”
“Ahh, it’s nothin’. This small town is a close-knit community. We’re all here to help each other when we can.”
. . .
Instead of calling you, Harry texted when he was on his way over.
See you in half an hour. H
You smiled at the thought of finally getting some help in that big lonely house. Wiping the sweat from your forehead you climbed down the step ladder to freshen up a bit before Harry could arrive. You slid on a clean cotton dress, washed your hands and face, and then made some lemonade should he want anything to drink.
When Harry arrived you heard his truck clonking up the dirt driveway before you saw it. He’d been your first visitor so it was the first time you’d had the pleasure of hearing a vehicle driving toward your house (and didn’t it feel so weird to call it your house?). You watched out the window as dust kicked up from his tires. It was a big black truck. A decal on the side that read Styles and Son.
Walking onto your porch you waved to greet him as he stepped out, feet landing on the ground. His attire was simple. Jeans and a white t-shirt with a pocket at the front. Work boots. But what you couldn’t get over as he smiled and raised his big hand to wave back at you was how fit and broad he was. Tanned skin on his arms and tattoos up the length of one of them. Chestnut curls with touches of light brown and maybe blond hidden in the strands. He was tall and he was handsome.
“Y/n?” He smiled as he walked up the steps to your porch with his eyes on you. Green eyes.
“Yes! I’m Y/n,” you reached your hand out to him as he gripped it into his palm to shake.
“Nice to meet you. I’ve always wanted to check out Gayla’s house. Glad I’ve got the opportunity,” he looked down at the boards under his feet, “And first thing is,” he bent down and placed the heel of his palm into the wood, “this porch needs updating in a bad way.” He stood back up, soft green irises on you, “Feel how soft that is when you step over it?” He spoke as he demonstrated, pressing his foot into the floor of the porch.
You nodded, “Oh yeah. I already tore some of the boards out but I knew I couldn’t do all this on my own.”
Harry squinted at you and the way his eyes scraped down over your dress and to your feet then back up to your face had you tingling, “You tore out some boards on your own?” He nodded with an impressed look on his face.
Now you were feeling flustered. The sudden shift in temperature made it feel like your cotton panties were digging into your hips and your thighs too tight.
You laughed and shook your head, “Oh… I mean it wasn’t much. But…” you looked back up at him and watched as a lopsided smile took over his face, complete with a dimple, “You wanna come inside? See the place?”
“Absolutely.”
You pushed the front door in and let Harry pass through into the space. You watched him look all around and then walk toward the big front window and slide his hand over the wood frame, “Beautiful woodwork here,” he looked up toward the ceiling and then along the wall toward the archway into the dining area, “It looks like it’s probably throughout the house. We’ll be sure to keep this original,” he looked at you suddenly, “Unless you wanted to completely change all this. It’s up to you but I would suggest trying to maintain the existing features.”
“I would love to keep it original if possible. So… are you saying you’ll do this for me?”
Harry chuckled and ran his index finger under his nose, “Soon as I saw the place as I drove up the path to get here had my heart set on it. Of course, we’ll need to talk numbers and come to an agreement but I’m ready to start as soon as possible. What’s the electricity situation? Original too?” He looked up at the light sconce on the wall.
“I think it’s all original. Everything. Most likely all needs overhauled to bring it up to code. So… you don’t have other jobs you are committed to right now? Thought you were the only one?”
Harry raised his brows and looked back at you, “Hired a helper a couple weeks back. He can do all the odd jobs for me while I focus on this. Honestly, Y/n,” you scorched at the way he said your name so casually, “There ain’t tons of work around here. I usually have one or two small jobs a day. Garbage disposal repair, sodding a yard, shingle repair… we do bigger jobs too like tree stump removal, burst pipes, and things like that. One-offs usually.”
“Tree stump removal… you do all that?”
He nodded, “Yep. I do it all. Got the equipment from when my father was running the business. My dad and I were the only ones in town to do all this kind of stuff so we learned how to do just about everything.”
You showed Harry around the rest of the house and described what you thought you might want done. But watching Harry slide his hands over your baseboards and knock at the walls as he talked about what he’d do… you smiled and agreed with everything he said.
“I do want the wallpaper out, though. It’s a little too dated for my taste,” you ran your finger over the silk flower design wall covering and Harry put his palm over the wall and nodded, “We could look at other wallpaper if you wanted. Or were you just thinking paint?”
You bit your lip and leaned into the wainscoting, “Maybe a new wallpaper? What do you think is better?”
Harry mimicked your pose, placing his hip on the white wainscoting, and faced you, “There are some really high-quality wallpapers out there. In any pattern you can think of. Can also get them custom-made if you had the money for it. I’d get the wallpaper if I were you.”
You nodded, “I’ll be honest, Harry, my aunt left me a good bit of money and I’d like to restore the place with really nice quality things and finishes. Want it to look as beautiful here as it did the day it was built. I’m not too worried about how much it’ll all cost. Within reason of course.”
Harry pushed himself from the wall and clasped his hands together behind his back, “I’m really sorry for your loss by the way. Was a shock to everyone when we found out she passed.”
You nodded, “Yeah. I always thought she’d live forever. Spent so many summers here with her, climbing trees and dancing… just feels so weird that she’s gone now,” a small smile covered your face, “But also, I’m sorry to hear about your dad too. His recent passing.”
The smile fell from Harry’s face, “Did George tell you he passed?”
“He did. I’m sorry if bringing that up wasn’t–“
“No, it’s fine. I was about to tell you anyway. Hence the name of the business, Styles and Son. I’m the son part of it,” he grinned, “But yeah. He died and I took over the business. It’s been a struggle. I miss him but I think he’d be really pleased that I was getting the chance to fix this old place up.”
You offered Harry some lemonade and you both sat on the back porch together as you discussed what you wanted done first with the house. Of course, Harry already had a solid timeline in mind, he’d start with the electrical wiring and the rotten boards on the porch and make sure everything was up to code and safe before getting to the more superficial parts of the job. The garden and landscaping would come last.
Everything flowed so nicely with Harry. He was easy to talk to and you trusted that he knew what he was doing. And it didn’t hurt that his voice was soothing and deep and slow. You could listen to him talk about solid hardwood versus engineered hardwood all day long if he let you.
“Well, I’ll be heading out now I guess. Be back first thing in the morning and start on this porch.”
You walked him to his big truck and shook his hand again, thanking him for taking the job and feeling a bit overwhelmed and emotional at everything.
Overwhelmed because Harry was so genuinely kind and you knew immediately you could trust him completely. Which just added to his charm and sex appeal. You really tried to push down the fact that he was so stunningly attractive because that wasn’t going to do you any good. And even though Mr. George told you he was single, you couldn’t imagine that was true. Someone as yummy-looking and kind-hearted as Harry? There was no way he wasn’t at least seeing someone.
But you were also emotional because you were finally going to get to see your aunt Gayla’s house restored to its original glory. It was going to be a real labor of love but it felt so good to be doing it. You had never felt so sure you were on the right path in life until that day. Until Harry arrived with his big truck and assured you that you’d get everything you wanted and that it would end up being even better than before.
And for the first time since you moved into that old house, you sat down and began to write. You’d gotten nearly ten thousand words written and were awake well into the wee hours of the morning typing away with the sudden inspiration you’d gotten. You fell asleep with your laptop next to you when you couldn’t hold your eyes open any longer.
You were woken to the sound of pounding and clanking and creaking which had you startled as you sat up in your bed and looked around your bedroom. The sun filled the space with light and you picked up your cellphone to note the time and saw a missed call from Harry.
Wrapping your robe around yourself you ran down the stairs all frazzled and rushed and burst onto the front porch, tripping over a stack of fresh boards and landing on your knees and palms like an idiot.
“Hey… hey…” you heard Harry’s deep voice from behind you as he slid his hands under your arms to help you up, “You okay?”
“Oh my god…” you croaked out the first words of the day from your throat, “I just woke up and realized you were here and… Sorry!”
He turned you to face him and looked down over your knees and lifted your palms upward to inspect, “Let’s get you cleaned up. Took quite the spill there. Sorry, I shouldn’t have stacked those boards right there.”
You felt your heart calm as he led you into your kitchen. He was so gentle with you, which for some reason you hadn’t expected. You knew he was kind but this seemed very much outside of the scope of his job description, “No, it’s fine! It’s me. I’d probably trip over the boards no matter where you had them stacked. I’m a bit of a nervous nelly. And when I woke up I just… I was startled. Fell asleep late and didn’t set an alarm…”
Harry grinned at you as you ran your faucet and put your hands under it, “It’s fine. No need to rush or get all riled up. I got here a bit early and when you didn’t answer I just figured I’d start on the porch. Think I’ll replace your doorbell as well. It’s not working either.”
You dried your hands and smiled at Harry, “I’ll get you a key before you leave today. In case I’m not here or I’m sleeping again. Sorry… I just had this burst of inspiration last night and typed until I passed out. It’s…”
“You’re fine,” you watched his eyes drop down to your torso and then bounce back up quickly to your face.
When you looked down at yourself you realized your robe was twisted and while all your bits were covered, they were barely covered.
“Jesus fucking Christ… I’m sorry, Harry. I’m a mess…” you pulled the material into place and adjusted the robe.
Harry put his hands at the tops of your arms, “Hey… you’re fine. Take a breath. It’s a beautiful morning and the birds are singing, and just look at this view…” he motioned toward your window where you could see trees and lush green grass stretch along the front of the house, “Now… Do you have some alcohol to clean up the cuts on your knees?”
You sighed and nodded, “Yeah. I’ll get it. You don’t have to do all this. I promise I’m fine. Just need to kind of wake up I think.”
Harry nodded, “Okay. I’ll get back to work out there. Gonna be some loud hammering and noises for a while.”
You cleaned yourself up and put actual clothes on before making coffee and bringing a hot mug out to Harry on a tray. This time, you carefully placed your steps around the boards and scanned the porch to see open spaces and nails in a tin next to fresh boards.
Harry was crouched along the railing and prying a board from its spot when he looked up at you.
“Coffee? Wasn’t sure if you take it with sugar or cream… Or maybe you just want tea?” You placed the tray down as he stood up.
“That’s really nice of you. Thank you. I would love some coffee. Black is fine.”
He took the mug by its handle and brought it up to his lips to take a sip.
“And if you’re hungry I could make you something?” You watched him gulp down the hot liquid.
Shaking his head he grinned at you, “Maybe lunch in a few hours. I ate breakfast already. But you don’t need to go out of your way to make anything. I can go into town for a sandwich, which is what I usually do.”
“Oh no. I’ll make you something for lunch! I insist! I love the company anyway. That way you can kind of relax instead of driving back and forth just to eat. Unless you want to get away for a bit. I mean…” you started rambling. You couldn’t help yourself. Harry’s biceps were on full display as he lifted the mug up to his mouth again and you could just feel your own mouthwatering at the sight. You hadn’t seen a man so attractive in a long time. All the city guys you dated were nice enough… but then there was Harry. Tall with broad shoulders and lean muscle all over, deep pink lips and light green eyes… and dimples… and he was handy? God, you weren’t sure how long you could go before you started to become obvious about how much you enjoyed letting your irises rove over his frame. That is if it wasn’t already obvious.
He watched you go on and on about lunch and then offer up other suggestions with a small smile on his face until you stopped when you realized you were yammering, “Sorry.”
“You okay?” He grinned. He knew you were fine. But he did wonder if you were flustered because of him or if that was how you just were.
“I’m fine. Sorry. Get kind of long-winded sometimes. I’ll let you get to it. Um… if you do want me to make you lunch just let me know. And uh…” you paused and then realized you were about to start yapping again, “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Y/n,” Harry’s deep voice was soft as he spoke your name and you turned to look back at him, “Take a breath. It’s okay. We’ll have lunch together in a few hours. Yeah?”
You puffed out a breathy laugh and nodded before heading back inside with the tray that had sugar and milk atop.
You hadn’t considered it until then. Until you were placing the small crystal lid back onto the sugar bowl and putting the milk back into the refrigerator that your sudden burst of inspiration for the story you were working on was thanks to your handsome handyman. It also felt really good to have someone else there with you. Not that you didn’t feel safe there alone, but just having another presence near you was comforting.
And when you began to make up a lunch, something you hoped he’d like (you had to stop yourself from asking him if he’d want cucumbers and white cheese on his sandwich and just trust that it would be fine) you couldn’t help but peek out your window at him as he pounded his hammer down and wiped the sweat from his brow. His shirt was a bit damp as the sun was rising in the sky and the temperature with it.
Which then reminded you to plug in a fan so he could cool off while he ate with you. You set up the kitchen table and plugged in a fan to have it on for him as you both ate your sandwiches. As well as iced lemonade and chopped cherry tomatoes with basil and olive oil.
It was noon on the dot when you opened the door and poked your head out, “Lunch is ready if you’re hungry.”
Harry placed his hammer down and pushed himself up to stand as he nodded, “Thank you. Mind if I use the bathroom before?”
“Harry, you can use anything you want in the house. Feel free to come inside when you please. You don’t have to ask.”
“Well, thank you, Y/n. I appreciate it.”
You felt ridiculous as you paced your kitchen in wait for Harry to come in so you two could begin. The silly thoughts you had in your head about him had your heart lobbing around in your chest a bit too fast. You could just imagine (in the deepest little fantasy spot in your brain) that he’d take one bite of your sandwich and be so overcome by you that he’d have the sudden urge to lift you onto the table, push your dress up, and take you right there, knocking the lemonade down and forgetting all about the cherry tomatoes.
“Wow. This looks excellent. And you’re joining me?” He smiled as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes on the table.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” you shrugged as you pulled a chair out for him, just in the path of the fan, “And if it’s okay, though I could have some with you. Keep you company. Unless I’m annoying you…”
Harry laughed and shook his head as he took his seat, “You’re the furthest thing from annoying, Y/n. In fact, I quite like talking to you. Sit,” he gestured at the spot where you’d placed your own plate with the sandwich. “The fan is a nice touch too. See, you’re just about the sweetest person I’ve ever worked for and it’s only been a few hours.”
You felt the skin on your cheeks heat up as you sat down in the wooden chair and looked at Harry. You really really tried not to look at him like that. But you could feel it oozing out of you as you batted your lashes and tilted your head down, your eyes still on him. You couldn’t help it!
And he saw it clear as day too. Grinning at you he took the glass of lemonade and gulped down about half as he watched you blink your eyes and then remove your gaze from his down to your plate.
“Thank you, Y/n,” he said as he placed the glass down and picked up his sandwich.
“You’re welcome, Harry.”
. . .
Harry didn’t take days off. He was at your house at 8 am sharp every morning and every day you were sure to make him a big lunch and chat with him a bit. But every day you fell further and further into a little spiral of want and lust. It was ridiculous but he wasn’t doing anything to dampen the way you felt.
Like after one lunch, he took his thumb and wiped the mustard from the edge of your mouth so nonchalantly you felt your knees give out and he had to help steady you. But you didn’t miss his smirk. Like he knew just what he was doing.
Or the time when you were walking from your bathroom to your kitchen after a shower and he’d gone out to buy supplies so you thought you were alone but instead walked past the huge window in only your underwear and bra as you were talking to yourself. Yapping away about whatever in your panties as you turned to the sink to wash some dishes but then yelped when you saw him standing there looking in, an expression of surprise on his face.
You had never run so fast in your life up to your room to put something on. And you should have known better. What was wrong with you? Of course, you were quite absent-minded at times, but that was something on another level.
But then it happened again that he saw you in only your skivvies as you traipsed to your bathroom and had forgotten that he was rewiring the second-floor hallway lights.
“Hey, sweetheart… just wanted to remind you that I’m here,” his voice startled you and you balked as you apologized and shut the bathroom door with a loud slam.
“Sorry, Harry!” You apologized again with your heart rapidly thudding behind your ribcage.
You could hear his voice through the bathroom door, “Don’t need to apologize. Doesn’t offend me. Just wanted to remind you I was here is all – in case you weren’t keen on me seeing you in your knickers.”
And Harry was like that. So gentle and thoughtful and there was the tiniest bit of flirtatiousness there too. Which really kept you on your toes around him. Made you feel all hot and gooey. Maybe if he didn’t grin at you the way he did or if he didn’t wipe mustard from your lips or call you sweetheart or compliment you as often you wouldn’t feel that tension there all the time.
But he did and so you did.
Which then led to you working up the nerve to start asking him to say for dinner. He’d sit in your kitchen after using your shower to clean up and watch (you insisted he didn’t help) as you made something for the both of you to eat.
At first, he didn’t stay every evening for dinner because he wanted to get home to clean up and you didn’t want to push and make it seem like you were needy for his company.
But soon, after suggesting he just use your shower, it was every night, and he began to bring a change of clothes so he could clean up before eating. And it felt like you were in some kind of bizarre relationship. Or, that’s what you pretended in your mind anyway. And it was fodder for your writing so you played into the fantasy a little bit.
Of course, there were also all the times you caught him with his shirt off. By the time he began working inside the house summer was in full swing and the place had no central air conditioning so it could get rather hot inside.
And it wasn’t just that you caught him with his shirt off… it was that he caught you staring while he was sans shirt, a sheen of sweat on his chest and at the nape of his neck, muscles flexing and tensing as he labored to make your house gorgeous and well-functioning.
Harry Styles was sexy. He was kind. He was charming and funny. He was smart. And you wanted him. Wanted him in a bad way.
And the days and weeks that drew on that feeling and that lust did not falter. No, it only widened and grew strong, steady thick roots into the ground and became fortified and strengthened with every little bit of contact you had with him. You wanted him so badly you could taste it. Feel it. Smell it.
“Let me get it!” He scoffed at you as he pulled the lid from the pot that was boiling over while you were chopping the tomatoes. You told him to stay seated because you wanted him to rest, that you’d get the boiling pot. He’d worked so hard that day (as he always did) and you knew he must be tired. But he dipped the spoon into the bubbling water and turned down the burner to lower the heat for you.
“I can help, Y/n. I know you’re just being sweet cause you think I’m all tuckered but I don’t mind. Really.”
You smiled as you sliced into the tomato, “Okay. I just want to make sure you’re not working extra. You work so hard every day and I feel like this is the least I can do for you.”
Harry pushed a soft laugh out through his nose as he placed the lid back onto the pot, “The least you could do is pay me for my work. And that you already do. This,” he gestured around the kitchen, “Is above and beyond. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Well, I just… I feel like we’re friends now and feels strange to send you home after,” you glanced at him to see that he was leaning his hip into the counter watching you in that way that he often looked at you. The one that made your skin sizzle.
When he didn’t respond you glanced at him again, “There’s a bottle of wine if you want to share? I think it’ll go really nicely with this dish.”
Harry pursed his lips and nodded, “Trying to get me drunk, sweetheart?”
You chuckled in surprise and shook your head, “Of course not!” Placing the knife down you turned to him, “I was only just suggesting it if you want. I mean… you don’t have to. I didn’t think a glass would be all that bad–“
“I’m teasing. It’s okay. I’ll have some wine with you,” he laughed at the way you suddenly bristled, “Where’s the wine opener? I’ll pour us both a glass.”
The wine turned out to be the perfect accompaniment for the pasta dish you’d made. But you knew it would be. In fact, you’d gone into town the night before to the olive oil and wine shop and selected the wine for that exact purpose after asking the owner what she thought. You weren’t sure if he’d like wine or not but you liked wine and it was a really nice bottle. Which you could afford now that you had a bit of money to your name.
And Harry agreed it was good as he poured you both another glass after you’d both finished your plates.
“So what are you writing anyway?” Harry asked as he leaned back in his chair and set his eyes on you.
“It’s a romance. You wouldn’t be into it I’m sure,” you shrugged as you sipped your wine.
“Why are you so sure I wouldn’t be into it? I love romance.”
“Oh. I guess men aren’t usually my target audience or prospective target audience… I haven’t actually published anything. Sorry… I shouldn’t assume I guess.”
“Tell me what it’s about.”
You cleared your throat and shook your head, “Oh… it’s not done. I’m kind of too bashful to talk about it just yet.”
Harry leaned his elbows onto the table and kept his gaze on you, “Oh come on… Tell me. I won’t judge. I want to know what kind of story you’ve been working on. And then I’ll tell you a secret of my own. How’s that sound?”
You sat your glass of wine down and licked your lips as you let your pupils take in his pretty lips, “Uh… fine…” you sighed and smiled. You wouldn’t tell him the whole thing but perhaps you could just make it brief. “It’s about a woman who takes on a new adventure in life and she meets a man unexpectedly and he helps her kind of navigate her new life… uh… like they have this unspoken connection and feel quite comfortable with one another off the bat. And it leads to a whirlwind romance that ends happily ever after.”
Harry tilted his head to the side and stitched his brows together, “Y/n…” Harry spoke your name as if he were about to scold you, “Give me some detail. What kind of new adventure is this woman taking?”
You looked up at the ceiling and felt your neck heat up. If you told him the premise he’d figure out you were basically writing a story that was a fantasy version of what you and Harry were doing.
But you didn’t want to lie and you could just tell him to drop it but you didn’t want to do that either. So you gulped down the saliva in your throat and laughed as you looked at him, “She inherits a gorgeous old house from a family member with all the money she’d need to hire a man to help her restore the place.”
The pleased look on his face had you looking away from him and down at your empty plate in full embarrassment.
“I see. So you’ve had some real-life inspiration since moving in here then.”
You nodded, a small laugh falling from your lips, “Yeah.”
“And this man helping her restore the old house? He’s the one she has her whirlwind, happy-ending romance with?”
You put your hands over your face, “Oh my god. I mean… yes. It’s just inspiration, though… like it wasn’t–“
Your words were cut off when you heard his chair scrape over the wooden floors and felt his hand at your back, “You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s just a story. Wanna hear my secret now? Level out the playing field a bit here.”
You pulled your hands away from your face and looked at him. He was sitting right next to you, so close you could see the pores on his nose as he offered you a dimpled grin. His hand gently rubbed at your back.
“Level out the playing field?”
His soft grin deepened as he slid his pupils down to your lips, “Yeah. You told me something that’s kind of a secret. If you want me to tell you a secret I will… kind of make it even.”
You swallowed with a nod as he moved his eyes over the expanse of your face and it felt like warmth seeping into your skin.
“See… So here’s the thing…” he paused to make sure you were paying attention, “I’ve been working for this insanely sweet-as-pie woman for a couple of months now. Just falling in love with every corner of the house that I touch… getting fed fruit and coffee every morning, sandwiches in the afternoon with lemonade and a fan to help cool me down, and then lately it’s spread into dinner… just me and her eating together in her kitchen, talking about nothing and everything as the sun goes down and then I go home at night alone and find myself unable to stop thinking about her and the way she laughs and the way I catch her staring at me when I’ve sweat through my shirt…”
You were holding your breath as he spoke and it was making your head fuzzy and your heart thud and your skin light up as he slowly worked his hand up to the back of your neck, fingers grazing the skin… it felt like you were watching a movie play out before you. Like it wasn’t real.
“And I think to myself… what if she feels the same way about me that I feel about her? Ya know? I mean I’ve seen the way she looks at me. That can’t be an accident. And she’s even started to ask me to stay even later after dinner to have dessert and even though my stomach is always stuffed full of the food she’s fed me and I couldn’t imagine eating another thing I’m always tempted to stay a little longer with her. Just to see where it goes,” the pad of his finger worked up your neck as you turned your gaze down to your hand on the table, “To find out if her dessert is just as tasty as everything else she’s offered me. And of course, I have no doubt that it would be.”
You stayed quiet. You couldn’t believe he’d just said all that. Like he was reading your story and knew what you wanted to happen next. Slowly you brought your gaze back to his and spoke shakily, “Harry…”
“You want me to stay for dessert tonight, Y/n?” You could feel the brush of his thumb along one side of your throat and the press of the pads of his fingers gently on the other side, palm flat against the back of your neck. And that question. It meant more than what he said and you both knew it.
“Yes. If you want,” you swallowed and kept your eyes on his face as he lowered his gaze to your mouth again. His hand at the back of your neck tensed and you could feel him pulling at you, just the last few inches needed to brush his lips against yours in a tentative move, allowing you to breach the space completely, moving in and pressing your mouth firmly against his.
And it was everything. Warm and soft and wet and then he inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to paint his tongue over your lips and you responded in kind, using your tongue against his and you felt his free hand pull at your hip. You smoothed your hands up his strong arms and to his shoulders and your heart felt full and light all at the same time.
When you felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck under your fingers he shifted and pulled at you, both hands gripping your hips and bringing you up out of your chair and placing your bottom on the sturdy wood of the kitchen table, the plates pushed to the side and your nearly empty glass of wine wobbled in its spot as he kept his mouth over yours and he fit himself between your legs.
“Always wearing pretty skirts and dresses for me, aren’t you?” His lips traveled down your jaw and pressed over the skin on your pulse point, “Been teasing me this whole time…” slow pecks down to your clavicle and then back up the other side of your neck as he planted his palms flat onto the table next to your thighs, “Just know you wanted me to see you in your panties all those times… acted all innocent like you didn’t know you were giving me a show…”
You gasped when you felt his teeth gently scrap at your jaw before pushing plush pink lips over the same spot, “Harry…” you breathed out his name.
“Mmm… love how you say my name too,” he spoke as he moved his mouth back over yours and it was game over. Teeth and tongues, and wet lips with moans as he slid a thumb under the hem of your dress to glide up your thigh. He pressed himself in further, making you lay back on the table, your saltshaker and napkin holder tipping over as he ran his hands up your sides.
“Is this what you wanted? All this time, Y/n?”
You moaned as he began to pepper his kisses down your neck once again, your body lighting up with every touch and whisper into your skin.
“Yes…”
“Yeah,” he looked up at you with his hands firm around your waist before he moved them down to push at your skirt, shoving the material up your thighs, “And what about this? Is this what you want too?”
You pushed yourself up by your elbows and nodded, “Yeah…”
Harry grinned as his fingers found your panties and he tucked his middle fingers into the band, “Wanna give me my dessert now?”
His light jade eyes were sparkling as he waited for your nod of approval, the small yes you peeped out had him tearing your panties down your legs, left to drape off your left foot as he pushed your thighs apart and moaned, “It’s the only dessert I’ve wanted since you first started offering. Smells so good too,” he dropped his mouth to the inside of your plush thigh and ran his big palms upward on the underside of your thighs to press your legs back and you gurgled a moan as you watched him dip down and tongue at your pussy, his wet muscle slicking upward from your entrance to your clit and then repeated, and repeated, over and over as he kept his eyes on yours until you were so slick he was barely making contact with your skin… your arousal had coated your pussy and his tongue in a thick layer.
“Fuck me… sweetheart… you’re gonna give me a toothache with all this sweet juice…” he spoke mindlessly as he lapped at you. He brought a hand down to your pussy, running his fingers through your crease as he pressed his tongue to your clit and kissed it, bringing it delicately into his mouth with a gentle slurp.
“Ahh! Harry!” You reached down to pull at his hair as your back arched up and your head fell back into the wood.
The moment Harry felt your grip on his hair he spread your pussy with his fingers and drove a digit inside, curling it in and brushing against the spot you loved to focus on when you fingered yourself, making your body shiver.
Your table was rattling from the movements you were making, the lewd act causing the wooden legs to shift and give slightly as Harry ate your pussy and moaned at your taste.
“Gonna let me have some every night now?” His words came out watery, and slurred as he continued working to get you off, “Gonna let me take care of you the way you’ve been taking care of me?”
You cried out in a gurgle when you felt another finger press inside as he flattened his tongue over your pussy, “Yes!”
Harry grinned into your pussy. Seemed all you could say at that point was a combination of yes and Harry. He loved how you were responding to him. Like it was all you ever wanted.
When he felt you roll your hips up and grind into his mouth he pressed your thigh down and dug in harder, flicking his eyes up at you from time to time, watching the way your chest rose and fell heavy, how your lips were dropped wide open with your eyes closed.
“Y’shaking so hard, sweetheart. You can come if you need to,” he slid his fingers into the last knuckle and back out as he spoke, lips grazing your wet clit as he did so, “You’ve been so good to me, you deserve a treat too…”
Your brain was in a fog, a haze that made it hard to hear or make sense of his words as your orgasm tiptoed its way through your tummy and down into your core, slowly sliding its way through your organs until it burst out of you and your limbs stiffened as you pressed Harry’s face into your pussy and moaned his name so loudly Harry figured it was a good thing you didn’t have any neighbors close by to hear what could sound like someone being attacked.
But in a way, you were being attacked. Harry’s lips and his tongue and his fingers ravaged you through your orgasm, never letting up or stopping until you gasped and pushed at him as you sat up with wet lips, burning cheeks, and dark eyes, “Oh god, Harry!”
The dirty smirk on his face was pure sex as he pulled his fingers out of your sticky pussy and slid you from the table, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you to your room, his mouth on yours.
You began to squeak in protest as he lifted you and started up the stairs and you were certain it was too much weight or that he’d drop you but he was solid and strong and moved with ease, holding you tight under your bottom with one hand and his other at your mid back until he laid you on your bed with a bounce.
Harry began to pull his jeans down his strong legs and you watched as he undressed. It was the first time you’d seen his bottom half but just as his chest and shoulders and abs did not disappoint, neither did his masculine, well-muscled thighs and buttocks. The man was in incredible shape, thanks to good genes and hard manual labor you assumed.
When Harry peeled his shirt off over his head, the curls were pushed upward and he was left standing in your bedroom looking like a man ready to ransack your body with wild hair, tight boxer briefs hiding an erection that looked quite sizable.
Silently he kneed onto the bed between your legs and pushed your dress out of the way, “Let me see you, sweetheart. Is that okay?”
You helped him bring the dress off over your head and immediately reached up to unpluck your bra, the clasp at the front that once undone had your tits bursting out.
“Holy, fuck…” Harry dove down to your breasts, lapping and squeezing at each one and you placed your fingers back into his hair as if it were their new home. The length was perfect to grip onto.
He pushed himself up as he cupped your tits together and kept his eyes on your flesh and nipples with mouth dropped open, “Goddamn, sweetheart…” He dipped down again, wetting the skin all around your breasts with his lips and tongue until you bucked upward and your wet pussy kissed his belly button.
Popping off from your nipple he looked down at you underneath his large frame and smoothed his hands down your sides and over your tummy then to your hips. He thumbed at your clit and looked up at you, not an ounce of humor on his face, “I can eat your pussy all night. Want my mouth again?” He licked his lips.
“Want to feel it, Harry…” you breathed out.
“Want to feel my mouth again?”
You moaned and slid your palm down his chest and felt the bit of hair on his pecs tickle your skin, “Your cock.”
“Is that right? Sweetheart wants her handyman to stuff her full tonight?” Now you could see the small smirk on his face as he looked at your tits and then back up to your eyes.
“I want you to stuff me full, Harry. I want to feel it.”
Harry wet his lips again as he moaned at your words and tore his boxer briefs down his thighs and to the floor.
He sat back onto his haunches, eyes on yours as he held himself at his base. His thick ruddy tip smooth and ready to pierce into your cunt had you groaning, “Please.”
“You wanna be my girl, Y/n? Be mine? Cause I don’t fuck unless I know I can keep coming back. I don’t do casual, sweetheart.”
You shook your head, “I don’t either. I’ll be yours. Your girl.”
“You sure? You want to date a small-town handyman, make me dinner every night, and get fucked into this soft bed until you’re passed out?”
“Oh my god, Harry,” you moaned and nodded, “Yes. Please…”
Harry scooted in toward you, and his massive cock was just throbbing before your eyes. That thing was going to do some damage to you but you would happily receive it. Take it every night like he said, looked forward to feeling how much he’d fill you up and how deep he’d get, how much it’d ache when he pounded into you.
His hand slid behind your neck, fingers wrapping around the back side as he hovered over you, “Pussy’s so little, sweetheart. Might need to hold on at first okay?”
The dimple popping into his cheek told you he was playing with you. And while, yes, he was quite large, that bulbous tip and thick shaft would definitely be felt entering you, there was no question it’d tuck nicely into your slippery walls.
You gripped his biceps as you kept your eyes focused on his. He glided his fat tip through your pussylips with the slushy wet sound of your arousal coating his cock, drenching his leaking slit until he was sticking the crown at your opening, his lips parted as he pressed into your muscle and penetrated you slowly.
“Mmm… fuck me, sweetheart,” his voice was hiked up a notch in a whine as he clenched his teeth upon entry, “Y’mine now? Yeah?”
You nodded and whimpered, “Harry… oh god I’m yours…”
Harry nodded with you, his eyes focused on your face as he opened you up, and spread you apart inch by inch. When he’d gotten in halfway he reared himself back, that wide tip sliding out of your cunt just before he pressed himself back in, nudging in deeper. The intrusion was all-consuming. Harry’s hard cock was long and thick. But of course, it was. A man like him with a body like that… But it was his demeanor that had tipped you off at the beginning that he had a big dick. That personality that oozed with natural confidence.
“Oh, my fuck!” You wailed as he drove into you again, this time with a bit of force that had his hips grinding into yours.
“Yeah? It’s big in there isn’t it? Need me to be gentle?”
You could just see it in his eyes. He did not want to be gentle. The man above you, fucking into you was holding himself back. He was taking it easy for your sake. But you wanted him to ruin you. Wanted your pussy wrecked by that thick cock, needed to let him have his way with your body so he could get off.
“No… fuck me like you want. Harry…” you whimpered his name as you cupped his jaw, stubble scraping your palm as he slowly thrust into you, “Make me yours. Show me how you do it.” You wanted to feel his strength. Wanted to know what it felt like to have him completely destroy your pussy.
Harry let out a deep groan then hissed as he ground into your cunt, his cock grazing that achy spot deep inside that you knew was gonna be bruised once he was done with you, “Don’t want to hurt your cute little pussy, Y/n. Can already feel I’m in as deep as I can go.”
“Harry, make me yours. Please.”
“Fuck…” he gritted out as he adjusted his knee placement, lifting himself with his thighs and readying his position to rail into you like you wanted. He pulled your hands up and placed your palms onto his lats as he leaned over you, “Hold on here. Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
You gripped your fingers into the muscle of his back and felt him flexing as he drew his long cock back and bucked in with one harsh thrust. The wind nearly knocked from your lungs as he did it again. He was still taking it easy. Long heavy strokes into your guts, hips slapping into yours in thuds until he got into a rhythm and your high-pitched moans told him you were loving it.
Soon your bed was loudly creaking, the mattress springs bouncing heavy and his balls were whacking into your bum. Wet patting of skin colliding and heavy pants filled the room.
“Like this?” He gritted as his pelvis repeatedly smashed into your clit filling your veins with damp mushy heat as your pussy clamped over him.
“Fffffuuu…” you cried out. Not a word but an answer. You did like it. Every time he filled you to the brim with his fat cock and your pussy parted for him, spreading apart to accommodate his hefty girth it brought you closer and closer to the precipice.
Harry choked out a moan when he felt his own orgasm edge toward the brink slowly. The way you gripped around him, the perfect warm and wet hole attached to the sweetest thing he’d ever met made his heart thrash in his chest harshly.
He couldn’t believe that he was getting to fuck you. That you promised to be his. That things had worked out the way they had. Because he’d started falling for you since day one. He had been impressed that you wanted to salvage the old house and to him, that meant you were already special. A city girl with a heart of gold who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. And when you told him you ripped out some of the rotted boards from the porch on your own his cock twitched in his pants. The image in his mind of you doing that was hot.
And as the days and weeks went on he learned more about you and he became obsessed with making everything in the house just perfect for you. He often daydreamed of living in it with you. Getting to see you every day after work with a kid or two running around. While it was too early to think about all that, he couldn’t help it. Harry was a sincere and deeply emotional man who prized deep connections and love over everything. He’d never been able to do casual.
He was brought back to the moment when your face began to screw up in pleasure and your punched breaths began to grow into loud moans with every snap of his hips.
You, on the other hand, were thinking of nothing but that big cock sliding through your insides and ramming into your depths, your tummy aching at the stretch and the way he filled you so completely. Your brain was empty as he sliced through you, fucking you down into your soft blankets as his chest and arms and shoulders tensed.
“Ooohh, sweetheart… like that yeah? That what you need? Right there?”
Your arousal had dripped from your hole and drenched your ass and the blanket under you, your gushy wetness slopped out with every push of his cock into your pussy.
Harry could feel your thighs quivering and shaking as you started to arch into him, loud bursts of moans belted from your lungs on each plunge.
Harry was losing his mind at the noises you were making and how good you felt squeezing around him, “Gonna have to move myself in here so I can have you like this every day… look at you taking me so well… fucking creaming all over me…” his string of consciousness continued as he railed into you deeply and you felt your insides snap suddenly, your orgasm erasing all working thoughts from your brain.
“Yes! Fuuuuck! Yes! I need you!”
“Need you too, Y/n. I fucking need you baby… come all over me, show me how good that is… fuck… fuck…” Harry clenched his jaw as you squelched around him, your slippery hole clenching so hard you nearly pushed him out but he was stronger as he continued to pound into you, bringing you through your ecstasy until he couldn’t go another moment without coming.
He began unloading into you, heavy, thick pumps of come filled your insides as he coughed out a groan and stilled his hips with your pussy milking him, pussy fluttering and squeezing every drop from his long shaft. You’d both lost your good senses in that moment. No thought about what was responsible or reasonable, it was only about how good it felt to be connected, new lovers enjoying one another and not giving a damn about the consequences.
Harry’s mouth pressed into yours and he moaned sloppily against your wet lips, bodies throbbing and shaking and lungs gasping for air as you wrapped your legs around his waist and hummed in bliss.
Harry’s heart was going wild as he dropped his chest to yours and licked into your mouth, one final push of his cock into your cervix for good measure, pressing his come deeper yet.
“Oh my god,” you breathed out in a mumble as his lips still smeared against yours.
“I know…” he responded with his eyes closed as he continued kissing you.
Your fingers wound into his hair and he rolled you both to your sides, still connecting and simmering and reeling.
“I think now you have to stay,” you parted from the kiss and looked at him with a small smile. Hoping he’d agree to it. You weren’t ready to let him go home yet.
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere. You’ll have to forcibly remove me from you now.”
You giggled and cupped his cheeks, “Good. Means you aren’t gonna be leaving then.”
Harry’s soft smile and his big hands on you felt like home. More than anything had before. The old house was your home, yes, but ever since Harry walked into your life you were a changed woman.
“So you’re mine now? Can I call you my girlfriend?”
You puffed out a laugh through your nose, “Of course. Long as I can call you my boyfriend.”
“Of course. Been dreaming about it since I first met you.”
You licked your lips, “Yeah? Guess we both wasted a lot of time beating around the bush didn’t we?”
Harry shook his head, “Nahh… we didn’t waste time. Every moment spent with you was exactly what was supposed to happen. Got to know you real well. Got to learn all kinds of things about you. I feel like the way it happened wasn’t supposed to happen any other way.”
You nodded and bit your lip. He was probably right. The time you two spent chatting and flirting and getting to know one another slowly made you both open up and feel more comfortable in each other’s presence. And it all led to that very moment right there in your bed.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen any other way.”
Feedback/Thoughts | Ko-fi | Main Masterlist | Patreon
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
Tags: @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @harrrrystylesslut @elidoho @bananabk9756 @gotdrxnkonu @freedomfireflies @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @lightsoutstyles @certainlysyko
#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#handyman!harry#firstpot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry edward styles#harrystyles#harry styles fiction#harry styles fluff#harry styles x yn#harry styles fanfics#harry smut#harry x reader#harry x y/n#harry x you#harry styles writing
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
last line game
@fruity-individual tagged me in a last line game over the weekend but I haven’t been able to write until now, so:
“You’re giving him the map, right?”
“I don’t think so, Padfoot.”
“What?” Sirius sits up so quickly, he bangs his forehead on the underside of the sink. Cursing, he drags himself out of the small space and sits up properly. “Harry, you have to give him the map. It’s his birthright!”
Open tag!
#i'm still addled from surgery but i managed to write three sentences!#and now i must nap for 5 hours#imp is writing#last line game#sirius black back from the veil#idk i think sirius would like to fix things around the house the muggle way#so here he is being a handyman#sirius black#harry potter#teddy lupin
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
why are there no gifsets of robert de niro as harry tuttle in brazil (1985)....character of all time right there
#harry tuttle rogue engineer. we're all in this together pal#fuckin vigilante handyman ziplines from apartment to apartment fixin people's shit
1 note
·
View note
Text
Sympathy for the spammer
Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.
In any scam, any con, any hustle, the big winners are the people who supply the scammers – not the scammers themselves. The kids selling dope on the corner are making less than minimum wage, while the respectable crime-bosses who own the labs clean up. Desperate "retail investors" who buy shitcoins from Superbowl ads get skinned, while the MBA bros who issue the coins make millions (in real dollars, not crypto).
It's ever been thus. The California gold rush was a con, and nearly everyone who went west went broke. Famously, the only reliable way to cash out on the gold rush was to sell "picks and shovels" to the credulous, doomed and desperate. That's how Leland Stanford made his fortune, which he funneled into eugenics programs (and founding a university):
https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/malcolm-harris/palo-alto/9780316592031/
That means that the people who try to con you are almost always getting conned themselves. Think of Multi-Level Marketing (MLM) scams. My forthcoming novel The Bezzle opens with a baroque and improbable fast-food Ponzi in the town of Avalon on the island of Catalina, founded by the chicle monopolist William Wrigley Jr:
http://thebezzle.org
Wrigley found fast food declasse and banned it from the island, a rule that persists to this day. In The Bezzle, the forensic detective Martin Hench uncovers The Fry Guys, an MLM that flash-freezes contraband burgers and fries smuggled on-island from the mainland and sells them to islanders though an "affiliate marketing" scheme that is really about recruiting other affiliate markets to sell under you. As with every MLM, the value of the burgers and fries sold is dwarfed by the gigantic edifice of finance fraud built around it, with "points" being bought and sold for real cash, which is snaffled up and sucked out of the island by a greedy mainlander who is behind the scheme.
A "bezzle" is John Kenneth Galbraith's term for "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In every scam, there's a period where everyone feels richer – but only the scammers are actually cleaning up. The wealth of the marks is illusory, but the longer the scammer can preserve the illusion, the more real money the marks will pump into the system.
MLMs are particularly ugly, because they target people who are shut out of economic opportunity – women, people of color, working people. These people necessarily rely on social ties for survival, looking after each others' kids, loaning each other money they can't afford, sharing what little they have when others have nothing.
It's this social cohesion that MLMs weaponize. Crypto "entrepreneurs" are encouraged to suck in their friends and family by telling them that they're "building Black wealth." Working women are exhorted to suck in their bffs by appealing to their sisterhood and the chance for "women to lift each other up."
The "sales people" trying to get you to buy crypto or leggings or supplements are engaged in predatory conduct that will make you financially and socially worse off, wrecking their communities' finances and shattering the mutual aid survival networks they rely on. But they're not getting rich on this – they're also being scammed:
https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4686468
This really hit home for me in the mid-2000s, when I was still editing Boing Boing. We had a submission form where our readers could submit links for us to look at for inclusion on the blog, and it was overwhelmed by spam. We'd add all kinds of antispam to it, and still, we'd get floods of hundreds or even thousands of spam submissions to it.
One night, I was lying in my bed in London and watching these spams roll in. They were all for small businesses in the rustbelt, handyman services, lawn-care, odd jobs, that kind of thing. They were 10 million miles from the kind of thing we'd ever post about on Boing Boing. They were coming in so thickly that I literally couldn't finish downloading my email – the POP session was dropping before I could get all the mail in the spool. I had to ssh into my mail server and delete them by hand. It was maddening.
Frustrated and furious, I started calling the phone numbers associated with these small businesses, demanding an explanation. I assumed that they'd hired some kind of sleazy marketing service and I wanted to know who it was so I could give them a piece of my mind.
But what I discovered when I got through was much weirder. These people had all been laid off from factories that were shuttering due to globalization. As part of their termination packages, their bosses had offered them "retraining" via "courses" in founding their own businesses.
The "courses" were the precursors to the current era's rise-and-grind hustle-culture scams (again, the only people getting rich from that stuff are the people selling the courses – the "students" finish the course poorer). They promised these laid-off workers, who'd given their lives to their former employers before being discarded, that they just needed to pull themselves up by their own boostraps:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/10/declaration-of-interdependence/#solidarity-forever
After all, we had the internet now! There were so many new opportunities to be your own boss! The course came with a dreadful build-your-own-website service, complete with an overpriced domain sales portal, and a single form for submitting your new business to "thousands of search engines."
This was nearly 20 years ago, but even then, there was really only one search engine that mattered: Google. The "thousands of search engines" the scammers promised to submit these desperate peoples' websites to were just submission forms for directories, indexes, blogs, and mailing lists. The number of directories, indexes, blogs and mailing lists that would publish their submissions was either "zero" or "nearly zero." There was certainly no possibility that anyone at Boing Boing would ever press the wrong key and accidentally write a 500-word blog post about a leaf-raking service in a collapsing deindustrialized exurb in Kentucky or Ohio.
The people who were drowning me in spam weren't the scammers – they were the scammees.
But that's only half the story. Years later, I discovered how our submission form was getting included in this get-rich-quick's mass-submission system. It was a MLM! Coders in the former Soviet Union were getting work via darknet websites that promised them relative pittances for every submission form they reverse-engineered and submitted. The smart coders didn't crack the forms directly – they recruited other, less business-savvy coders to do that for them, and then often as not, ripped them off.
The scam economy runs on this kind of indirection, where scammees are turned into scammers, who flood useful and productive and nice spaces with useless dross that doesn't even make them any money. Take the submission queue at Clarkesworld, the great online science fiction magazine, which famously had to close after it was flooded with thousands of junk submission "written" by LLMs:
https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence
There was a zero percent chance that Neil Clarke would accidentally accept one of these submissions. They were uniformly terrible. The people submitting these "stories" weren't frustrated sf writers who'd discovered a "life hack" that let them turn out more brilliant prose at scale.
They were scammers who'd been scammed into thinking that AIs were the key to a life of passive income, a 4-Hour Work-Week powered by an AI-based self-licking ice-cream cone:
https://pod.link/1651876897/episode/995c8a778ede17d2d7cff393e5203157
This is absolutely classic passive-income brainworms thinking. "I have a bot that can turn out plausible sentences. I will locate places where sentences can be exchanged for money, aim my bot at it, sit back, and count my winnings." It's MBA logic on meth: find a thing people pay for, then, without bothering to understand why they pay for that thing, find a way to generate something like it at scale and bombard them with it.
Con artists start by conning themselves, with the idea that "you can't con an honest man." But the factor that predicts whether someone is connable isn't their honesty – it's their desperation. The kid selling drugs on the corner, the mom desperately DMing her high-school friends to sell them leggings, the cousin who insists that you get in on their shitcoin – they're all doing it because the system is rigged against them, and getting worse every day.
These people reason – correctly – that all the people getting really rich are scamming. If Amazon can make $38b/year selling "ads" that push worse products that cost more to the top of their search results, why should the mere fact that an "opportunity" is obviously predatory and fraudulent disqualify it?
https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute
The quest for passive income is really the quest for a "greater fool," the economist's term for the person who relieves you of the useless crap you just overpaid for. It rots the mind, atomizes communities, shatters solidarity and breeds cynicism:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security
The rise and rise of botshit cannot be separated from this phenomenon. The botshit in our search-results, our social media feeds, and our in-boxes isn't making money for the enshittifiers who send it – rather, they are being hustled by someone who's selling them the "picks and shovels" for the AI gold rush:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy
That's the true cost of all the automation-driven unemployment criti-hype: while we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no
The manic "entrepreneurs" who've been stampeded into panic by the (correct) perception that the economy is a game of musical chairs where the number of chairs is decreasing at breakneck speed are easy marks for the Leland Stanfords of AI, who are creating generational wealth for themselves by promising that their bots will automate away all the tedious work that goes into creating value. Expect a lot more Amazon Marketplace products called "I'm sorry, I cannot fulfil this request as it goes against OpenAI use policy":
https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/12/24036156/openai-policy-amazon-ai-listings
No one's going to buy these products, but the AI picks-and-shovels people will still reap a fortune from the attempt. And because history repeats itself, these newly minted billionaires are continuing Leland Stanford's love affair with eugenics:
https://www.truthdig.com/dig-series/eugenics/
The fact that AI spam doesn't pay is important to the fortunes of AI companies. Most high-value AI applications are very risk-intolerant (self-driving cars, radiology analysis, etc). An AI tool might help a human perform these tasks more accurately – by warning them of things that they've missed – but that's not how AI will turn a profit. There's no market for AI that makes your workers cost more but makes them better at their jobs:
https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/
Plenty of people think that spam might be the elusive high-value, low-risk AI application. But that's just not true. The point of AI spam is to get clicks from people who are looking for better content. It's SEO. No one reads 2000 words of algorithm-pleasing LLM garbage over an omelette recipe and then subscribes to that site's feed.
And the omelette recipe generates pennies for the spammer that posted it. They are doing massive volume in order to make those pennies into dollars. You don't make money by posting one spam. If every spammer had to pay the actual recovery costs (energy, chillers, capital amortization, wages) for their query, every AI spam would lose (lots of) money.
Hustle culture and passive income are about turning other peoples' dollars into your dimes. It is a negative-sum activity, a net drain on society. Behind every seemingly successful "passive income" is a con artist who's getting rich by promising – but not delivering – that elusive passive income, and then blaming the victims for not hustling hard enough:
https://www.ftc.gov/business-guidance/blog/2023/12/blueprint-trouble
I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week
Image:
Cryteria (modified)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#late-stage capitalism#end-stage capitalism#feudalism#rentierism#blueprint for wealth#predation#clarkesworld#kindle#kindle unlimited program#kup#pyramid schemes#mlms#multilevel marketing#amway#spam#form spam#enshittification#ai#llms#large language models#chatbots#ucm#seo#search engine optimization#dark seo#passive income#passive income brainworms
820 notes
·
View notes
Text
harry in love (headcanons)
okay, so what about harry in love? like truly, madly deeply, completely in love? he'd be so adorable :(
when he would wake up, he would always look at your face the first thing, always saying how it makes his day better. when you're both far away, he would just keep a picture of you as his wallpaper, remembering to look at his phone the first thing in the morning
he would be your chaperone, offering to drive you and be with you anywhere you wanna go-you want to get your nails done, he's ready. shopping? check. groceries? he's your handyman. you wanna go for a girls night? he'll drive you there and then come to pick you up coz it's not safe for a pretty cupcake like you to uber at midnight :(
he would talk to you every night, how your day was, did you eat properly, did you drink enough water, is your car okay? or do you want to get it serviced, get fuel filled? listening closely while he rubs lotion on your hands and legs, occasionally giving you back rubs
expect so many love notes from him. i love you's on text randomly, notes on the fridge and beside table when he has to leave for work early. he would even insert some silly jokes, so you don't miss that adorable dork too much :((
you want something, he would bring 20 varieties of it the next day. you want to try yogurt, multiple flavours that you haven't even heard of are in the refrigerator the next day
he would always cook with you too. chopping or washing vegetables to just stirring the pot or standing there admiring you, he would be by your side. always.
if somebody hurts you or goes over the line, the pure anger in his eyes is unforgiving. he knows he can’t do too much physical harm, but he never lets go off that easily either
when you cry, he's your shoulder to put your head on, he's the hand that wipe the tears off your cheek. he holds you close, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead, your cheeks. he never stops you or pushes you away, knowing just how bad bottled up emotions can be
and he would be so cute when you're on your period :( making you hot chocolate, bringing you chocolates and sweets, keeping the heating pad ready because he knows how much your cramps hurt :( he would cook for you all the time, wanting you to eat all the best food you can.
and don't expect him to freak out and shout when he sees blood ridden sheets. he'll gently wake you up, telling you that your period has started, and that he has run a bath for you, there’s clean clothes, there’s warm clothes, whatever you need. you scurry to the bathroom, making a mental note to clean up the mess on the bed later. but when you come back, the sheets have been replaced and already put in the washer. the room smells fresh, there’s breakfast for you on the table, and he comes back in with a heating pad :( and an adorable smile. when you ask him about the sheets and why is he not freaked out, he says, "i'm not a boy, love"
♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡
please like, comment or reblog if you like this, i really appreciate every note 🥺🥺
taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @whotfisade @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry
tags in red couldn't be tagged :(
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles writing#harry#harry edward styles#harry styles headcannons#harrystyles#harry styles au#harry styles angst#harry styles concept#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles fic rec#harry styles fluff#harry fluff#cute#harry styles imagines#harry styles masterlist#harry x reader#harry x yn#harry x you#harry x y/n#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you
405 notes
·
View notes
Text
My AO3 Wrapped: 16 Drarry Recs
This year I’ve embraced a change of pace and read way less than I intended to. This made me feel a bit disconnected from fandom but also allowed me to put this list together in record time so let’s not complain too much 😂 this is shorter and lacking my usual commentary but I didn’t want to break the tradition of sharing my fave reads of the year! Be it for their creativity or peak romance, these 16 amazing fics made my heart beat faster and got me even more in love with Drarry. I’ve read most of them in the first half of the year and it was interesting to see so many fics over 40k, as my usual sweet spot is 10k - 20k. I love the mix of tropes featured here and am very excited to rec authors I’m reading for the first time. ps: I haven’t included any Erised fics since the fest is still ongoing.
Thank you dear creators for sharing so many brilliant works with us this year! 2023 wasn’t my best year fandom-wise, but life has been so generous in other areas that I can’t help but feel humbled today. I wish everyone a lovely start to the new year! As always, please mind the tags and take some time to shower these authors with the appreciation they deserve. Oh, and stay tuned for a rare pair list sometime soon ;)
🍆 Snug by @moonflower-rose (E, 6k)
8th year | touch-starved Harry | soft cock kink
Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.
🧩 Muscle Memory by @corvuscrowned (E, 8k)
curse breaking | partners to lovers | memory magic
There's something just beneath the surface, just at the periphery of Harry's mind. They've been here before — they've done this before. If only he could remember it.
👹 draco malfoy's substitute murder service by @oknowkiss (E, 10k)
odd jobs | D/s undertones | open ending
When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities.
🏰 the earth from a distance by spqr (E, 15k)
time travel | Wizarding history | only one bed
“Well,” Harry said gamely, once they’d managed to find the Leaky Cauldron – still under construction but mercifully open for business – and he’d turned up a few knuts from his pockets, enough to get them a room for the night, “it could be worse.”
🎚️ O Come, All Ye Faithful by toomuchplor (E, 20k)
vicar Draco | established relationship | Church of England
Aunt Petunia died, that was what began everything. Or rather, Aunt Petunia was dying. In the act of dying. In which Draco finds faith in the church, and Harry finds faith in Draco.
🎄 Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)
shop owner Draco | summer romance | light angst
'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?
🚬 Sun Thief by @floydig and BlackRose532 (E, 28k)
slice of life | fast sexual burn | dark humour
It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.
🍷 Winner Takes It All by @skeptiquewrites (E, 41k)
break up make up | down & out Draco | hurt/comfort
As with all his friends’ wagers, it starts small. Fifty Galleons for one kiss from Harry Potter is easily done.
🏖️ LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k)
Draco in the Muggle World | pining Harry | recreational drug use
Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.
🫃Shine On, You Crazy Diamond by @lagerloutfic (E, 42k)
fwb to lovers | gay awakening (Harry) | mpreg (Draco)
Harry has probably always wanted Draco, it just took him a few years to figure that out. A story about the joy of discovering exactly who you are and how easy it can be once you do.
🚣♀️ Our Objective Remains Unchanged by @citrusses (E, 46k)
rowing AU | enemies to lovers | university setting
Harry Potter, returning member of the Oxford University Boat Club, has two goals for the spring of 2005: beat Cambridge, and beat Draco Malfoy. Perhaps not in that order.
🧶 Polar Night/Midnight Sun by toomuchplor (E, 54k)
cabin fic | wintery vibes | only one bed
Harry travels to arctic Norway on the trail of dragon egg poachers, only to find he's been assigned to work alongside the only NorMagPol Auror north of sixty: one Draco Malfoy.
🎩 Nights With You by @the-sinking-ship (E, 58k)
holiday fic | fake relationship | mutual pining
Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed.
👮🏻♂️Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu (E, 75k)
auror partners | slow burn | humour
Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.
🖼️ where all the veins meet by @saxamophone (E, 146k)
sad bois | Grimmauld Place | found family | 8th year
It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now?
📼 Always Already by @aibidil (E, 170k)
time travel | forced proximity | mutual pining
Harry and Draco are perfectly fine, separately minding their business in 2004, when the Unspeakables conscript them into service... in the First War against Voldemort.
189 notes
·
View notes
Text
🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶
📻 Sun Thief
🎵 Explicit, 28,228
❗ Warnings/Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, POV Harry Potter, Developing Relationship, Fast Sexual Burn, Handyman Harry Potter, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Harry Potter in the Muggle World, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship, we worship Ron Weasley in this house, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Ex-Hitman Harry Potter, anti-Auror sentiment, Anti-Ministry Sentiment, Illegal Potions Dealer Draco Malfoy, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Buff Draco Malfoy, Beefy Muscled Draco, Recreational Potions, Recreational Drugs, Slice of Life, Wandless Magic, Patronus Charm, thestral sanctuary, Head Shaving, Drinking, Smoking, Scars, Tattoos, Past Child Abuse, Character Study, Emotional Repression, Dreams/Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Squib rights, illegal activities treated casually, some violence, some blood, Some angst, dark humour, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Facefucking, Rimming, Riding, Wall Sex, sex in the loo, Sex on Furniture, fuck first talk later, Happy Ending
🎵 Song Prompt: ‘Anti-Hero’ by ‘Taylor Swift’
Summary:
“You’re stunning,” Harry blurts out, because Draco is pink-cheeked and his mouth is bitten and plump. Gasping beneath Harry, working his cock in his fist. “Say my name when you come?”
It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.
Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.
Read on AO3
120 notes
·
View notes
Text
Second Time The Charm
He comes back to the house the next day, still try to knock on the door, but minutes pass and it's still unopened
He wanted to be a proper guest, who goes into the house through the front door, invited, but in this case, he had no choice but to leave the shovel by the door
That is, until the door suddenly opens, and the owner of the house comes out. She seems surprised to see him, and he can't say the feeling's not mutual
"Oh hello…" She greeted, "Didn't expect you'd come."
"I came to return the shovel." He said, "Thought it'd be very rude of me if I leave without saying thank you."
"Don't worry about it."
At this point, he's at a loss for words. She's dismissive, and doesn't hide her indifference. He'd not fancy her much, if she didn't have pretty eyes
He pretends to look at the trees, before attempting to revive the conversation again, "Those are beautiful, you've taken care of them very well."
"It's not me, I have a gardener."
So that's why
"Private gardener?" He asked, knowing that a commercial one would use their own tools, and not the owner's
"Maybe. He's an amateur." She told him
He raises his brow, "It doesn't look like an amateur work."
"Seems like you thought the word amateur as a beginner." She chuckles, "He's an amateur, someone who does it out of love. He loves the garden, that's why they're beautiful."
He looks at her with interest, she seems to have her way with words
She turns her head to him, "I'm going to the farm, you wanna come?"
With a curiosity in mind, he decides to come along
They both talk for a bit, and he soon learns about her and her activities. She likes vinyl records, because the sound quality is different. She cooks her own food, and she likes to bake. She hates hot weather, and bugs. She also talks about the town folks, and how they all are eccentric in their own way
"You know Callum? He's the town's handyman. He likes to collect scraps, to the point his house is full of things other people discarded. You might find your broken plate there if you look around."
"Really?" He hums, "I've met him a few times, he's a nice fellow. Though Claudia and Flores said I should watch my belongings around him."
She rolls her eyes, "I suggest you to take their word with a grain of salt, especially Flores. She's the one who attempts to take one of my lipsticks because I said I never really wore them."
"Oh?" He said, "What happened then?"
"Nothing, I caught her red handed."
"She apologized?"
"Of course not, I told her to leave before she could embarrass herself further."
At the farm, they're greeted by the owner himself. He's an old man with big arms, though he's not too tall
"I see you bring our newcomer here." He said to her before offering his hand to him, "Name's Harris."
"John." He said, "She didn't bring me here, I was the one who went along."
"Consider yourself lucky. She hates strangers."
"Not true. I already liked you when we we first met, Mr. Harris."
"Aw, drop the honorific, will ya?" He chuckles, "Us cowmen are honest, of course you'd trust me. Can't say the same for other people, especially you." He then looks at him, "Y'look like you've served during a war. Navy?"
"Probably worked for the special force in the army." She said, which immediately set his alarm off
"How did you know?" He said as he smiled, keeping his friendly facade
"Your body said it all." She shrugged, "I've met a lot of people, so I developed an intuition for it."
"Special force? Someone who carried out secret missions?" He whistles, "You have a lot to share. Tell you what, I'll keep it a secret, but you gotta tell me what happened during your service. Not the government secret stuff, of course."
She chuckles, "I suggest you, John, keep your past to yourself. The town folks are very curious, so you better keep it close or they'll hound you for stories."
"Roger that."
"I almost forgot, you came for the milk." The man clicked his fingers, "Come, I'll prepare it for you."
The three of them walk inside the farm, where the occasional moos and smell of manure fill the room. They walk until they reach the small room full of gallons, and he opens one of them
"Did you bring your bottles?" She then hands him the basket, which contains 4 bottles. He begins to fill each bottle with fresh milk, before handing them back
He refuses when she tries to pay him, telling her she's done a lot for him already, and sending her out before she can insist. He then waves them both goodbye, telling them to come over and have a tea sometimes
"He's a nice fellow." He commented after offering himself to hold her basket
"He is. He's too nice in fact, that it worries me sometimes." She replied
"He'll be fine. He has good people around him."
"Hope so."
They stay quiet for a while, before deciding to ask her something. "Say, you've met a lot of people before. Did you meet a lot of people like me too?"
"Never, in fact." She replied, "I've met some people from the army—commander, secretary, almost everyone who work in the office, but never one from the field. That's why I assume you're in a special force."
"That easy?" He chuckles
She nods, "Everyone can do that, it's not hard to guess."
"Well, I disagree." He smiles, "I can't figure you out in the same manner."
"You just have to look closely."
"Won't you be uncomfortable with that?"
"I am." She told him, "But I'm used to it."
"Then I won't do it." He said, "I'm not comfortable with prying into people's life."
She seems amused by his answer, "Lying is a sin."
"Scout's honour."
"Alright, do what you want."
They part ways once they reach her front door. He insisted to bring the milk to the kitchen, but she told him it's not necessary. So they exchange pleasantries before he leaves
Halfway through his home, he realized he hadn't learnt her name at all
《 Prev | Next 》
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
2023.07.31 ~ Harry J. Potter’s birthday
Complete fics posted on AO3 this day
1. Between the jars of chocolate spread by @nelweensfic [G, 1k]
►It's Harry's morning birthday and Draco wants some pancakes, nothing can't go wrong, right?
2. Denial and its Side Effects by A_MX [T, 81k]
►Shortly after returning to Hogwarts to complete his education, Harry begins to suffer from nightmares. At the same time, he begins to form some sort of friendship with Draco Malfoy, the disgraced heir of the Malfoy family. His friends don't approve of this, but Harry insists that everyone deserves a second chance.
3. The Luckiest by epiphany_dex [E, 10k, series]
►It’s Harry’s birthday and Draco is determined to make it absolutely perfect.
---
Fest/Exchange
★ Harry James Potter Week 2023 | @harryjamespotterweek
A Glimmer of Hope by @drarrypotterrenaissance [T, 1k]
Love To Hate You by @starlitsilvereyes [E, 1k]
Magic from the Start by @drarrypotterrenaissance [T, 2k]
You win. by @poljupci [M, 1k]
5. Sun Thief by Anonymous [E, 28k]
►It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs. Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.
★ HD Wireless 2023 | @hd-wireless
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
Your Heart Belongs to Me - Part One
Sheriff Lee Bodecker x Female Reader
(The Devil All The Time)
In late-1960s Knockemstiff, your husband Lee has been neglecting you for so long that you're starved of affection. Trapped in your domestic prison, could the young handyman working on your house be your ticket to freedom?
Warnings: smut/sexual references (light), angst, extramarital affairs, alcohol and drug use, alcoholism, some rough handling of female character by male character. Lee is quite dark in this story so please use caution.
Story Masterlist
Part 2
You were rinsing the dinner plates and scrubbing the pots and pans when your husband came up behind you in the kitchen. You were humming to yourself like you often did during your chores, a little song to break up the monotony of your tedious duties.
Lee said nothing. He just quietly placed the crumpled piece of paper down next to the sink, pushing it across the counter by your elbow.
When you saw what it was your stomach sank so quickly you thought you might be sick. You felt your knees buckle as panic moved its way up your body, seemingly collapsing each of your muscles.
“Found this in the bedroom” he said quietly. You couldn’t read his tone which was always scarier, he was always more manageable when you could actually hear the anger in his voice.
You peered over at it intently as if you’d just seen it for the first time. “Huh” you uttered. “What’s that, baby?” Cutesy nicknames often helped appease him.
You knew feigning innocence would only get you so far, but you had to try.
“I was thinkin’ you could tell me” muttered Lee.
You carried on washing the dishes as if this was all no big deal, too nervous to turn around and face him.
“Sorry honeybun, nothing I’ve seen before” you said casually. “Maybe it fell out of one of my library books? People use all sorts of things for bookmarks”. You hoped he hadn’t noticed your breathing quicken, but of course he had.
“Maybe check it again” Lee said stonily. He held it in front of your face and you gingerly took it from him.
The paper was scrawled with chicken scratch handwriting. It looked like it had been written with blunt charcoal. It was actually an eyeliner pencil. You knew that, of course. You read it for the thousandth or so time since you’d received it. It was silly of you to keep it. You knew that then and you knew that now. But you thought you’d hidden it well enough. It was the only thing you owned which gave you joy. You treasured it, like a magpie guarding a precious piece of silver in its nest.
Never forget that each day your beauty catches me off guard. Your Heart Belongs To Me – H
“Sounds like someone has a sweetheart” you muttered, placing it back on the counter. “Shame it never found its way to the intended recipient I guess”.
Sweat dripped down your forehead as Lee hummed thoughtfully. You intently scrubbed at a stubborn patch of grease baked onto the pan.
“You know what’s funny?” Lee said as he placed a firm hand on your waist. “Your Heart Belongs To Me…ain’t that your favourite Supremes song?”
You gulped, going rigid in his grasp. “I-it is” you mumbled.
Lee chuckled. “A good husband knows his wife’s favourite song. I remember how much you used to play that one” he mused.
“Yes. When I had my record player, at least” you whispered tightly.
You froze as he continued his interrogation routine on you. He didn’t get to be Sheriff on luck alone.
“And ‘H’” he said thoughtfully, taking the time to enunciate the letter carefully. “I’ve been rackin’ my brains wondering who ‘H’ could be. Any ideas, sugar?” he asked, his grip on your waist tightening as his free hand joined the other side of you.
It was Harry, of course.
You knew that. Lee knew that.
Harry.
**
Harry had worked for you and Lee for a few weeks at the height of summer, building a shed in the yard and taking on a few odd jobs around the house as a handyman. Lee was too busy at the station of course, working long hours as he protected the town and did his duty. Many of those long hours were also spent in the company of prostitutes, or staring down a bottle of whisky in some seedy bar. He rarely tried to cover his tracks nowadays so you knew all about it. You saw the lipstick marks on his shirts in the laundry. Found that unfamiliar pair of discarded panties underneath the passenger seat of his cruiser (which you purposefully left on the dash so he knew you’d seen them). Smelt the liquor on his breath as he stumbled into bed with you countless hours after his shift had ended. Regardless, he had no such time to build sheds or put up shelves, so Harry was hired.
Harry, twenty one years old, fresh faced and beautiful. He seemed impossibly young to you, a living reminder of your lost youth – even though there wasn’t really that much difference in your ages, in the big scheme of things. His body was perfectly chiselled from years spent working with his hands outside, wide arms and broad shoulders, sturdy thighs and calloused fingers. Sometimes when you snuck glances at him as he worked - you’d catch him wiping his brow with his t-shirt, his exposed stomach like a washboard. He even had that prominent ‘V’ muscle creeping down to his crotch. You’d only ever seen pictures of that in the magazines. Nobody else in Knockemstiff looked like Harry. As he ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his long chestnut hair, you’d often feel your breath hitch and a tingle between your legs, suddenly thinking the type of thoughts that betrayed your marriage vows.
It started innocently enough. Mrs Bodecker, the Sheriff’s wife, is known for nothing if not being a good host. You’d bring him lemonade and home baked muffins, make him lunch, bring him wet towels to cool down with when the baking summer sun was too stifling. He was always so grateful, so appreciative. He’d tell you how good everything tasted and be openly in awe of your housekeeping skills. The most you got from Lee these days was a grunt, or he’d moan that he wanted porkchops when you made him lamb.
It was nice to have someone to talk to during the day. You were alone in the house by yourself most of the time, and your chores only kept you so busy. Harry would chat with you, ask you questions about yourself as he ate lunch and you cleaned the stove. He always seemed genuinely interested in your answers, remembering the details and referring to them again in later conversations. His attention was intoxicating, it made you feel special and important – as if maybe there was more to you than just being a homemaker and the Sheriff’s dutiful wife.
Your routine was that you’d put on your records as you cleaned, cooked, sewed and organised. Everything from The Supremes to The Stones, music brought you intense joy and brightened your days. Lee often called most of it a racket but you didn’t care. When he was out you’d shimmy up the stairs to the Four Seasons, scrub the bathroom tiles to The Monkees and dress your salads to Aretha. You’d dance by yourself, bouncing from room to room as you swayed to the music and tapped your feet. It was the only time you felt truly free, unencumbered by the dreariness of your day to day.
You’d tone it down when Harry was around of course, not wanting him to catch your embarrassing displays of frivolity. You’d sway to the songs, hum along gently, but reserved the real dancing for when you were alone.
Then one day you forgot yourself, getting caught up listening to Shout by the Isley Brothers. You just got carried away, twirling in the living room with your eyes closed and shaking your hips, leaping onto the couch and throwing your arms up with wild abandon. Completely unselfconscious and liberated.
You gasped when you saw Harry leaning against the doorframe, his gorgeous grin lighting up his face. You had blushed crimson as you stopped the record, ashamed to be caught in your private moment. But Harry had told you how much he liked it, he asked if he could join in. You awkwardly put the song back on and he began to dance too. You felt self-conscious at first but he took your hand and spun you around. His playful energy was so infectious you couldn’t help but relax and begin to enjoy it. Lee hated dancing and never indulged you apart from an occasional half-hearted slow dance sway at weddings. Dancing with a man who wanted to dance with you, who actually enjoyed dancing, was dizzying, particularly such a handsome man who had his pick of the girls in town.
After that, you and Harry danced every day. You’d take turns picking a record and would bop around the living room together laughing and twirling, he’d dip you and spin you around. You knew it was wrong, but you didn’t feel guilt – it was just dancing after all, nothing more. Besides, Lee was up to much worse, so what did a little dancing hurt?
Lee was becoming harder to live with. He’d stopped having sex with you, just occasionally demanding a hand or blow job when he’d stumbled in from the bar, swaying with drunkenness – sometimes running to the bathroom to vomit afterwards. He never serviced your own needs, never even kissed you. Once night you tried to seduce him with his favourite dinner and a slinky teddy nightdress, nibbling on his earlobe on the couch – but he merely waved you away and told you he was watching TV. You don’t think he’d even have noticed if you’d been nude.
You’d resorted to touching yourself alone in bed on the nights he was out, thinking about dancing in Harry’s strong arms and picturing his deep blue eyes as you bucked wildly against your hand, your face pressed to the pillow to muffle your cries. You’d been married for nearly seven years now, and this wasn’t how you pictured your life.
One particularly stifling afternoon you’d put on Your Heart Belongs To Me for Harry and had slow danced with him in the kitchen, his hands gently clasping your hips as you swayed in time together. You’d looked up into his beautiful, welcoming sea blue eyes and he smiled back at you so warmly that your heart skipped a beat. You rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes as his hands caressed your back and you thought about another life, another you, with Harry. He would love you and you him. And all would be fine.
“The Sheriff is so lucky to have you” he had whispered, and your eyes filled with tears because Lee would never think such a thing.
“When I get married, if my wife is anythin’ like you I’ll be a happy man” he said softly. “Beautiful..kind…fun…the best cook in the state” he laughed.
You looked back at him, unsure of what to say, just basking in his kind words. Inhaling them like much needed oxygen, your heart stinging as you realised you hadn’t heard anything like that from a man in so many years.
“This is my favourite song” you whispered.
Harry smiled again. “I think it’s mine too now”.
He gently lifted a finger under your chin and raised your lips to his, your skin buzzed with electricity as he kissed you so tenderly you thought your legs might give out. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight in that moment, as if someone had flicked a long neglected switch somewhere in your brain and you suddenly came back to life.
But you couldn’t do it.
“I’m sorry” you said gently as you broke away. You gestured to your wedding ring and Harry just smiled apologetically, kissing you chastely on the cheek as he went back to work out in the yard. It all happened so quickly you briefly wondered if it had just been your imagination.
As much as you wanted it so desperately, you had taken marriage vows. Yes, your husband wasn’t exactly keeping up his end of the bargain but that didn’t mean you had to stoop to his level. Besides, you had been happy together once. When you were young and carefree, and Lee had been a fresh faced deputy ready to fight crime and make the town a better place. You’d had no money but that was alright, going at it in the backseat of his car and spending hours at the creek just holding hands and talking about your hopes and dreams. Pooling your pennies to buy a cheeseburger for a late breakfast and splitting it down the middle, both vowing you’d go out for fancy steak dinners and champagne once you were married and he was making more money.
But climbing the ladder in the force hardened Lee, exposing him to so much violence and corruption it just became his day to day. He drank more and more to deal with the stress and his temper that had always been on the edges of your relationship moved closer and closer to the centre. You knew he resented you even though you didn’t fully understand why, perhaps because your days consisted of cleaning products and chopping vegetables safe at home, and you couldn’t begin to grasp how his world worked anymore.
That evening you made him a nice dinner and decided to make another effort to really try and bond with him. You knew it was probably out of guilt after Harry’s stolen kiss, but if it brought you two closer together then that was only a good thing.
But he didn’t come home of course, and you called the station but he’d already left and they couldn’t tell you where he was (a lie, you knew they always covered for each other with the wives). So his dinner went in the trash and you padded off to bed alone like you so often did. A crash woke you at 2am and you went downstairs to find Lee on the floor of the living room barely able to stand. You pulled him to his feet, seething, as he then collapsed into the wall knocking your beloved record player flying – you could only watch in horror as you heard it crack when it hit the hard marble of the fireplace.
It was ruined of course, beyond fixing. You sat on the floor clutching it in tears as Lee stumbled onto the couch, cursing at the wreckage and promptly passing out.
The next morning you stonily made him breakfast as he nursed a killer hangover and you were giving him the silent treatment over the incident. He knew you were upset as he was sweet as pie, which he only ever was when he felt guilty. The overenthusiastic niceness about the bacon and excessive compliments on your hair did nothing but rile you up further until you told him simply that you just wanted him to replace the record player rather than play out this ridiculous charade. He shifted in his seat and mumbled something about saving money and you finally lost it with him.
“That record player is the only thing in this house that I truly love and you DESTROYED it” you screamed. “You NEED to replace it”.
“I don’t NEED to do anythin’ with the money I bring home” he spat. “I feed ya, clothe ya, set you up pretty comfortably don’t I?? You don’t get to dictate what I do with my pay check”.
You had been furious, vibrating with rage, gripping the sink as your contempt for him flowed through your body.
“Maybe you’d have a bit more to spare if you didn’t spend so much on whiskey and whores” you had growled at him.
He stared at you in silence, his face clouded with anger. His blue eyes were so piercing that you feared they’d tear holes into your flesh. But then he merely chuckled, as if you’d said the silliest thing in the world. He went back to eating as if you weren’t even there.
“Lee, please” you reasoned, softening as you realised you needed to change tact. “I love my records. They make me so happy” you crossed the kitchen towards him, standing next to his chair and taking his hand. “Please, can we just get a new one. It’s the only thing I want, nothin’ else” you pleaded.
Lee groaned. You could see he was relenting, but not enough. The whores comment had probably stuck in his craw.
“Sorry sweetness, can’t do it right now. Maybe after a few more paychecks. I really didn’t mean to break it, I am sorry”.
He got up and kissed you on the cheek as he went to leave for work.
You waited until he’d left and then sobbed quietly at the kitchen table, your world suddenly much greyer and smaller this morning.
Harry had arrived as usual but kept himself to himself, clearly giving you space after the kiss. It was his final day working for the Bodeckers as he’d finally worked through the long list of jobs Lee set out for him. You busied yourself with your chores but it was all a lot harder without your music. You suddenly realised you couldn’t carry on like this. You’d finally had enough. Taking away your dancing was the last straw.
You brought Harry’s lunch out to him and a pitcher of sweet tea. He was as attentive and kind as ever, and your heart swelled merely be being in his presence. You knew it was now or never.
“I have your last pay from Lee and I’ll give it you when you finish up this afternoon”.
He smiled. “Thanks Mrs. B. I’ve enjoyed working here a lot. Thanks again for all your kind hospitality”.
You both looked at each other intensely, glimpses of sadness between you and it was clear neither wanted it to end.
“Harry” you said quietly, checking that no neighbours were nearby. “Would you take me somewhere tonight?”
Harry swallowed, studying you carefully as his eyes narrowed. “Uh yeah of course – but er what about-”
“He’ll be out all night” you cut him off. “Fridays are poker nights with the boys. I’ll be lucky to see him before midnight”.
Harry nodded “Alright. I’ll pick you up at eight, then”. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at you, and everything seemed a little bit more bearable.
“Okay. But I’ll meet you out at the dirt road so nobody sees us” you whispered.
He smiled back at you. “It’s a date”.
You grinned fiendishly, nodding and running back to the kitchen. The rest of the day went by in a blur, you were giddy with excitement, feeling those same butterflies you did in your teens when you first started going with Lee.
At the end of the afternoon you gave Harry his final pay as he bid you farewell and you thanked him for all his hard work. You both smiled knowingly as he walked out to his truck for the final time, co-conspirators in your private secret. You then ran the clock down until eight and finally jogged out to the dirt road. Nobody saw you, and even if they did, your neighbours knew you sometimes liked an evening stroll.
You heart pounded in your chest as you stepped into Harry’s truck and he greeted you with a sloppy kiss. You kissed him back firmly, his tongue finding yours and suddenly your fingers were through his thick hair. You didn’t even think of Lee. You just leaned into the kiss and climbed onto Harry’s lap, holding him so tightly that you might never let him go. He moaned softly against you and it was the most wonderful sound you’d heard in years. He pulled away and beamed at you, gently moving you back to your seat and he drove. He drove and drove. Far out of town and from prying eyes. You rolled the window down and felt the summer breeze whip through your hair as the truck sped through the night. You were free for a moment. Free from Lee. Free from the house. Just existing under the night sky.
Harry finally pulled over at the edge of an abandoned quarry and you just sat listening to his car radio, hands gently clasped across the seats. He brought out a liquor bottle and you shared it between you, grinning as the alcohol warmed your bellies and ran languidly through your veins. He lit up a joint and you both took puffs, you coughing weakly as you hadn’t smoked pot in years. You felt a quick thrill, the Sheriff’s wife doing drugs in the car of a young man who wasn’t her husband. You giggled as your felt your mind cloud and the substances take hold.
“I’m so glad you’re here” said Harry, as he nuzzled into your neck.
“Me too” you replied as your hands caressed his broad chest. “I wish I could stay in this moment forever”.
He nodded silently and your bodies melted into one another.
Before you knew it, Harry was lifting up your dress in the flatbed of the truck, his prickly stubble rubbing against the softness of your thighs as his lips found your core. You had gasped as his tongue worked their way into your folds, exploring every inch of you as you writhed and gyrated against him – putty in his hands. He curled a finger inside, then another, as your walls pulsed around him and you cried out into the night, your hands tight fists and your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip. Your climax was overwhelming, a thousand explosions all happening at once as you shattered into a million pieces. Your mind was fuzzy from the drink, and the weed, and the adrenaline of this moment. Your eyes filled with tears, it was just all too much – your body had being crying out for touch, crying out for release, starved of affection and desperate for warmth for so long.
Harry wiped your eyes with his thumb and kissed you softly as he finally took you under the night sky, thrusting into you with ferocity but never roughly or crassly. You felt him entirely as you hitched your legs around his waist and allowed him to sweep you away with butterfly kisses from your breasts and up to your forehead. The stars shone brightly above as the glow of the moonlight bounced off of your skin.
Itchycoo Park by Small Faces was quietly playing on the car radio, the song echoing around the truck bed, the music filling in the gaps between your collective whimpers and moans -
“It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful
It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful
It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful”
And it was.
You both climaxed together, Harry’s hips shuddering against yours as he filled you to the brim with his spend. You weren’t on birth control but you didn’t care, all that mattered was this moment – being with him – feeling the warmth between your legs. You both lay in each other’s arms panting as you came down from the high of your orgasm, just watching the stars and enjoying the weight of one another’s bodies.
The hours slipped away and you headed home. Your heart was heavy that it was over, but you were overjoyed it had even happened. You would remember this night forever, it would be your lighthouse in the choppy sea. You could go back to it in your mind anytime you wanted. Your soul had been nourished. Your heart fed.
As you finally pulled up a few streets away from your house you checked your make-up in the mirror, it was silly really as you were only going to bed – but it was a habit, and it gave you a bit longer with Harry. He watched you attentively as you applied a bit more lipstick and carefully smoothed your hair.
“I’m movin’ to the city tomorrow” he whispered.
His words cut through you like a knife, the thought of never seeing him again chilled you. But it was probably for the best.
“Oh that’s great” you told him softly as you cupped his cheek, running a finger along his lips. “What an adventure”.
“Mm. Gonna get a good job. Start a new life”. He looked at you sadly.
“That sounds wonderful. You’ll do great things” you whispered, trying to restrain the tears from falling.
“Come with me” he said sombrely, pressing his forehead against yours.
You laughed softly, your hand clasping the back of his neck. “Oh sweetheart, I’d love to. But you know I can’t”.
“Why not?” he asked, his tone earnest and his eyes wide. “We can get an apartment together. Dance in the living room every day. I can…make you happy”.
The tears began to fall then, and you let them. For a moment you considered it – you could pack a case now and sneak out early in the morning before Lee even woke up. There was some cash stashed in the cookie jar in the kitchen cupboard, you could take that. Get a job out there, maybe wait tables or learn to type. Live with Harry and start a new life. Every fibre of your being told you to go.
But you couldn’t.
“You’ve got your whole life to live, sweetie” you told him kindly. “Go out there and live it, please. For me. You can’t have anyone holding you back”.
He smiled, his eyes watery with tears. He knew you were right.
He pulled a dog eared receipt from the floor of his truck and helped himself to the eyeliner pencil from your purse. He scribbled on the back of the receipt, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on the words. He handed it to you silently.
Never forget that each day your beauty catches me off guard. Your Heart Belongs To Me – H
You gasped as you read it, holding it tightly to your chest.
“Thank-you, Harry. I will never forget you”.
He kissed you one last time, a delicate lingering kiss as his fingers stroked your cheek.
“I’ll think of you every time I hear that song”.
“Goodbye, Harry”.
You shared one final look, smiling warmly at one another – so much unspoken between you both, yet everything crystal clear.
And with that you stepped out into the night. It was too hard to look back, so you marched back to your house with your eyes forward, the tears falling. You clutched the note tightly in your hand as you unlocked the front door.
Lee was still out, of course. Oblivious to all that had taken place. You hid the note deep in your dresser, under piles of tangled necklaces and odd earrings which had long lost their partner but you didn’t want to throw out – ever optimistic the other would return. You got into bed and cried yourself to sleep.
That was months ago now. You’d sleepwalked through your life since, your domestic tasks much more gruelling with the absence of your records, your days quieter without Harry for company, your spirit duller now you could no longer dance. If Lee had noticed any change in you then he hadn’t shared it. The whiskey fuelled late nights continued, an endless cycle stumbling into bed in the early hours. Tedious small talk was all that you shared.
You thought about Harry each night, the feeling of his strong arms around you – the softness of his pillowy lips against your collarbone, the groans he made when he felt you wrapped around him. You’d read the note often, clutching it to your body as if you’d somehow be able to feel him through his words.
“It’s all too beautiful
It’s all too beautiful”.
All until now, when Lee had discovered your little secret.
#lee bodecker x you#sheriff lee bodecker#lee bodecker x reader#lee bodecker#My heart belongs to you fic#dark!lee bodecker
44 notes
·
View notes
Note
That new patreon one shot is sooooo good I’m obsessed 😩🫶🏻
Yesss!! Handyman Harry is my new love 😍 Thank you 🥰
Xoxo
1 note
·
View note
Text
HD Wireless Fic Claim: Sun Thief
Draco/Harry | Explicit | 28k
Content: Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Handyman Harry Potter, Black Market Potions Dealer Draco Malfoy, illegal activities treated casually, Anti-Ministry Sentiment, Slice of Life, Character Study, Emotional Repression, POV Harry Potter, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Developing Relationship, Neo-noir, Happy Ending
Summary:
“You’re stunning,” Harry blurts out, because Draco is pink-cheeked and his mouth is bitten and plump. Gasping beneath Harry, working his cock in his fist. “Say my name when you come?”
It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.
Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.
Read on ao3
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
July 2023: AO3 Wrapped 🎁🍊
A monthly roundup of *some* of my favorite fics of the year.
January | February | March | April, May, June | July | August | September | October | November | December
A Saviour’s Guide to Manners and Decorum by @wolfpants (E, 13K)
Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events.
Listen, if there's two things I will never, ever, ever get enough of it is etiquette lessons and longing. This fic is perfect to me.
Everybody Hates a Tourist by @wolfpants (E, 51K)
On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy.
Started reading this at night and went, sorry, sleep, you aren't happening. Could not rest until I finished it. The most beautiful discovery of love and oneself.
Fledgling by @tackytigerfic (G, 3K)
Two young dads meet at a farmers market. They exchange parenting tips, longing looks, and root vegetables.
This is so very, very lovely in a chaotic (newborns!!), achingly sweet way. In my head this is "*The* Drarry dads fic."
heaven to gaudy day by @maesterchill (M, 809)
Istanbul. The morning after the night before. And Malfoy's in a mood.
Under 1000 words of pure gorgeousness.
I only want the ones I envy (I envy) by @porcelainheart3 (E, 13K)
Despite this arrangement he has with Draco, conducted entirely in the privacy of a dusty stationery cabinet, Harry is definitely not gay.
But to appease his friends, he agrees to go on one (1) date with a man. Just to be sure.
ABSOLUTE TREAT, SUPREME BANGER. A confection of a fic -- the dialogue, the details, all adding up to a densely-packed, seven layer slice of dessert.
Muscle Memory by @corvuscrowned (E, 8K)
There's something just beneath the surface, just at the periphery of Harry's mind. They've been here before — they've done this before. If only he could remember it.
I think this has my favorite last line of a fic all year. Maybe ever. This is exactly the kind of narratively layered, brilliant and beautifully captivating fic that Crow has done so well so many times. A gift.
Rich Friend by @sorrybutblog (E, 19K)
As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.
LKSJ:FLKJSD. I mean, this is a perfect Harry POV fic, the most believable Drarry dynamic in the midst of a fic about Draco as a Muggle pop star named Dragon, the "I'm with the band" fic I didn't know I needed. I love it with my whole soul.
Sun Thief by @floydig, (E, 28K)
It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.
Bracingly original, thrilling to read, does not hold the reader's hand at all and just throws you into it -- fantastic.
Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 22K)
'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July/Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why/There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more/Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore/Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss/And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?
No one can make me SEE a fic the way Sweet does. The writing in this is so tangibly gorgeous, the love story is so tender and sweet and funny and lovely. The most charming of fics.
42 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey! I'm curious, pls indulge me: which book or fic that you've read in 2023 has made the most impression and why? x
Hi M! Great question! I waited to answer it until Wireless reveals posted! Under a cut because I went off lol. <3
A note about @hd-wireless in particular. There were so many fics that I missed reading simply because I started running out of reading steam, particularly my ability to sit down with a longer story. Posting also coincided with the end of writing my novel and I chose writing over reading in order to actually get the book finished. There are LOADS more great stories in this fest, is what I'm saying, but there were two that I read that simply sang to me.
About This Place by @academicdisasterfic
Summary: Harry left everything, including Draco. Harry’s returned to everything, including Draco.
Things are never quite so simple, though perhaps they could be.
My comment on it: The way this felt so viscerally real from the get-go, like... you put us right on the street. I could feel it in my body. And the queer joy tag was so spot-on! I wanted to cheer for them in this world! Your writing is absolutely breathtaking. Love love LOVE.
Sun Thief by @floydig
Summary: “You’re stunning,” Harry blurts out, because Draco is pink-cheeked and his mouth is bitten and plump. Gasping beneath Harry, working his cock in his fist. “Say my name when you come?”
It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.
Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.
My comment: This fic was absolutely beautiful and moving and I LOVE the way you wrote it, the style, the voice (the subtraction of subjects from their sentences just made it seem like… Idk a way for them to keep themselves safe, to not have to say 'You' or 'I' or 'We', to own any of it, like this gruff little defensive mechanism made out of language and its omissions--I loved it!), the sparse and perfect use of details, like you drew them down from on high. Amazing stuff.
Also, I beta'd a story for @hp-lawofattraction-fest that I can't talk about but has fucking killed me dead, it's so good! :zipper mouth emoji: The fest starts posting Monday! <333
And then there are BOOKS! These are the books that have absolutely floored me so far:
To Paradise by Hanya Yanagihara
A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall
Trust by Hernan Diaz
The New Life by Tom Crewe
and I just started a fucking banger:
Dancer from the Dance by Andrew Holleran
All literary fiction plus one beautiful romance that I will never get out of my head or my heart and I don't want to try! Yanagihara's name speaks for itself, but I think she's become an even more masterful writer since A Little Life. To Paradise will still rip your heart clean out of your chest but in a subtler fashion (still mostly queer though). Trust won the Pulitzer this year, along with Kingsolver's Demon Copperhead which I haven't gotten to yet. This book was EXQUISITE. What a writer! It's up there near The Goldfinch for me! The New Life and Dancer are both queer lit fic and very, very well done! A Lady for a Duke... God, it just stole my heart! I'm in love with the pairing of Viola and Gracewood! What a gorgeous trans love story!
Thanks for the lovely Ask! May I ask the same question of you? <3
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Unfortunate Story of Ed Gein
Ed Gein was born in Wisconsin on August 27, 1906. He had one older brother named Harry. His parents' names were Philip and Augusta Gein. Unfortunately there was a lot of turmoil in the Gein's marriage. Philip was an alcoholic who hopped from job to job, and Augusta resented him for it.
In later years, the Gein family relocated to a 155 acre farm in Plainfield, Wisconsin. Augusta never allowed visitors to the family farm for fear that they would corrupt her sons. The boys only left the farm to attend school. Their free time was spent doing chores.
Augusta was a strongly devout Lutheran. She often preached to her children about the immorality of the world around them. She often read to the boys from the darkest parts of The Old Testament.
Ed grew into a very shy young man. His teachers and peers thought of him as weird. Any time he started to make friends, he would be punished by his mother.
Although he suffered from poor social development, he did well in school, especially in reading.
Ed's father died on April 1, 1940 due to heart failure caused by his alcoholism. He was 66 years old. To help their mother with living expenses, Ed and Henry began doing odd jobs around town. Ed frequently babysat for his neighbors. He really enjoyed this because he claimed to relate more to children than adults.
Henry later began dating a divorced single mom of 2 children. The two planned to move in together. Henry soon started to worry about Ed and his attachment to their mother. He would often speak badly of her around Ed which hurt him greatly.
On May 16, 1944 the two men were burning away vegetation on their property when the fire got out of control. The fire caught the attention of local firefighters who shortly arrived to put out the flames. After the fire was sequestered, Ed reported his brother Henry missing.
A search party found Henry's body lying face down. He had been dead for some time when he was found. His initial cause of death was ruled as heart failure. He wasn't burned but had a bruise on his head.
Police initially believed that there was no foul play involved, so there was no further investigation. The coroner ultimately ruled his cause of death to be asphyxiation. Many people suspected Ed of being involved in his brother's death.
After Henry's death, Augusta suffered from a stroke, and suffered another shortly afterwards. Her health began to rapidly deteriorate, and she died on December 29, 1945. Ed was devastated. He was quoted saying that he "lost his only friend and one true love. And he was absolutely alone in the world."
After his mother's death, Ed continued to work on the family farm. He boarded up the areas of the house where his mother spent the most time: upstairs, the downstairs parlor, and the living room. Those areas remained in pristine condition while he allowed the rest of the house to become trashed. Ed mostly remained in a small room next to the kitchen. He spent a lot of free time reading magazines and adventure stories about nazis and cannibals.
Ed earned extra money by continuing to work as a handyman and doing odd jobs here and there. He also received a farm subsidy from the government. However, by 1956 he had sold 80 acres of his land.
On November 16, 1957 a Plainfield hardware store owner named Bernice Wooden disappeared. A witness saw her car leaving the store at around 9:30 am. Citizens found it strange that the store was closed all day. Bernice's son Frank, who happened to be the sheriff, walked into the store at around 5 pm. He walked in to find the register wide open and blood stains on the floor. He told investigators that Ed had been in the store the night before the incident. He also returned the day of the incident to get a gallon of antifreeze. The receipt for this transaction was the last transaction recorded by Bernice. Ed was arrested later that night at a local grocery store. This also gave the police enough probably cause to search Ed's farm.
A deputy discovered Bernice's decapitated body in Ed's shed. She had been hung upside down by her legs with a crossbar. She also had ropes around her wrist. Her torso was described as, "dressed out like a deer." Her cause of death was a gunshot wound. The mutilations to her body took place postmortem.
This was only the beginning of the horror that authorities uncovered on Ed's property. Police found: human bone fragments, a wastebasket made out of skin, human skin furniture coverings, skulls on his bedposts, bowls made from skulls, a corset made from skin, leggings made from skin, masks made from skin, Bernice's head in a sack, her heart in a plastic bag near the stove, nine vulvae in a shoebox, a belt made from human nipples, four noses, a pair of lips on a window's drawstring, and a lampshade made from a human face. These items were photographed at the state crime lab before they were ultimately destroyed.
Ed admitted to robbing several graveyards between 1947 and 1956 to exhume bodies that had been recently buried. He stated that he was in a trance like state during his visits, sometimes waking up in the moment and returning home empty handed. He preferred to dig up women who resembled his mother. He took the bodies home to tan their skin which he would then use to make into different household objects. Ed later led investigators to all the burial sites that he disturbed. Two of those graves were found to be empty.
Ed's ultimate goal was to make a "woman suit" out of human flesh. He wanted to literally become his late mother. One of the gruesome objects found on Ed's property was the head of tavern owner Mary Hogan. Ed admitted to shooting her but denied any further memories of her death.
A young witness reported to police that he believed Ed kept shrunken heads in his house. Ed corroborated this, but said they were ancient relics from the Philippines. Police later determined that these were human faces from Ed's victims which he used as masks.
Ed's confession was ultimately ruled as inadmissible due to him being assaulted by a police officer during his interrogation. The officer repeatedly banged Ed's head against a wall.
Ed's trial began on November 21, 1957. He was arraigned on 1 count of first degree murder which he pled not guilty by reason of insanity to. Ed had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and he was hoping to use his diagnosis to his advantage. He was ultimately found mentally incompetent and was not deemed fit for trial. He was sent to the Central State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He was later transferred to the Mendota State Hospital in Wisconsin.
It wasn't until doctors reevaluated Ed in 1968 that he was found to be able to participate in his own defense. His trial began on November 7, 1968. The trial lasted for one week. At first Ed tried to play Bernice's death off as an unmeditated accident, but couldn't remember any other details about the day in question.
Ed's defense requested that his trial not be presented to a jury, so it was only a judge there to try to convince of his innocence. Judge Robert Gollmar found Ed guilty on November 14th. There was a second trial held to try to determine Ed's sanity where the same judge ruled that Ed was not guilty by reason of insanity, again. He was admitted to a mental institution. Ed remained in mental institutions for the rest of his life.
Ed's property was appraised at $4,700. This is the equivalent to over $42,000 today. His possessions were sent to auction on March 30, 1958. Due to rumors that the house would be turned into a morbid tourist attraction, it mysteriously burned down on March 20th. The fire was determined to be a "rubbish fire" that was set about 75 feet away from the house. Arson was reasonably suspected, but the potential arsonist was never uncovered. When Ed was given the news about his house, he was fairly unbothered.
Ed's car that he used to transport bodies was sold at auction for $760. This is the equivalent to over $6,700 today. The car was bought by a carnival sideshow operator. He charged the public 25 cents a pop to see it.
Ed Gein died in the Mendola Mental Institue on July 26,1984 due to complications from lung cancer. For many years, people slowly chipped away pieces of his headstone. The entire stone was stolen in 2000. It was later found in Seattle in June 2001. It was ultimately placed in storage. His grave remains unmarked but not unknown. He is buried between his mother and his brother.
Ed Gein's story has had a large influence in modern day pop culture. Many films had antagonists that were based on Ed such as: Psycho, House of 1000 Corpses, The Devil's Rejects, American Psycho, Silence of the Lambs, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Many TV shows also used Ed's likeness such as American Horror Story and Bates Motel.
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
15 fics with Harry pursuing unusual careers
I love the adrenaline and potential angst within the Auror partners trope as much as the next guy, but we can all agree that our mental health improves 10 times when we see Harry leaving the Ministry, embracing other possibilities and making his own destiny. This rec list hopes to celebrate those creative, disruptive, feel-good fics that are not afraid to come up with the most absurd positions and original job titles. They can be fun, smutty, depressing, hopeful or cathartic; there’s a little bit of everything in here and I’m hoping to bring some hidden gems into everyone’s radar, too. Happy readings!
Twisted Wizards by Enchanted_Jae (T, 3k)
Draco is just putting his life back together when Potter comes along and mucks it all up again. Job: storm chaser
The R. Correspondence by noeon (T, 7.5k)
While working on the Bagshot papers, Draco makes an important discovery for British Wizarding History. Now if only Harry can keep him alive long enough to enjoy it. Job: private security consultant
Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)
Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping. Job: writer
Home County, orphaned (G, 10k)
Harry is an architect and the reluctant part-owner of his own firm. Malfoy works at The Ministry but doesn’t actually have a proper job title even though what he does sounds as though it’s pretty important. Job: architect
A Working Title by mindabbles (E, 12k)
Another in the long line of absurd biographies finally drives Harry to a desperate act. How desperate he doesn't know until his ghost writer shows up at his door. Job: Daily Prophet columnist
An Improbable Bout of Summer Madness by acari (E, 16k)
Draco had planned a quiet, peaceful summer holiday with his son. The last thing he expected was to find Potter here, in Draco's little Cornish retreat. Making fudge in a shop? The idea was too ludicrous for words. Job: fudge shop owner
The Strongest Affinity by @eidheann (T, 17k)
Trouble finding a wand for Scorpius leads Harry and Draco to something they never imagined. Job: wandmaker
Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)
Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be. Job: Handyman
The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)
Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world. Job: QUABBLE official (Quidditch representative)
Silhouettes in Sunsets by Pie (T, 22k)
Draco Malfoy was a Gringotts accountant by day and a luthier by night, making musical instruments that sang the language of the player’s heart, language audible only to the ears of his soul mate. Harry Potter was a struggling quill pal to the children of war and the owner of Hedwig’s Owl Emporium on Diagon—haven for future pets, owls retired from services and orphaned chicks. Job: Owl Emporium owner
Better To Burn Than To Fade Away by Ren (E, 23k)
Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win. Job: broomstick racer
Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton (T, 26k)
There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Job: Owner of a Social Housing and Care Centre
All Roads by @korlaena (M, 36k)
Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options. Job: Magizoologist
Whimsical by strawberryrose (T, 42k)
In which Draco is completely out of his depth (until he isn’t), Harry builds something improbable with the help of his friends, and everyone bonds over food. Job: amusement park owner
What Shall Not Be Unearthed by @iero0 (E, 49k)
At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Job: lighthouse keeper
265 notes
·
View notes
