[h.s] smut collection

Cake Batter.

It was a quiet and lazy morning in Harry's apartment. The two of you had slowly gotten up and around for the day, taking your time and enjoying the rare occasion. You'd gone off to the kitchen a while ago, and Harry was still lounging on the couch, dozing off again. He was brought back to reality by your voice, calling out.

"Harry, can you come here?"

He pushed himself off of the couch and rubbed his eyes, then came around the corner to find you kneeling on the counter in front of an open cupboard. Your hands were on your hips, looking very intently for something.

"What is it, love?" he asked, leaning up against the doorframe, a bit confused.

"Do you have any vanilla? I need it for a recipe," you explained, turning to look at him, "We're going to your Mum's and I told her I'd bring desert."

He thought for a moment, confused expression painted on his face, and then his eyes grew wide as he remembered.

"I'll grab it," he said, "I always keep it tucked away over here because I hardly ever bake anymore. Catch?"

You cupped your hands out in front of you and (thankfully) caught the small glass bottle once it left his hands, "It's still good, right? Not an ancient bottle of vanilla from your baking days?"

He smirked, "Jus' bought it a few months ago before the holiday, should be jus' fine."

You twisted the tiny cap off and took a breath in, "Smells okay to me," you laughed, "the last thing I need is to poison your family with a cake because of bad vanilla, I'm finally starting to get on Gemma's good side."

"They'll love it regardless, and you know they love you too," he assured you, coming up behind you and grabbing your waist. He spoke into your hair, "Don't see why anyone wouldn't love you, you're perfect."

You were glad to be facing the wall, because your cheek grew red embarrassingly quick, "Harry, you know that's the farthest thing from the truth,"

"Yeh can argue all you want, petal, but we both know I'm right," he teased, "What are you making anyway?"

You took his hands off of your hips and jumped down from the counter, crossing the floor to grab the small index card off of the table. "It was my grandmother's recipe — vanilla and raspberry layer cake," you explained, "I grabbed most things while I was out yesterday, but forgot vanilla ... would be a pretty boring cake without it."

He nodded his head, reading through the steps and smiling, "Sounds lovely. Do you want any help?"

"That would be great, actually, can you start the dry ingredients? I need to start cooking the berries."

Harry needed little direction and started following the recipe, his face adorned with a smile. It had been a while since he was in the kitchen baking, and he missed it.

The two of you worked well together, talking through the process but also okay with silence. This cake required a lot of prep work, from slowly cooking down berries into a filling for the different layers to making homemade buttercream to finish it off.

Harry insisted on whipping up the frosting "the way they always would" from when he worked in the bakery. You were sure he never actually decorated any cakes, but let him anyway. Pouring powdered sugar into a bowl and mixing in some milk, he whisked and folded until it was mixed entirely.

"How much vanilla to finish it off, pet?"

You craned your neck to look at the recipe card, "Says only a "splash", up to your interpretation I guess."

Harry worked to finish the frosting and called you over when it was done. You had just poured the filling into a bowl to set up in the fridge and came over to him, being overwhelmed by the smell of sugar and vanilla.