#i miss ramadan so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cupid-styles · 2 months

Text

lucky* (single dadrry x art teacher!yn check-in)

word count: 2.6k

content warnings: kids/family talk, fluffy smut (grinding, mentions of m receiving oral), not ramadan friendly!

based on this one-shot

. . .

From: Harry

Riley asked if he could tag along tonight. I was able to distract him with dino nuggets, but that kid has the memory of a full grown adult, I swear.

To: Harry

lmao. he can come hang with us, you know he’s always welcome here

From: Harry

And let him take all of your attention after I haven’t seen you all week? Yeah, right.

I’ll be there at 7.

To: Harry

is now a good time to tell you that i think your kid is way cooler than you are?

From: Harry

Come over and do the bedtime routine with us and you’ll think differently. x

Y/N bites away the smile edging at her lips as she looks up from her phone. She couldn’t help it — she always noticed the rush of happiness that swarmed through her body whenever she spoke to her boyfriend, especially about the prospects of plans.

Her boyfriend.

She can’t believe that Harry is officially her boyfriend. Even though it happened a few weeks ago, she still finds herself in pockets of disbelief, mostly when they’re spending time together. She’ll glance over at him and take in his side profile, or remember that day when he came in, so angry at her for allowing Riley’s hair to be soaked with paint, and flush with the realization that somehow that turned into a real, loving relationship. One with mutual respect and care, one that was handled carefully, especially given the fact that there was a child involved. Y/N hadn’t ever dated someone who already had a kid, so she and Harry had multiple conversations regarding expectations and the changes this may incur on Riley’s life.

Ultimately, they chose to keep most of the relationship away from Riley until things got more serious. She and Harry had every intention of being in the long haul together, but they both knew it wouldn’t be helpful to any of them if they threw in Riley’s comfort and mental stability. For now, all he knew was that his dad had a new friend who he liked very much, and sometimes he went to go see her and spend time with her. So far, it was working well.

Tonight, however, was the first night that she and Harry had decided they’d have a sleepover. It sounded ridiculous and childish, but Harry always struggled with leaving Y/N’s place early enough to catch Riley before he went to bed. He beat himself up when he got home and he was already tucked in and snoozing. So Y/N suggested having a scheduled night that they dedicated just to them: He’d get to put Riley to bed himself and do his entire winddown routine with him (dinner, a bath, reading him multiple books since Harry was a sucker and couldn’t say no, and finally planting a kiss to his cheek when his sleepy eyes finally began to close), the babysitter would stay the night, and Harry would shuffle off to Y/N’s.

It was a good plan.

Except… well, except that they hadn’t slept in the same bed together yet, and their touching hadn’t gone past kissing and heavy petting. It was difficult — it had nothing to do with their attraction for one another, they were busy, and it wasn’t exactly optimal to jerk your boyfriend off when he was disappointed at himself for missing his son’s bedtime.

But Y/N and Harry are grown adults, and they’re aware of the underlying meaning of tonight. She knows it’s a big deal for him to place his trust in her after putting his own happiness and love life on the backburner for so long.

It’s why she’s spent the day scampering around her townhouse, sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, and doing everything she can to make the place as comfortable as possible for him. He’s spent many evenings here — he often comes over for dinner after work since his days at the office run longer than hers at the art studio — but it’s different when you spend an entire night somewhere new. She wants her blankets and pillows to smell cozy and feel even fluffier; her bedroom a calm oasis so even if he begins to worry — whether it be about Riley, or other subject matters — he won’t feel as overwhelmed and nervous.

When 7 finally ticks along, Harry, as usual, appears at her front door, prompt and anxious. He hasn’t voluntarily left RIley alone for an entire night unless it was for a business trip. But the second Y/N answers the door with that pretty smile he adores, his nerves melt just a tad. She almost immediately pulls him in for a hug, a chuckle vibrating through his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to her hair.

“Miss me that much?” he teases. He sets his duffel bag down in the entryway of her home and she kicks the front door closed. Through flushed cheeks, she grins.

“It’s been ages,” she pouts, standing on her tippy-toes to lightly peck his lips, “And I’ve never gotten you for the night. I’m excited.”

Harry’s chest contracts slightly at her words. He doesn’t know how, but she has a way of making even the scariest things seem approachable, and it makes him want to smother her with kisses until she’s pushing him away. Keeping a grasp on his hand, she guides him into the townhouse he’s grown familiar with. He notices that her kitchen is free from its typical small messes — half-empty glasses, crumbs from late night snacks — and she has a new candle burning on the coffee table in the living room.

“Did you clean for me?” Harry asks with a smirk. Again, she blushes before turning to face him.

“I just wanted you to be comfortable,” she explains, sucking on her bottom lip, “It’s a big deal. Y’know?”

“It is a big deal.” he agrees as he issues her hand a small squeeze, “And I wouldn’t want to take this step with anyone else. I hope you know that.”

A wide grin covers her face.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky with him.

. . .

Y/N’s tucked into Harry’s side as their third romantic comedy of the night plays on TV. Glancing down at the warm, dead weight curled around his form, he smiles gently when he sees her eyes batting closed. He nudges her lightly.

“Wanna go to bed, baby?”

She hums tiredly and sits up slightly, pressing her chin to his chest to look up at him.

“What time is it?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as a yawn struggles to strain free. He unlocks his phone, his screen glowing to life with a picture of a smiling Riley holding up a painting he did in Y/N’s class.

“Just past midnight,” he replies, stretching his arms out. His tee-shirt rises up a bit to reveal a bit of his inked hips and it makes Y/N swallow.

“Sorry this wasn’t a super fun evening,” she replies with a pout. She stands from the couch and leans over to grab their empty glasses — they’d each had a serving of wine each, but the minor buzz was long gone by now, despite Y/N being ever the lightweight. “Maybe next time we’ll plan something big, like… I dunno. Something good.”

She’s chattering sleepily and it makes Harry chuckle. He follows her into the kitchen, hugging her from behind as she rinses the cups in the sink.

“This has been perfect,” he murmurs lowly before pressing a kiss to her temple. “We don’t need to plan anything for it to be fun. I just like being in your presence.”

She warms as she dries the freshly cleaned glasses, gently placing them in the rack on the counter.

“You’re too sweet.” she mumbles. She shuts the water off and turns in his grasp to face him, lurching forward to bury her head in his neck. “C’mon then, let’s go to bed. You almost fell asleep on the couch.”

He snorts at her joke and rolls his eyes when she looks up at him with that dumb, cheeky grin she loves to flash at him. With their fingers intertwined, he bends down to grab his bag before following her to her bedroom.

He’s been in here several times before — on evenings when she’s particularly exhausted, he’ll help her wind down for bed, pecking her lips before driving home. One time, when Harry had an awful day at work, Y/N ran him a warm shower, complete with fancy lavender-scented steam that he’s been meaning to ask her about ever since. Despite being semi-familiar with the space, their more intimate time was often being cut short for fears of Harry missing bedtime with Riley, or Y/N needing to wake up early the following morning.

This time, however, there was nothing stopping them. No deadlines, no places to be. The knowledge made them both buzz with excitement and nerves.

Her bedroom is dim as they quietly shuffle around, changing out of their clothes and into pajamas. Harry’s the first to crawl into her cozy bed, nibbling on his bottom lip as he scrolls on his phone. Y/N flicks the single lamp off and allows the moonlight to seep through the curtains of her window, yawning once more as she climbs in next to him.

“Everything alright?” she asks softly. Harry hums, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer.

“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything from the babysitter.”

“Mm,” Y/N nods. She purses her lips, forming a gentle kiss at his jawline. “You still feel okay about staying overnight?”

A smile cracks at the edges of his lips. He locks his phone and places it on the nightstand before flipping onto his side to face her.

“I’d be lying if I said a piece of my heart wasn’t still at my own place with Riley, but I’m so happy to be here with you. I promise.”

She swallows as she reaches out to thumb at his bottom lip. “You’re cute.”

“Am I?”

She giggles, “You are, and you know it.”

His eyes flutter shut as she begins to trace his features. With featherlight strokes of her fingertips, she ghosts over his lips, his chin, down to his throat and collarbones. He hums softly at the feeling, her other hand hovering over the hem of his tee-shirt as she silently waits for permission to push the fabric up.

“What’re you doing?” he whispers out, eyes flickering open as she curls her fingers around the bottom of his shirt.

“Is it okay if I make you feel good?”

He pauses. Swallows, and she removes her hands from his form.

“You can say no,” she quickly tacks on, “Please say no if you’re not 100%. I need you to be comfortable.”

His throat bobs. “It’s just… you know.”

She nods. They haven’t spoken about Harry’s anxiety surrounding physical intimacy since their first date, but she hasn’t forgotten about it. It’s been an active decision to move slowly and she would never want to do anything to push him past his limits.

“We can just go to sleep,” she murmurs, “It’s okay. I promise.”

He catches her wrist in a gentle grasp, lips parting as if he’s surprised by his own bravery. Slowly, he guides her down to his crotch, where he’s tenting in his sweatpants. Y/N bites her lip before allowing her mouth to form around a small oh in fear of making him feel self-conscious.

“I need to know that you’re sure,” she whispers in the darkness of her bedroom. Despite the limited light, she can still recognize his facial expressions, watching as a small wrinkle carves itself between his eyebrows. He’s nervous, that much she can tell. The rest is a mystery.

“I just need you to be slow,” he rasps. “It’s been… it’s been a long time, Y/N.”

She nearly coos out a response, wanting nothing more than to love and take care of the man that lays beside her. When he lets go of her hand, she cups him softly through the material of his bottoms, slightly surprised at how hard he feels.

“You can trust me. I promise.”

He nods, and it’s a flurry of shaky, hesitant movements and constant asks of reassurance from there. Everytime she pushes her foot on the gas, she reminds herself to stop and make sure he’s comfortable. He doesn’t ask to stop; not when she’s pulling down his sweatpants or mouthing at him through the fabric of his briefs, not when she’s drooling onto the ruddy head of his length or pressing her fingernails into his laurel-inked hips.

Harry is louder in bed than she had anticipated, or maybe it’s because it’s just been so long for him. He allows strained moans and curses to fall from his plush lips when she guides him into his mouth, and he even tangles a fist in her hair when the tip of his cock bumps down her throat. She thinks he’ll cum when she swallows around him, feeling his balls tighten in her free hand but he stops himself. She knows he does because he tips her head back and stares down at her with rounded eyes, taking her chin between his fingers and gently urges her up the length of his body. She obeys wordlessly, allowing him to move her however he deems fit.

“I wanna see you when I cum,” he eventually explains breathily. She nods, ignores the way her heart feels like it grows another size in her chest, and straddles his hips.

“Is it okay if I grind on you? Or do you want me to just use my hand?”

“You can grind on me,” he replies with a nod, tongue peeking out to moisten his lips. And when she rolls her hips down against his, it’s magic — the wetness between them emits a dirty, slushy sound (admittedly, Y/N is half to blame, since she couldn’t possibly go down on her boyfriend without making a sticky mess between her own legs). Harry pants loudly beneath her and his hands find purchase on her thighs as she moves, allowing his length to slick between her pussy lips.

It doesn’t take much for him to finish after that — especially not with his sleepy-eyed girlfriend on top of him, whimpering softly at the sensation of his tip bumping against her clit. When he comes, it’s a lot, and it’s messy, but Y/N can’t find it in her to care much as she leans down to smother Harry’s face in kisses; the pride in her chest for him growing to a point where it can’t be kept inside anymore.

“‘M so proud of you,” she mumbles. Harry laughs and wrinkles his nose as he wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her onto her side.

“Jesus, it’s not like I have erectile dysfunction,” he jokes, and Y/N rolls her eyes. "And you didn't come, either."

“This wasn't about me— and you know what I mean, Harry. I know this means a lot. For you, for both of us.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his face turning serious. “I didn’t know if I would ever find someone as caring or genuine as you. You’re so… gentle with me, it’s almost like I’m dreaming.”

Y/N smiles and reaches out to cup his cheek with her hand. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“I know you are,” he says, taking her hand into his and pressing kisses to her knuckles, “And I’m so lucky for that.”

476 notes · View notes

shegatsby · 2 months

Note

Ngl I've been thinking about this for awhile, imagine Hannibal Lecter with a Burlesque dancer like in the movie from 2010 with Cher and Christina Aguilera, reader as Ali/Christina would be really cool

A/N; Hi! Thank you for this request, i love that movie so much i sometimes listen to its songs. I had fun writing this. Happy Ramadan!

Words; 1.413K

Warnings; None.

‘’Hey! Y/N!’’ you heard a voice from the director of the show, ‘’It’s your turn now!’’ you looked at your reflection on the mirror for the last time, hair done, nails done, a nice lingerie that had rime stones on it… you were young and sexy and that was enough for your confidence. You’re good at climbing into a huge champagne glass which is filled with water and soup and big sponges and do your number. Years ago when you were a child you grew up watching burlesque dancer and the numbers they did on stage and climbing into a tall glass always entertained you, it was a classic. You were the only one who could do it right in your group, the stage was set, you had two dancers either side of the glass, dancing to the rhythm. When you walked to the stage the spot light found you and your audience started screaming for you, getting good reviews was a part of your every night. You loved the attention, slowly getting rid of your gloves you noticed someone. You knew your regular customers and this man was on the same spot, which was the VIP section, alone, drinking his champagne and admiring you from afar. He never flinched ever and you could tell that he liked dressing up and keeping everything pristine. Most of your regulars loved to send you gifts, mostly flowers, perfumes etc. However, this one never sent you anything, you started to get curious about him and asked your crew, they only knew that he was a psychiatrist and that’s it.

You moved on the stage like delicate swan, so elegant and all of the eyes were on you. As you danced to the rhythm and slowly undressed you felt his burning gaze, you knew that after the show you were going to get lots of presents except from him.

He never made a move. Most of the regular spectators loved to send you drinks and presents after the show but this particular gentleman only occupied his seat at the VIP section every week, drank his champagne, ate his luxurious dish and watched you from afar. ,

Human mind is tricky, the brain loves to focus on that one person who doesn’t have his focus on us.

Nonetheless you were intrigued by him.

Thanks to the help of the dancers on the stage you climbed into the champagne glass, your rime stoned lingerie shining under the spot light. The water was cold just how you liked it. Moving around in the glass, splashing water has always made your audience smile and left them satisfied. Maybe because of the fact that your lingerie was soaked and your damp body shimmered under the lights…

When you were done you were escorted back, it felt so cold so you wore your pink robe, people you work with congratulated you, and you kindly smiled. Before you could open your dressing room’s door and throw yourself on your pink fluffy couch your boss, an old lady with long silver hair and kind blue eyes stopped you, ‘’A gentleman is inside, he has an offer for you.’’ You were puzzled. ‘’Thank you for the heads up.’’ Before you walked in you checked your hair and make-up, and then you walked in.

He was sitting on the pink couch, when you entered and as soon as he saw you he bolted to his feat. ‘’Miss Y/L/N.’’ he addressed you and you smiled. He had a dark grey 3 piece suit which fit him perfectly, he looked odd in this room of pink. He extended his large hand and continued, ‘’It is a pleasure finally meeting you in person.’’ You held his hand and you felt a sudden rush to your stomach. Why did he have such an impact on you? You noticed the way he emphasized the word ‘’finally’’ he was also aware of you noticing him for weeks. ‘’Please.’’ You gestured him to sit back, you sat across him. The sudden realization hit you, you had your soaking wet lingerie underneath your pink robe. His face didn’t give any clues whatsoever. ‘’Allow me to introduce myself, I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter.’’ You nodded gently, legs crossed. Melodies from the stage floating into the room, in that brief silence you wondered why did your boss allow him inside? It usually never happens.

He must have persuaded the old lady with something… most likely money.

‘’Y/N Y/L/N. At your service.’’ You replied with a soldier tone to break the ice and caught him smirking a bit. His maroon eyes looked into your eyes directly, you felt shiver running down your spine, he was intense. His gaze found the pile of presents resting on the table at the corner of the room, was that annoyance written on his sharp face?

‘’May I ask the reason why you are here Doctor Lecter?’’ you attracted his gaze again, you could feel your palms getting sweaty, his presence made you nervous and you didn’t even know this person.

‘’I would love to hire your service for one of my dinner parties.’’ He bluntly said, he seemed like a guys who would go and get something, a true dominant man. Also the way he used ‘’your service’’ didn’t go unnoticed, he was respectful. His hand went inside his jacket’s pocket to pull out a check book, he wrote something and ripped the page, you were excited when he handed it to you.

When you saw the price you were shocked.

‘’But this is too much-‘’ you said with wide eyes, holding the check as if it is something fragile, ‘’Burlesque is an art and I’m never shy spending money on art.’’ He replied, you could sense the strong undertones. ‘’When is the party?’’

You accepted his offer, this was the first time you went to do a number to someone’s home. He mentioned that his home was enough to bring your essentials. For a week you practiced and practiced. You felt like you needed to make him proud, even though he paid you and this was your job you just wanted to be perfect at it and have a good time.

He didn’t lie, his home was like a castle, more than enough for your show. You were ready and also small group of your dancers were ready too, everything was set.

Dancing so close to the audience didn’t make you nervous at all, you felt alive, the music felt like it was running through your veins, you were one with it. You could feel the public’s eyes were on you in an awe of your art, the energy was immaculate. You could also see the host of the party, Doctor Lecter, holding his drink in one hand, the other in his pocket, his maroon gaze focused on you and only you. Almost predatory.

The champagne glass act made the audience sigh in excitement, it seemed like this was the first time they experience this and it feed your soul.

After the show you went upstairs to change because Doctor Lecter wanted to introduce you to his guests. You were touching on your make up when someone knocked on your door.

‘’Come in.’’

It was Lecter himself. ‘’You are a vision.’’ He said leaning on the door, you smiled. ‘’I have a gift for you.’’ He walked towards you, ‘’You didn’t have to Doctor Lecter.’’ You said when he opened the velvet box he was holding, a golden necklace was in that box, 24 karat you assumed. ‘’Please,’’ he said, ‘’Hannibal.’’

‘’Hannibal you already paid more than the actual price and this…’’ you were blushing, ‘’I’ve wanted to give you this for so long,’’ he confessed, ‘’but I was waiting for the right time.’’ You watched him place the necklace on you through the mirror, both of his hands found their place on your shoulders, he knelt and he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, he turned to the mirror to see your face and lock eyes.

‘’Looks good on you.’’ He said, you touched the necklace, ‘’Thank you, you are so generous.’’ His aura was heavy, his manly cologne filled your nostrils. You were intoxicated, it was wrong, he was your employer. ‘’I hope we will be more close from this night on.’’

You could feel your heart racing, was this a some kind of proposal? Only time would tell. Hand in hand you left the room to mingle.

91 notes · View notes

moothecowgirl · 2 months

Note

did you really think you could delete your blog, move to a new one, and i wouldn’t find you my love? i wont inquire about why but know i miss you. how have you been? -🦉

OWL ANON. YOU’RE HERE.

#owl anon #i am not surprised in the slightest you managed to find me so soon #i have so much to catch you up on #i missed you dearly and am doing good #i hope you are well #and are having a good Ramadan #and that your surgery went good

0 notes

leohamatoblog · 1 month

Text

As a Dad: Leo Edition

note: hey everyone! happy Ramadan, happy Easter, happy Passover, happy Vaisakhi, happy Hanuman Jayanti, happy Mahavir Jayanti, and happy days to secular folks! i hope you all are having a safe holiday.

Authoritative

• there isn't much that we all collectively agree on more about leo than the fact that he's somewhat of a bossy dude

• that being said, he does mellow out in his older years and becomes more laid back...then he had children (biologically by some miracle or by adoption)

• he read every single baby book he could get his hands on but then they went out the window when he realized that parenting is nothing like what they say in books

• the 0-8 month phase wasn't so bad, his sleep schedule is wonky so mostly he's up with the baby. he's very calm, very soft spoken, and gentle with the baby when they're fussy cause they can't communicate

• bath schedule, eating schedule, sleep schedule, the man has schedules people.

• absolutely loves bath time cause he's the dad who will put the bubbles on his head to make the kid laugh (i dont make the rules)

• loves the pre-walking stage the most cause you just put them on the floor and let'em roll and crawl in a confined space

• lord help this man at the walking and talking stages

• he tries to get your kid to talk but all the kid wants to do is scream so..there's that idea gone

• when the kid wants to run around naked while leo's trying to get the diaper back on, now that is where he gets tested cause that little shit-

• incredible amount of patience though, especially with tantrums. splinter never raised his voice at him as a kid until he became a teen, so he wanted to carry that on with his own children

• now when your kid hits the 3-8 stage, oh boy. if leo could go grey, he would be grey.

• he tries to teach your child discipline and respect, and while your kid is respectful, unfortunately they have leo's sharp tongue and makes it everyone's problem

• leo believes in time outs or taking things away as punishment. he doesn't believe in spanking and thinks yelling accomplishes nothing. he does get a certain tone that makes it known he means business

• he knows full well your child is going to make mistakes and creates a safe environment to where your kid can come to him when this does happen without much punishment

• but we all know that's a perfect world and if it's leo's kid, their mouth is going to be their downfall

• he thought the 3-8 stage was bad until ages 13-17, oh boy.

• puberity is not on leo's side here

• grounding becomes more of a ritual and leo runs a tight ship. he will hold his grounding opinion until he thinks it should be lifted, no matter how long it takes

• of course your kid is also a ninja so sneaking out is a thing (leo can't get too mad cause he did the same but "do as i say and not as i do" is leo's famous line)

• reasonable parent and thinks carefully about how severe a punishment should be or if the circumstance really even calls for one

• chores, bedtime until they hit around 13, the kid must have at least an A/B average, a C is acceptable if the subject is particularly hard and the kid is trying their best

• dorky dad. just a dorky dad.

• dad sneezes

• doesn't strike me as a girl dad or boy dad cause he's so attentive no matter the gender

• he's the dad that doesn't call it babysitting cause it's his kids

• he will get down on the floor and play with his kids

• has a little girl? no problem dressing up and letting her do his makeup and nails

• has a little boy? wrestling and rough housing it is

• kid(s)will be respectful and smart, and just very genuinely nice kids

• kid(s)'ll also deck someone with no hesitation

• vegetables are non-negotiable

• very proud man when it comes to his children and never hesitates to praise them

• the children will each have special nicknames

• he's not the fun parent but is also not not the fun parent

• never misses an event, even though he has to attend in the shadows. he is always there

• affectionate dad, more verbally than physically, but he gives your kids head kisses all the time

• as long as the kids aren't trying to kill each other and are just playing, the noise doesn't bother him much...it's the silence that does

• definitely the type of dad to send 👍

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt ask blog #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #ask blog #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons #tmnt imagine

97 notes · View notes

fleuraimer · 2 months

Note

…. perhaps a harry x reader blurb to spare 🤲 i will take anything u want to give me. fluff or smut or both or neither ❤️❤️❤️❤️ u rock and my name is also evelyn so i feel bonded to u

u've absolutely made my day with this evelyn :((( i hope you like what i've concocted bestie, she's kinda all over the fucking place, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <33

wc: 2k

cw: not much, super fluffy, mildly (perhaps majorly) suggestive. not suitable for ramadan!! not proofread. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

Spring is here.

Fucking finally.

All the seasons were lovely to Y/N, each offered something the others didn’t—couldn’t. But spring was different. Special.

Like him.

Like Harry.

Perhaps that’s why her love for it blossomed like the tulips lining her bedroom window; there was something about seeing her usually soft boyfriend get ten times softer as leaves started to sprinkle branches, blades of grass flashed a vibrant green once more, and the sun kissed the earth that got to her tender heart.

It was especially difficult to not melt when he’d planned a small outing for them, centered around the perfectly warm weather. Instead of waiting until nightfall and driving to some stuffy restaurant (although their dinner dates were never anything less than exquisite), they walked hand-in-hand down the boulevard in broad daylight, gentle wisps of wind the only thing surrounding them, as well as the quiet conversation of other passersby.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They were perfectly content to relish in the mere presence of one another—soak in the rays of sun, and warmth. Love.

Thumbs gave mindless, delicate strokes against the back of palms, rucking up rings, kissing knuckles in apology, and putting them back in place, just to repeat it all over again. The knitted fabric of Harry’s cardigan is soft when it brushes against Y/N’s bare arm (she decided that it was absolutely perfect weather to slip on her favorite flowy sundress, cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, printed with obnoxiously serene-looking flowers and hummingbirds, with a square neckline that farmed the intricate necklace Harry bought her for their second anniversary quite stunningly), but his hand in hers was softer. Better.

Said hand tugs on hers, urging her away from the beaten path and into the ravine of tall, never-ending trees—willows and oaks; sycamores, birches, and maples, too. She resists, no less. Looks down at the cobblestone beneath her soles, and the cute kitten heels that (in her humble opinion) tie her whole spring-era look together.

She pouts.

And then a head of chocolate obscures her view of the pristine, white triangle toes. A hand placed both respectfully and salaciously on her ankle, coaxing her foot to slip from its confines, makes her breath catch in her suddenly dry throat.

Her kind eyes glaze over, ever so slightly.

“Y’don’t have’t—”

“I want to, Bellissima.”

Her shoe slips from her foot with a soft clatter on the ground when he manages to pry her sole from the earth, but it barely registers in her brain. In fact, everything else seems to fade away into the lovely spring that encompasses them when Harry guides his hand further up, along her fleshy calf, and leans in to place a chaste, staggering kiss to the bridge of her foot.

She wobbles, but they both know it’s not because she’s been left to balance on one foot.

Harry smiles, faint—the crater in his stubbled cheek is nearly invisible—and nudges his nose along the smooth skin of her leg.

He works diligently (as diligently as one can when removing a shoe) to rid Y/N of her footwear, relieving her of any worry or pain.

He looks pleasantly boyish when he looks up at her, smiles all cheeky, and winks for good measure. Kneeling on cobblestone in a worn pair of jeans, suede, dirty Adidas, and a vintage band tee that smells of stale coffee, Chanel No. 5 (one of many preferred perfumes of Y/N), and sex no matter how many times they run it through the wash; the green of his seafoam eyes twinkling in the sunlight, sunnies pushing his hair back, and yet one rogue curl still bends and twirls with the wind, falling in a perfectly aesthetic spiral when it settles…

Soft. Boyfriend. Hers.

Her Harry.

He stands to his full height, and they’re much closer than she’d thought they would be, but she’s certainly not complaining. Where before she stood at (about) Harry’s collarbone, now her head barely reaches the underside of his pecs. Her neck strains to keep eye contact as he slips his free hand back into her awaiting palm, the latter of which occupied with their stuffed picnic basket, and now her precious kitten heels.

“Need me to carry you?” He asks, ready to suffer at least a week’s worth of back pain if it meant he’d keep that love-struck, glowy, adorable (subby, stupid, filthy) look on his girl’s face.

Y/N’s eyes widen subtly, though enough for Harry to notice, and he can��t help but have to stifle a chuckle at her bashful demeanor.

“No, thank you,” she squeaks, and now she’s the one tugging his hand, urging them into the abyss of greenery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The grass feels soft, ticklish, between her powder pink painted toes; she feels her lips stretch into a small grin because of it. They walk idly until they find a soft patch of vividly green grass directly under a tree, kissed fleetingly by the rays of sunlight peaking through the gaps of branches and leaves.

Harry lets his hand fall from Y/N’s (and can’t help but feel slightly colder because of it) to unpack their picnic basket. He grabs the signature red gingham picnic blanket from its place in the basket, releasing its folded form with a flourish. The material floats gracefully through the air until settling on the grass, near gingerly with the way it stops at just the very tips of the blades.

He kicks his chin toward the blanket in invitation as he settles on top of it himself, beginning to remove the contents inside their basket. Sandwiches, fruits, veggies; assorted cheeses and meats, cake, and, arguable most important, wine. He wastes no time in popping the cork from the rouge, pouring a generous amount into each of the pinot noir glasses he’d carefully tucked in the picnic basket.

Y/N kneels onto the blanket, walking on her knees until Harry is within reach, and his incessantly grabby hands are (surprise, surprise!!) grabbing her. He hands her her wine glass and sets his off to the side for the time being, sliding his bear palms up the full of her thighs, the swell of her bum, small of her back…

She shivers as they pet down again, nails biting at her hips to grip and pull her into his lap.

“Too far,” he grumbles, nuzzling in the space where her neck and collarbone meet. He peppers soft kisses along the strong bone, inhaling the natural, overwhelming scent of her. His girl.

Y/N goes easily, sipping slowly at her red wine while her free hand comes up to his hair, fingers threading through the fluffy tendrils. She snatches his sunnies away when they block her half-hearted scalp massage, muttering delicate apologies when the bend of them gets stuck in his hair and he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry, Baby,” she winces herself, chucking the damned glasses onto the blanket when she’s gotten them loose, kissing along the crown of his head to soothe any ache.

She sips more, tart grape hitting her tongue, sugary plum sliding down her throat, strawberry slicking her lips. She’s borderline greedy with the way she downs it, but they’ve got nowhere to be. Only here. Just here. Now.

She twists in Harry’s laps to grab one of the homemade BLTs, offering the half she won’t stuff her fat gob with to Harry, which he politely accepts. They munch quietly, sharing soft smiles and love-sick kisses in between bites. Conversation is sparse, but not bad. Never bad. If anything, the weight of their words is heavier because they’re so few and far between.

They both like it that way, anyhow.

When their feast has dwindled down to nothing but a few fruits and cakes, Harry fishes his phone from his pocket, and reaches in the picnic basket to grab his trusty pair of wired headphones. Hooking them up to his phone, he looks expectantly to Y/N. She raises her brow, never one to move unprompted.

Harry smirks, “Come, Bellissima.”

Her heart flitters, her stomach flutters, and her eyes round out (Harry tries not to think about how fucking easy—). She crawls back to him, in a way that is unnecessarily intimate and innocent, and simultaneously astoundingly nasty, but he tucks the image into the deep, deep, dark recess of his mind so he doesn’t get arrested for public indecency. Saves it for later (call it his spankbank).

He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before handing her and earbud, and lying down on his side. She follows, the two inserting the device into their ears at the same time. Her head instantly floods with staggered strings and piano, static, and then bass. Saxophone and acoustic guitar being delicately plucked, followed by a heady, gentle voice, similar to Bowie (but never as iconic).

“About You,” she whispers to him, her lips quirking.

Harry nods. Smiles, “The 1975.”

As the music progresses—the subtle vibrato of Matty Healy’s croon, the crescendo of each instrument and sound blending together to create one beautiful, extravagant, mind-bending symphony—Y/N swears she can see all five oceans in his eyes. The clear, breathtaking reefs, the lines that separates it from the rest of the water, dividing the calm from the chaos, the serene from the danger. She sees the deep, the unknown she wishes the dive further into, explore and discover, treasure for nothing but her own heart. And the seafoam that crashes up against the shore, the way it bubbles with joy and glistens in the light of the sun at the horizon, ever so fleeting as it washes back down the grains of sand.

She sees it all.

“S’pretty,” she mumbles, scooting closer as much as she can.

Harry wraps the arm not tucked under his head around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes flit dazedly between her two.

She may see the ocean, but he sees the sky. The constellations, laid out for him beautifully, his for the taking. His.

He nods, “S’pretty.” Bumps his nose childishly against hers, smiles softly, triumphantly, when it scrunches up. His eyebrows pull together in the center, and he huffs a breath through his nose, “S’fucking gorgeous, Stellina.”

His mouth is on her before she can ask for a translation (there’s only some many Italian pet names a girl can recall) tongue prodding at the seem of her lips until they give way and he can slide the wet muscle against her own. She tastes of their shared wine and vanilla buttercream, and he tastes of fresh peaches, mozzarella, and tangy balsamic vinegar. And yet, somehow, it mixes together to create something new, something better, arguably. He fits her bottom lip between his two, nipping and sucking at the plump flesh, pulling breathy whimpers and faint moans from his lover. His grunts and groans in response are no less self-deprecating (they were both, admittedly, getting extremely hot over a couple of third date level kisses).

Neither paid it much mind, however. Especially not when Harry flips around so he’s lying on his back and she’s pressed firmly against his torso, belly’s melding, chests grazing. Y/N can’t stifle her soft gasp at the heavy weight of Harry against her inner thigh, but she can’t reprimand him, for she is no better—there’s a puddle in the gusset of her panties.

“Harry,” she whines, lashes fluttering when his hands find the swell of her bum and squeeze through the flimsy fabric of her sundress.

“G'na take y'home now, Bellissima,” he husks against her open mouth, tongue flicking at the swollen mess. “Fuck you the way y'deserve for being such a good girl today—” She bristles, rocking into him and crying out softly because of it. “—and if y'keep it up, we’ll go to tha’ cute little flee market y'keep tellin’ me about, yeah?”

She’s being bribed with his (impeccable; divine; otherworldly) cock and her love for all things vintage.

“Can we go to the botanical garden, too?”

Harry snorts, issues a teasing spank to her bum that makes her squeal, but smiles, nevertheless. “Sure, Baby, whatever y'want.”

(Impeccable; divine; otherworldly) Cock, a flee market, and a botanical garden?

She’s in heaven. In happiness. In full bloom.

She fucking adores spring.

99 notes · View notes