“Oh Love, Everyone Was Crying.”

Being twenty two is a weird age, you’re old enough to drink but not old enough to rent a car. You can vote but aren’t really taken seriously when you voice your opinions on things. Sure you have a mind numbingly catchy Taylor Swift song that sometimes accurately describes how you’re feeling but other than that being twenty two is kind of boring. But that all changes when you take your bestfriend and current roommate Niall’s advice and take your car to a shop his boyfriend James recommends when the “check engine” light comes on for the fifth time in the last two months. It’s where you run into a man named Harry that looks far too put together to be sitting in the waiting area of a grimy dirty mechanic’s shop with his briefcase and button up. You don’t waste time in introducing yourself and that sets off a chain of events that will have you thinking that maybe being twenty two isn’t that boring after all.

Harry is in his early forties, works long hours, and follows the same routine each day. He spends most evenings at home, avoids last-minute plans, and rarely seeks out excitement. Through a previous marriage that ended years ago, he has a twenty one year old son named James who lives with him. All in all Harry thinks he has everything he could possibly need out of life, he’s got a handful of friends that he can count on to be there when he needs them, a son who is as far as Harry knows is in a new and healthy relationship and in Harry’s eyes he can’t really ask for much else. While he is happy with his life, Harry will also admit that sometimes it can be a bit boring. That all changes the day he meets you while waiting for his car to be ready after a routine oil change, having been going to the same mechanic for years he’s become good friends with the owner Mitch. You’re all smiles with an infectious personality and the moment you shake his hand and give him your name Harry gets a funny feeling that his life is about to get a lot less boring.

So if you’re ready to jump in and hit the gas on this fun new series join the honey pot tier today! Part 1 goes up next week!✨

A bloom of annoyance starts to unfold in your chest as a sound you've unfortunately grown accustomed to hits yours ears, Harry making a disgusted noise from beside you on the couch. It's not quite a sigh. It's louder than that. It's sharper, full of the particular offense of a man who believes the world has personally and intentionally wronged him.

"Don't start." You warn him as you keep your eyes on the television.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re about to.”

Harry shifts beside you on the couch, folding his arms over his chest. His long brown hair falls loose around his shoulders, still slightly damp from the shower you forced him to take after he declared modern plumbing to be something suspiciously similar to witchcraft. His green eyes remain fixed on the screen with open contempt.

On screen a pirate swings from one ship to another with a rope clenched between his teeth. You can feel Harry's irritation as he shakes his head and you already know what's coming next.

“That's ridiculous." He says with a scoff.

You close your eyes. “Harry.”

“His jaw would dislocate.”

“It’s a movie.”

“His teeth would be ripped out of his mouth if he did that—it's absurd." He argues as you turn your head so you can glare at him.

“How do you know?"

“I know how ropes and teeth work—it would end in a very ugly and very painful ordeal that's why no real pirate would do something so-.”

"Absurd?"

"Precisely." You let out an annoyed huff as you reach into the bowl of popcorn in your lap and throw a piece at him. He catches it without looking only making your annoyance grow as he pops it into his mouth and eats it with a satisfied hum.

“You didn’t know what a microwave was yesterday.” You remind him with a teasing tone that Harry has gotten quite familiar with over the past few weeks.

“The glowing box is irrelevant to the matter at hand—his teeth would be stuck in the rope and not in his mouth.”

“Harry." You say his name with a groan as you run a hand over your face. "I told you that you can watch this movie with me only because you agreed to watching it quietly.”

“Not true—I agreed to watch.”

“You specifically promised not to criticize everything.”

“I made no such promise." Your brows raise as he gives you a shake of his head.

“Yes you did."

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

His gaze finally leaves the television and settles on you as he turns to give you his full attention.

“You.”

The answer comes without hesitation. It always does. That's another problem with Harry. Perhaps the biggest one. He doesn't understand restraint.

Having spent centuries alone stuck inside a ship sealed in a green glass bottle thanks to a curse from a sea witch whom he swears all he did was decline her hand in marriage, have stripped him of any ability to hide what he wants. A glass bottle you found shoved between a chipped ceramic cat and a stack of old cookbooks at a thrift store. The price was only twelve dollars and marked as nautical decor. You bought it simply because the ship inside was beautiful.

You didn't mean to uncork it accidentally while cleaning the glass. And you certainly didn't expect thick silver smoke to pour across your living room rug, followed by a full grown pirate collapsing onto the floor in leather boots, an open linen shirt and enough weapons to get you arrested in several states.

Harry took one look at you and decided you were the most beautiful treasure he's ever seen.

While you took one look at him and considered calling the police.

Luckily for him you quickly understood how difficult it would be to explain a cursed pirate to any form of law enforcement. But then you began to learn it's even more difficult to get rid of one once he becomes devoted to something, or more so someone.

That someone being you.

Harry now follows you from room to room. He watches you make coffee as though you're performing alchemy. He sits on the bathroom floor when you shower because he claims he's standing guard. He refers to every delivery driver as a potential assassin and at one point nearly challenged the mailman to a duel. He's also looking at you constantly. Not casually. Not politely. Harry looks at you like you're freedom in human form.

Most days you tolerate it.

Barely.

Tonight however, his attention feels heavier than usual.

"Stop staring." You mumble as you shift beneath his gaze and look down at the bowl in your lap.

“I’m not.”

“Uh yes—yes you are.”

“I’m looking.”

“That’s the same thing.” You tell him feeling your patience for the tall handsome pirate sitting beside you starting to grow thinner.

“No it's not.”

"Explain the difference then." You challenge as you glance over over at him intrigued.

Harry turns toward you fully, one arm stretching along the back of the couch behind your shoulders.

“Staring is mindless." He says casually. “Looking requires appreciation.” His words have your stomach doing something inconvenient, a fluttering of something goes off and it has it narrowing your eyes to compensate the unwanted feeling of warmth spreading through you.

“What—are you trying to flirt with me?” Your accusation has Harry quirking a brow.

"Flirting? I don't know what that means."

"It's when you say things that sound good just because you want the other person to—swoon over you." This has Harry titling his head to the side as he studies your face.

"Is that what's happening? Are you swooning over me?"

"God that's probably the worst thing you've ever said." You tell him with a laugh but Harry just continues to stare at you.

“Impossible." He states firmly. "I once threatened to remove a man’s tongue and feed it to him.” You stare at him with slightly wide eyes, Harry just gives you a faint smile. "He was rude." He adds as if that little piece of information helps you feel any better about what he just said.

“I don't know it sounds like you're the rude one."

“And yet you still bought me.”

“No I bought a bottle.”

“Not a bottle—a prison—one you selected even though you had many treasures to choose from.”

“It was next to a ceramic cat.” You explain trying to brush him off but you know Harry, you know he thinks the two of you are bound by some sort of fate, destined to be together all because you broke his curse. No amount of arguing will change his mind because others have owned him, placed him on their mantels or on their desks and none of them were able to uncork the bottle, not even when they tried because they just wanted his bottle and not the ship inside it.

Making Harry fully believe he was meant to wait centuries inside a glass prison until you found him.

“You chose me.”

“I chose a cheap nautical themed decoration.”

“A nautical themed decoration that doesn't fit the theme of your dwelling at all.”

"I'm eclectic—I don't keep to a single theme."

"You chose me—then you freed me."

“By accident.” Harry's smile deepens until you see the faint reminder of his dimples.

“Accident or not—I'm still free because of you."

There is something in his voice that quiets you.

It's easy to forget sometimes, that beneath the arrogance and the dramatic complaints and his refusal to wear anything you purchase for him unless it resembles something he could have stolen from a seventeenth-century nobleman, is a man that was trapped on his own ship for centuries. But then you think about how dark the bottle must have been. How the first thing he saw after centuries of nothing was your face.

Harry looks back toward the television before the moment can settle too deeply but you can't bring yourself to look away from him just yet. But then another sword fight begin and he lets out a loud dramatic groan and you no longer feel sorry for him.

“They’re gripping the hilts incorrectly.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

“Because one day someone may challenge you.”

“To a sword fight? Harry no one walks around with swords anymore.”

“You are remarkably argumentative.”

“You’re the one criticizing fictional pirates in my apartment.”

“Our apartment and these pirates aren't fictional they just don't exist anymore.” You turn your head towards him slowly.

“What did you just say?”

Harry remains focused on the movie though the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I said these pirates aren't fictional.”

“The other thing—you said our apartment.”

“Well I do live here.”

“You don't live here you're just staying here.”

“Indefinitely.”

“Temporarily.” You correct him with a glare.

“Indefinitely.”

“You sleep on my couch—you can't do that forever.”

“I only sleep on the couch because you deny me access to your bed.” Your mouth falls open while Harry looks pleased with himself.

“You're unbelievable.”

“So you often say.”

“You can't just say that you live here and expect me to be okay with it.”

“I have services I provide for you that earn me a place to live."

"Oh like what?"

"I protect the premises.”

“Protect the premises? That's what the doorman is for Harry—all you do is try to stab my vacuum cleaner.”

“That thing attacks without warning.”

“It doesn't attack it cleans the floors."

"Poorly."

"Excuse me? It does a great job."

“Not true—I've seen deckhands do better work and they don't almost swallow the curtains in the process.”

You shove the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table with an annoyed groan before you end up throwing the entire thing at him.

“You are the most irritating person I've ever met.”

Harry’s amusement deepens. “Yet you keep me close.”

“I don’t keep you close—you just refuse to leave.”

“I have nowhere else I wish to go.” The humor slips slightly from his face and you hate the immediate heat you feel rising up from deep in your chest.

Harry notices it. Of course he does.

His expression softens.

"You need to get out more—you might change your mind."

"Nothing would cause me to change my mind."

"You can't really say that because you've only seen my small apartment for three weeks and the inside of your bottle for the last few hundred years."

“Oh yes the bottle you threatened to put me back in this morning?”

“You drank milk directly from the carton that's gross even for a pirate.”

“I was thirsty.”

“You wiped your mouth on the my table cloth.”

“It was within reach.”

“You're worse than a feral cat.”

"And still you let me remain." Harry says as he leans closer, his voice is quieter now.

The movie continues behind him loud and bright, but your attention narrows to the inches between you.

You sit back slightly. Harry instantly follows after you. Not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air feel crowded.

“No you just refuse to leave." You remind him as you let out a huff that has a smile spreading across Harry's face because he likes this side of you, enjoys seeing you try to deny the pull you feel towards him. Because even now as you try to argue with him your body subtly shifts so your angled towards him and away from the television.

His gaze lowers briefly to your mouth.

"You haven't asked me to." Your pulse stutters as the truth casually falls out of his mouth.

“You’re very confident for someone who spent several hundred years inside home decor.”

Harry’s eyes flash a darker shade of green as he leans in just a bit closer.

“And you're very bold for someone whose heartbeat has changed just because I'm now a few inches away.” You stare at him with furrowed brows.

“You—you can't heat my heartbeat."

“I spent thirty years listening and memorizing every sound of my ship—"

"So that means you what?…memorized all my sounds? It's only been a few weeks."

"I might not know all of the sounds you make and what causes you to make them but I can hear the way your heart is pounding in your chest right now—all because of me.”

You swallow thickly.

Harry’s gaze sharpens at the movement.

“You're very annoying.”

“And you're very beautiful.” You blink at the sudden confession but try to regain your composure.

“You argue with everything I say.”

“Because I think you're exceptionally beautiful when angry.” Your breath catches, and Harry sees it.

His eyes darken. There is no teasing in them now and that's what changes everything.

Until this moment, the argument has been familiar. Easy. A game neither of you admits to enjoying. Now his arm is still stretched behind you, and your shoulder is nearly touching his chest and the room suddenly seems too warm.

“You’re obsessed with me." You whisper.

Harry doesn't try to deny it.

“I am."

“You barely know me.”

“I know you dislike the crusts on your bread but eat it anyway because you hate wasting food—I know you sing when you think I'm asleep and I know for some reason you like to purchase books faster than you read them—I know you become quiet when you're upset because you fear saying something cruel.”

His voice lowers further.

“I know you check the bottle every night before bed.”

You go still.

Harry watches you carefully.

“You think I don't notice but I do—I watch you pick it up to make certain it hasn't taken me back.”

“I just like to look at your ship—that's all.”

"You like me."

"I tolerate you."

"You're a horrible liar."

His face is closer now and you know you should move. But at Harry's eyes search yours with a blazing intensity you can't bring yourself to move or look away. Centuries of loneliness live somewhere behind his gaze. So does gratitude. Devotion. A hunger he's never once attempted to disguise.

“You broke my curse." He whispers.

“Accidentally.”

“You gave me the sky again.”

Your irritation falters as Harry’s fingers touch a strand of hair near your cheek, careful despite the roughness of his hands.

“You gave me back the wind,” he continues. “You gave me music—food that somehow arrives at the door and water that falls from the walls.” Despite yourself you feel your lips curve upwards.

“You screamed the first time the shower turned on.”

“I thought it was a trap.”

“You tried to fight it.”

“I won.”

“You slipped and pulled down the curtain.”

“The curtain interfered—I was winning.”

A laugh escapes you. Harry smiles at the sound while his thumb remains near your cheek.

Then his expression turns serious again.

“And you—you gave me you.”His voice is gentle but holds a distinct certainty that has your heart skipping a beat as his thumb brushes your skin. “You allow me beside you.”

“Because you won’t go away.”

“You bought the coffee I like and found me shirts that don't choke me at the throat—you leave the hall lamp lit because I dislike waking in darkness and you leave your door open now when you go to sleep." His voice is rougher now as he leans closer. “You may call it tolerance my darling but I have known starvation—I know the difference between scraps and a feast.”

The word darling sends heat crawling beneath your skin.

“You can’t—you can't be so dramatic and say things like that.”

“I've spent too many years unable to speak at all.”

The reply lands between you.

Your anger disappears so suddenly it leaves you exposed. Harry notices that too as his hand slowly cups your jaw, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You know you should but instead your fingers close around the front of his shirt. Harry inhales sharply as his gaze drops to your hand and then slowly lift back up to your eyes. You tighten your grip as his mouth curves upward into a smug looking smirk.

"You're holding onto me." The satisfaction in his tone reignites your irritation.

“Only to stop you from getting closer.”

Harry glances at the almost nonexistent space between you.

“You seem to have failed.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

The challenge is soft because he knows you intend to take him up on it.and you do, you kiss him because it's the fastest way to wipe the smug expression from his face.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

Harry goes completely still and for one suspended second, the feared pirate captain who has survived mutinies, storms, curses, and centuries of imprisonment seems stunned beyond speech. Then he makes a low, broken sound against your mouth. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck and he kisses you back. The force of it steals your breath. There's nothing tentative about Harry once he realizes you're not pulling away. He turns toward you, his other hand finding your waist as though he's imagined the feeling of his hand holding you there a thousand times.

Knowing him, he probably has.

You push at his shoulder and Harry draws back immediately, breathing hard as his green eyes search your face.

“What's wrong?”

“You’re crushing me.”You explain making him raise a brow at you with confusion taking over the features of his handsome face.

“I beg your pardon.”

“You’re heavy.”

“I'm composed primarily of muscle.”

“Yeah I can can.”

Relief flashes through his expression when he realizes you're not ending the moment just needing him to move some of his weight from atop of you.

“You kissed me.”He says with a smile as the two of you adjust so your resting against the armrest, Harry settles between your legs keeping most of his weight on his knees and the hand gripping the side of the couch while his other hands stays on your waist.

“You told me to make you shut up.”

“And such an effective method it was.”

“You’re talking again.”

“A grievous mistake.”

You pull him back down to you by his shirt.

The second kiss is different, it turns heated quickly as Harry’s hand tightens at your waist. There's still a strange carefulness beneath his hunger, as though some part of him fears any sudden movement might break the moment and return him to the bottle. He feels you shiver as his thumb slips beneath the edge of your shirt, grazing warm skin. His mouth leaves yours, trailing slowly along your cheek toward your jaw.

“You don't merely tolerate me." He mumbles against your soft skin.

“Don’t ruin this.”

“I've waited centuries for this.”

“You haven't even known me for centuries.”

“I knew someone was coming—knew they'd be worth all the years of waiting and I was right.” There's no teasing or smugness to his voice, just painful honest that pulls at your heart.

Harry kisses the corner of your mouth.

Then your cheek.

Then the place beneath your ear that makes your fingers curl harder into his shirt.

“Still annoying?" He asks.

“Yes.”

"Still want me to go and explore the world?" He asks as his lips brush your neck.

You hesitate.

Harry stops.

The question changes something in him. His head lifts, his expression suddenly turns open and unguarded. Not smug now. Not teasing. For all his bold declarations, some part of him truly doesn't know if you really want him to stick around or not. You see the effects of the bottle in him then. The years. The silence. The fear that freedom might be temporary and affection even more so.

Your hand loosens from his shirt and moves to his face.

Harry leans into your palm before he can stop himself.

“I do think you should go out and see the world but—but only if you promise to come back when you're done."

His eyes close briefly. When they open again, the devotion in them nearly undoes you.

“I would rather be cursed to spend eternity with Davy Jones than spend even one unnecessary minute away from you."

“That's a bit much.” You tell him as you playfully roll your eyes while your thumb strokes his cheek.

“It's just the truth.” Harry smiles against your palm.

Then he turns his head and kisses the center of it. The tenderness of the gesture feels more intimate than the heated kisses. You pull him toward you again before you can think too hard about what this all means.

The movie continues unnoticed, full of impossible escapes and inaccurate sword fights. Harry settles over you carefully this time as you pull him closer, one arm braced beside your head while the other still grips the side of the couch as his hair falls around both of you like a dark curtain.

His mouth hovers over yours. “For the record,” he murmurs, “this film remains an insult to piracy.”

You stare at him.

“Harry.”

“The ship rigging alone—”

You don’t give him the chance to keep talking.

Your fingers tighten in the front of his shirt and you yank him down crushing your mouth to his. The kiss is hard, demanding as you slip your tongue past his parted lips deepening it. Harry makes a low startled sound that melts into a groan as one of your hands slide under his shirt pressing your warm palm against the smooth skin of his back. His tongue meets yours eagerly, but you nip his lower lip and pull back just enough to speak his name against his mouth.

"Tell me what you want love." He whispers as his eyes flick open, dark and hazy as he looks at your flushed cheeks and hears the sound of your heart thudding against your ribs. "Want to please you—give you whatever you need."

"Really?" Your voice is soft and he only manages to give you a nod before you kiss him again.

It's deeper as your hands move to rest on top of his shoulders. When you start to push at them he happily lets you, body pliant under your direction. His lips make their way down your jaw to the side of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses as you gently urge him lower. You can feel how hard he is against you, the insistent press of him through his pants, but he makes no move to grind or seek relief. All his focus is on following your lead, on the way your skin feels under his lips and the breathy sighs that fall from your mouth.

“Lower." The strain in your voice makes Harry smile against the fabric of your t shirt as you continue guiding his head with gentle pressure from your fingers pressing into the tops of his shoulders. His mouth leaves trails of kisses as you ease him further down.

"Gonna take these off okay?" You just nod your head as Harry sits up on his knees while his hands find the waistband of your lounge shorts. You bite your bottom lip when you glance down at him and see the hard outline of his shaft that's being painfully held back by his trousers. Harry follows your gaze and is quick to lean over so his lips are on yours in a quick but sweet kiss.

"You're so soft—you're so perfect." His words distract you from focusing on him and bring you back to the moment, he smiles when you give him a few nods as he leans back and drags your shorts and panties down your legs, tossing them behind them without a care in the world about where they might land.

"So beautiful." He says with a groan as his eyes take in your bare center, you let out a gasp as he grabs the outside of your thigh and places it over his shoulder as he leans down. Your hands instinctively reach down and tangle themselves into his long locks as you feel his warm breath fan across your slick folds.

"Gonna let me get a taste of you?—tell me how to please you with just my tongue love—wanna feel you drip down my chin." There's not even a hint of embarrassment of shyness to Harry's voice as his eyes lock with yours, there's just a deep sense of need to please you dripping off every word and it has your heart fluttering in your chest. You swallow down your nerves as Harry gives your hip an encouraging squeeze, you know the man between your thighs wants to make you feel good, all you have to do is tell him how. So that's exactly what you do.

“Use the flat of your tongue first—lick me slow from bottom to top." A shiver runs through you as he complies, tongue dragging in one long deliberate stroke through your slick folds, parting them and gathering the wetness on his tongue before circling your clit. "Feel how wet I am for you? It's all for you." His groan vibrates against you, but he stays silent otherwise as his eyes stay locked on your face from between your thighs.

“Now use the tip and circle my clit—oh yes right there—suck on it gently—perfect now add just a little pressure.” You instruct between soft moans as his hands grip your hips, holding you steady without pulling you down harder. He works exactly as you tell him, tongue flattening to lap broad stripes through your dripping cunt, then sucking your swollen clit between his lips with careful, rhythmic pulls.

"Oh yes that's—that's so good." You pant as he slides his tongue inside your tight heat, curling it to stroke your inner walls. He finds his own rhythm flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over your clit until your thighs tremble around his head. Every time your grip tightens in his hair or your hips twitch, he doubles his efforts utterly lost in your pleasure. His own growing need is forgotten, the only need that matters is the one humming through your body. You keep talking him through it with little praises and small demands until the movie’s forgotten noise gets drowned out by the wet sounds of his tongue working itself in and out of your needy center and your ragged breathing.

"Harry I'm—oh god." You let out a moan of his name as you finally come undone for him, he moans against you as his hold on your hips turns bruising keeping you still as your hands pull at his hair keeping him exactly where he is between your thighs. He keeps his tongue moving in slow lazy strokes as he laps up your release, gently working you through the aftershocks. When he feels you loosen your grip in his hair he finally pulls away from your warm wet center, you try to catch your breath as he places his lips to the inside of your thigh.

You tug his hair gently until he lifts his head he carefully moves your leg from over his shoulder, then you grab onto his shirt and pull him up your body forcing him to place both hands behind your head, gripping the armrest. When your hands slide down to his shoulders to his back you can feel the tension in him. You can feel the way he’s still rock hard against you and you feel his hips twitch once before he forces them still. Guilt flickers through the haze of pleasure. He’s given everything and taken nothing.

You smile at him as he settles between your spread thighs, his weight pressing you into the couch cushions. His green eyes are wild, desperate to please even now, but you reach between you and unbuckle his belt and push his trousers down just enough to free him. His cock springs free thick and flushed, the head already slick with precome, and you wrap your hand around him once before lining him up against your slick folds.

“Want you to feel good." You tell him, voice soft but firm. “Just like this—let me feel you.” You roll your hips up to meet him, dragging the fat head of his cock through your wet slit in a deliberate grind, coating him in your arousal.

Harry’s breath hitches, but he follows your lead. Thrusting shallowly, the thick length of him sliding through your folds with every roll of your body. His forearms bracket your head, hair falling around both of you like a curtain, and he keeps his pace exactly as you show him. You let out a soft moan as the head of his cock catches on your clit with every pass, smearing your wetness along his shaft.

Then his control cracks. A ragged moan escapes him as he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough and shaking.

“Gods—you feel so good." He breathes, hips rolling harder. “So wet and hot—look at you all slick and open for me." His lips find your neck as he drags his cock through your slickness, the friction sends a shiver of pleasure through you. "I’ve waited centuries for this—centuries trapped with nothing but the thought of you—dreaming of how you’d feel under me like this.” Your hips rise to meet his movements, you let out a throaty moans as the head of his cock nudges your entrance without pushing in.

“Want to feel you wrapped around me one day—you're perfect little cunt is going to look so beautiful stretching around me—fuck I could stay right here forever just feeling you like this." He mumbles between kisses down your neck. You keep guiding him with your hips, letting him use the heat of your body until his thrusts grow erratic and he lets out a broken moan of your name against your throat. Your back arches as you feel him spill his release, hot and thick across your stomach, a few spurts land on your swollen clit making you gasp as his body shudders above you coating your slick folds in his release.

After a few moments he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. Both of you have little smiles on your face, both breathing hard as he's careful not to crush you as he presses his lips to every part of your face he can reach. The movie continues to play, neither of you pay it any attention. And Harry remains exactly where you put him, between your legs and even more utterly devoted to you than he was just a few hours before.

Being twenty two is a weird age, you’re old enough to drink but not old enough to rent a car. You can vote but aren’t really taken seriously when you voice your opinions on things. Sure you have a mind numbingly catchy Taylor Swift song that sometimes accurately describes how you’re feeling but other than that being twenty two is kind of boring. But that all changes when you take your bestfriend and current roommate Niall’s advice and take your car to a shop his boyfriend James recommends when the “check engine” light comes on for the fifth time in the last two months. It’s where you run into a man named Harry that looks far too put together to be sitting in the waiting area of a grimy dirty mechanic’s shop with his briefcase and button up. You don’t waste time in introducing yourself and that sets off a chain of events that will have you thinking that maybe being twenty two isn’t that boring after all.

Harry is in his early forties, works long hours, and follows the same routine each day. He spends most evenings at home, avoids last-minute plans, and rarely seeks out excitement. Through a previous marriage that ended years ago, he has a twenty one year old son named James who lives with him. All in all Harry thinks he has everything he could possibly need out of life, he’s got a handful of friends that he can count on to be there when he needs them, a son who is as far as Harry knows is in a new and healthy relationship and in Harry’s eyes he can’t really ask for much else. While he is happy with his life, Harry will also admit that sometimes it can be a bit boring. That all changes the day he meets you while waiting for his car to be ready after a routine oil change, having been going to the same mechanic for years he’s become good friends with the owner Mitch. You’re all smiles with an infectious personality and the moment you shake his hand and give him your name Harry gets a funny feeling that his life is about to get a lot less boring.

So if you’re ready to hit the gas then head on over to our Patreon and join the Honey Pot Tier today✨

"Have you seen the video?" Stan asks as Delilah gets comfortable in her chair in front of the green screen.

"No and I have no intentions on watching it—it's sad and disgusting that someone would post a video like that of people they are so called fans of." Delilah explains with a frustrated tone that has Stan just nodding as she looks into the camera while adjusting the straps of her dress.

"How do you think they're going to handle it? I don't think they've dealt with something like this before have they?" Delilah let's out a sigh as Stan tries to get more out of her in regards to the current scandal surrounding one of the other housewives.

"I'm sure Harry called Jeff and—well I'm assuming he's not being the most helpful because he's always just quick to be a bit of an asshole in stressful situations."

"And Jeff is their—the Styles's manager?"

"Hell no Jeff is Harry's manager—he wishes he could tell her what to do."

"Oh so Mrs. Styles has her own manager?"

"Yes? She has her own career so why wouldn't she have her own manager?" She asks with a glare making Stan just shrug. "Can we move on now?"

"Yeah yeah—we can move on."