[h.s] smut collection

BB Talk 0.1

When you arrived home after a long day of work and smelled the roast, you knew Harry was up to something.

Either he wanted to talk over a very important decision with you, or the tabloids were about to-if they hadn't already-print a false or prying story about you and he wanted to take your mind off it. However, you still smiled as you slipped off your shoes and jacket.

It was the little things. That's what no one told you about marriage. Marriage wasn't all about the Instagram posts praising each other, or the mind-blowing sex, or the grand statements of affection. It was the foot rubs after a long day, a roast in the oven as soon as you came home from work, and the quick forehead kiss in the early morning when he woke before you. Those little things kept the love alive.

And oh, how you loved them.

You quietly padded into the kitchen, thinking he hadn't heard you yet. An old record was spinning on the player, cracking. Harry had his back turned, humming along, stirring what looked to be a gravy for the roast. You couldn't tell if your mouth was watering from the food or from Harry. He was dressed in sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a plain white tee. You knew you would be able to see his tattoos through the sheer fabric if he turned around and the thought alone made your insides turn.

Sneakily, you tiptoed behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. "Gotcha," you muttered into his back.

"I could feel yeh starin' from tha doorway," he teased.

You released your grip on him as he turned around to face you. "I wasn't staring," you lied. "And even if I was, am I not allowed to stare at my husband?"

Harry smoothed his hands over your head and rested them between where your neck and shoulders meet. "Oh, yehr more than welcome t' stare." A smirk slowly appeared on his lips and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "How was yeh day?"

You sighed and leaned into him. "Long. I'm glad to be home. Dinner smells amazing."

Harry was a great cook and he now had more than enough time to enjoy it. His first solo album did amazingly well and went platinum in numerous countries. He'd participated in a small world tour, multiple TV and radio shows, and performed at award ceremonies. Dunkirk was a summer hit, tripling its initial budget. Harry has just finished recording his second album. Now all that was left to do was wait and let everyone behind the scenes finish the details. He was twenty -seven and changing the game at the snap of his fingers.

He turned back to the stove and you stepped around him, grabbing the bottle of wine he had sitting out for you.

"'S almost done. These brussel sprouts jus' need a few more minutes."

You scrunched up your nose as you poured a generous glass for yourself. Harry chuckled.

"Hey, I like 'em," he defended.

"Good." You took a sip. "'Cause you're the one that's gonna finish them all."

It almost happened in slow motion. His hands gripped your hips and he lifted you up, setting you down on the counter. You tried to hold your wine glass steady, but as he stepped between your legs, he took the liberty of retrieving the glass from the grasp and setting it to the side.

"Don' wanna get too full," he whispered. His hands roamed up your sides. "Wanna save some room for m' dessert."

You slowly wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. "We could have dessert first," you breathed as you opened your legs wider.

Harry pressed a swift kiss to your lips. You reached for more but he backed away ever so slightly. "Dinner's ready, though. What a shame t' put it t' waste."