#“Watch where you’re putting that chisel” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1800titz · 3 months ago

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The one where Y/N and Harry are neighbors in an apartment complex, he's got a bunny called Snuggles, he makes softcore porn spanking people (it's a REALLY LOUD HOBBY), and Y/N has definitely called the police for a domestic disturbance next door.

HI FRIENDS. The council has spoken, so here is the first part of the lovingly-dubbed spanko fic. This series will be early access, so— parts go up on patreon first, then they come to tumblr 3-ish weeks later (but if you wanna get ahead, the second part is already up on patreon). Reader insert, emotionally a slowburn, and basically a garbage fire I'm pouring my deepest, darkest desire into as a coping mechanism :p If you liked TDIAG, you'll probably rock with this one. As always, feedback/reblogs massively appreciated <3 WEEEEEEEE okay bye

ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ : ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

CONTENT/WARNINGS: miss girl misconstruing consensual kink for domestic violence (oops)

WC: 7.8K

Harry’s face is the reason average men have developed a phenomenon called personality.

Historically, it was faces like his, at the very least, that ignited adaptation— this wasn’t an overnight implementation, after all. Men don’t move that fast. There’s a long-lasting, brutally destructive record there, and a tale as old as time itself. Before charisma had to be manufactured in the absence of a devastating jawline, there was the high-cheekbone aristocracy, and its counterpart, what’s known today as the “he’s actually really nice” faction. The beauty privilege inventors; the bedroom-eye monarchy; the symmetrical syndicate of a resting smolder—

And the rest of everyone else.

Rumor has it that the first comedian was a man who watched another guy, who had eyes like wet chrysocolla and really broad shoulders, turn a casual glance into an entire bloodline’s origin story. Maybe the first poet sat next to a man wearing the skin of divine nepotism— and the only defense strategy was to pick up a hobby that spoke less in pretty, heart-shaped lips and more in words like love’s trembling hand doth trace its name upon thy skin. New seduction ritual: implemented.

Basically, the survival mechanism goes like this: if you’re competing with bone structure sculpted by an empyrean chisel, a mouth worthy of oil paintings and crumpled love letters, and the kinds of dimples that were engineered for the sole purpose of emotional damage (Cupid’s attempt; two, little exit wounds, the perfect pair of injustices parenthesizing his smile)…

And you’re lingering in the shadow of those attributes? Operating on a deficit? Well, then. There’s a little more work left to be put in.

If you’re lucky, you’re tall, or you’re well endowed in the basement, or both. If you’re none of those things, you’re banking on a gift with a musical instrument, or you’re coping with the weight of your wallet. You’re getting into niche, esoteric interests you will impress upon every woman that steps foot into your orbit to stand out, or you’re polishing up your comedic abilities. The thing is, society has evolved to the point where this compensation is the foundation to procreation. The foundation to function. And the kind of men with faces like Harry, who got in line not once, but twice when God was handing out genetic privilege (the overachieved extra credit projects), just get to sit back and let the world unravel at their feet.

Men like Harry don’t need personalities because they already look interesting enough. When you’re the kind of pretty that inspires love songs and ill-advised tattoos, you don’t need wit, or pockets lined with green. It opens doors (and legs) with such minimal effort that it may as well be as simple as breathing. The quiet space in a room bends around you when you become the focal point by existing, incidentally magnetic.

It’s pretty unfair, to say the very least.

Y/N only really registers it passing— in fleeting, peripheral moments when the space bends around him and her eyes glue, almost like an accident. A brief sighting here and there, like a rare animal caught between the trees— seen but not acknowledged, because staring starts to feel like stepping into something too raw, too deliberate.

He’s always moving. In motion, slipping past. Glimpses of wide shoulders cutting through the communal pool, water slicking over musculature in a smooth tide and then rivulets, droplets sticking against sun-warmed skin. A silhouette in the elevator at the end of the hall, head bowed. Sorting through crinkled envelopes between his massive hands with a ruckle between his brows.

He’s got the kind of face that suggests he should be gently perched on the edge of a marble fountain, carved in alabaster. A cherubic thing. Rosy-mouthed, haloed by damp curls that tuck around his ears in perfect, artistic disarray. The kind of beauty that feels vaguely mythological, like he should either be blessing crops or luring unbeknownst sailors to their deaths. A visage that belongs on domed Renaissance ceilings.

Y/N breathes. Her pulse feels like it’s rattling a little. It makes her head feel a little gooey when he’s stood in front of her.

And here he is, holding a package in one hand, water still beading at his collarbone from a morning shower, damp curls dripping onto the fabric of a lived-in, vintage T-shirt. The tragic failure of modern existence is that a man like this— who should, by all logic, be strumming a lyre on the edge of a celestial fountain— has instead been doomed to wander the mundanities of the human condition. To swipe through his mail. To stand in front of her door and say things like “Think they swapped our mail again” in that perfectly unassuming, relaxed tone, like his very existence isn’t actively offensive to the concept of mediocrity.

His singular flaw? That one, teeny thing?

He’s a horrific neighbor.

Abysmally inconsiderate, in fact. Maybe, one of the worst people Y/N has ever had the pleasure of sharing a paper-thin wall with.

The thing is, under all normal circumstances, eye candy is a desirable next door tenant, to catch those scarce glimpses of and swoon over. But Harry? He’s dangerous. An illusion gilded in beauty that sits in this achingly so, lazy way. It’s an excellent cover for someone who (based on volume alone) should be legally required to sublet a soundproof chamber instead of an apartment. Beauty privilege, remember?

Instead of spending his days spreading divine harmony and whispering sweet nothings into the ears of poets, her tragically beautiful neighbor has chosen a different calling. One that involves subjecting Y/N to an auditory experience that can only be described as an unholy, unprovoked act of sonic terrorism against anyone who possesses functioning ears.

While he may look like the patron saint of soft lighting and tasteful nudity, he lives like a man who has never once considered the presence of neighbors. Evidently, the universe operates on imbalance.

It’s not surprising that he fucks. Nor is the frequency, given— everything. It would be more surprising if he didn’t, which, statistically, seems impossible. It is the sheer volume at which he fucks and the blatant disregard for customary noise ordinances.

Y/N has had the great misfortune of gaining intimate knowledge of Harry’s extracurricular activities through nothing but flagrantly inconspicuous, unsolicited proximity. She is now, against her will, deeply familiar with the sound of his bed frame against the wall. With the low, gravel-thick groan that spills out of him before everything goes quiet, the sharp gasp from whoever is tangled up in the sheets beneath him. The pornographic chainlink of yes, yes, yes, as if to lyricize the tempo of a wrought iron headboard ramming against hollow drywall. She’s a victim to secondhand moaning; a hostage to the unchecked libido of a man she’s not even screwing.

The young woman isn’t sure who he’s sleeping with, but based on the sounds, they either really, really like whatever feat of Olympian-endurance he’s performing on the other side of the wall, or they’re being held at gunpoint and doing an exceptional job of faking it. It’s loud. A predictable regularity. Enough to make her consider downloading white noise apps and investing in a stronger liquor cabinet.

And every morning, after nights filled with thumping and gypsum-dulled dirty talk— horny monologue hour, hardly softened by an overworked, underpaid layer of rental-grade plaster— and the occasional bass-heavy indie rock soundtrack, he leaves his apartment looking criminally rested. Peaceful. Unbothered by the absolute railing he has just put someone (and the walls) through.

For all his divine aesthetics, Harry fucks like he’s trying to earn a standing ovation. With the kind of dedication to performance that suggests he thinks there’s an awards committee waiting outside in the hallway to hand him a trophy when he’s done.

Y/N doesn’t know what’s worse— the rhythmic, wall-shaking thump of his bed frame, the low, muzzled stream of just incomprehensible enough to stay offensive murmurs, or the fact that he has the audacity to look well-rested when she sees him the next morning, while she lurches past him like a woman who’s been spiritually waterboarded by the full-scale resonance of his sex life.

Y/N has tried— earnestly tried— to ignore it. To mentally downgrade him from disruptively attractive to something more manageable, like guy-next-door cute. But Harry is simply too loud to be ignored.

And not just in volume— though, yes, he operates at a decibel that insinuates he believes “inside voice” is an urban legend. It's everything. The way he takes up space. The way he stretches his arms over his head and his shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of toned stomach like some kind of aesthetic oversight. The way his lips pull into a smirk when he's amused, a single dimple pressing into the smooth skin of his cheek.

The worst part? He doesn’t weaponize it. Just… exists, as if he entirely lacks self-awareness for the unrelenting power he yields with pure aesthetics.

Perhaps the only thing more dangerous than his unregulated evolutionary favoritism is the lack of object permanence it causes. Inspires. Because at the end of the day, despite how polite, how deeply-gnarled in neighborly niceties, The Incident from last month still exists, but miraculously manages to melt into her every time she’s face to face with him. Like a static buzz settling into the way her composure thaws away.

His most notable sound pollution, to date, spilled in the form of audible rejection on a rain-drenched afternoon, dripping through the drywall in a dissent-rusted chain. Stop. No. Please. It was a voice she didn’t recognize. A voice trying to be firm but not entirely expecting to be listened to. It sounded so defeated, like a cry and then a high, sharp whine in response to whatever distinctly lower-pitched murmurs the insulation muzzled. All velvet-dipped tones swallowed by the structural integrity of a shoebox apartment.

Y/N is the last person to dig into others’ preferential depravities, nor does she have the mental bandwidth to file through the archives of a borderline stranger’s hedonisms, but her stomach had twisted up like one of those coiled, abstract sculptures that fits on a bookshelf, and she ended up on the couch with her cellphone tucked to her ear.

Because it wasn’t just the kind of sound that prickled at her nape, but curdled deep in the belly of her, heavy and rotting.

(“Um, hi, I think my neighbor is— hurting someone.”)

But the thing is, standing with her door cracked now, Y/N thinks there needs to be at least one, obnoxiously visible character flaw to remind her and offset the audacity of his aesthetics, because up close, it’s so much worse.

Anything— an overinflated ego, a questionable tattoo, a personality cultivated exclusively from Joe Rogan podcasts. But no. Harry is polite— painfully so, armed with the clean-shaven jawline of a man who has never known an awkward phase and the kind of infuriatingly natural charm that makes all rationale and reason puddle off into awed oblivion.

“Hey,” he says, cradling the package in one palm, curls wet, one rogue lock clinging to the crest of his cheekbone in a way that would look deeply artificial on anyone else. “Think they swapped our mail again.”

The level of allurement at which he functions should come with a warning label, so it’s a little tough to keep The Incident afloat when he just… waterlogs it with simple, blissfully unaware presence. In these types of situations, all that buoys is the vague, internal monologue reminding her that she’s been gawking wordlessly too long to be considered socially acceptable.

Her taller neighbor (significantly taller; really, Y/N thinks— it’s as if he collected hallmarks like they were on conveniently timed clearance) blinks. He’s still holding the package out. Y/N blinks back. Batting her lashes shakes something, as if warding off gnats off in a plume of smoke. Slowly, she accepts the misdelivered offering, and unease creeps into the soft spot between her rib bones and her organs.

Despite the way the man has embedded his existence so deeply into her thoughts— honestly, so much so that he may as well be paying rent (she should be getting compensated for the unpaid mental labor)— Y/N doesn’t actually know Harry.

She knows his name is Harry. H-A-R-R-y, always inscribed in all capitals, besides the cacographic tail end of the lowercase, curving Y. She’s given up on trying to understand why whoever the post office sends insists on treating their mailboxes like interchangeable suggestions rather than fixed addresses. She knows that their mail, through some act of bureaucratic sabotage, somehow manages to interchange between 9B and 9C with unsettling regularity.

She knows he fucks. A lot. So regularly that at this point, it’s practically a statistical impossibility that his celibacy record stands longer than a sparse handful of days. She knows that he wears the face of a misplaced effigy, with a halo’s worth of plausible deniability— the kind that should be mounted to an Italian plaza centerpiece, or live frescoed, immortalized on a high ceiling between Corinthian columns. She knows she called the police on him last month, so she needs to ball her resolve in her arms when it spills apart like unrolled toilet paper—

There is one truth Y/N must latch on and cling to in these tragically catastrophic stand-offs (probably… entirely one-sided, given that the opponent to her poor mettle and overactive nervous system is just… standing there, breathing, entirely oblivious of his innate talent to dilate pupils and cause momentary amnesia), and that truth is this: no superficially aesthetic veneer of deception can shell-up reality.

And the reality is that Y/N does not know this man, and so no cherubic façade, neighborly niceties, or feigned self-unawareness can suppress that he may as well be an entirely different person behind closed doors.

It’s months down the line that the irony will hit her— that yes, undeniably, Harry is almost a direct, walking contradiction behind the assumed sanctity of a closed door— that no pleasantries or seraphic, unassuming dimples can soften the obscenity of his pastimes. Hobbies include: vinyl collecting, long walks, and ensuring that an attitude adjustment sticks. But that’s months down the line, and right now?

Right now he’s just her obnoxiously loud neighbor that, according to probable cause (and the recording of the phone call she made to the emergency hotline, stored somewhere in the 911 archives), may or may not take no for an answer. Which is the biggest tragedy of all, in her opinion.

“Thanks.” There’s a little bite there to the word, there. Enough for him to clock it— for something to flicker along that lazily charming smile, like a gossamer-thin, bewildered film over the surface of his expression.

Harry pauses, almost like he wants to say something (probably to acknowledge the awkwardly apparent dissonance going on), but then he just… doesn’t.

“Okay,” as the man breathes, the breadth of his shoulders swells up, thick muscle rising up under the cotton fabric (not quite pulled taut— not anywhere besides the span of his shoulders— but enough for the shape of his pebbled nipples to poke through the material). Y/N chews into the gummy-smooth skin along the inside of her cheek. Honestly, it’s unfairly disarming; his low voice, his stupid face, his hard nipples prodding through the tee. With his dewy meadow eyes glued onto her, her resolve wobbles like a flimsy stilt house on the coast in a hurricane. “Have a good one.”

He ducks his chin (a subtle period on the uncomfortable pause, a formal seal on his exit) at the young woman, still holding the parchment-wrapped package she’s been awarded as if solidified into a stone-encasement of the position. Y/N blinks. Harry turns.

With a final glance toward his retreating back, the girl closes the door. As her fingers tighten around the package, her knuckles bleach from the strain. It’s either that or punch drywall, and quite frankly, she’s been paying too much in rent to consider remodeling and too many fees in the form of involuntary eavesdropping to afford a fracture in the (poorly constructed) noise barrier. She tucks the chainlink back onto its track as the door clicks shut and resigns herself to another unfortunate truth: Harry is so dangerously attractive that not only is she almost certainly going to think about this moment later, but she will be reminded, every time she’s shepherded into close proximity with him, that when God packages something up in 6 feet of limited-edition facial topography and artfully tousled curls, no amount of unsought aural pornography and creeping suspicion can stop a cosmic nepotism baby from dismantling her concentration.

The last thing Harry expects from a disgruntled herd of bleary-eyed, sock-shuffling renters— a crowd caught somewhere between sleep-deprived and half-dead— is small talk.

Half these people have a look that suggests they contemplated burning alive before choosing to evacuate, and the other half probably wish they decided to wear real pants to bed. Tonight, Harry falls into both categories. With the fire alarm still shrieking from the guts of the complex and the blinking glow of blue and red in the corner of a tar-black night, the briefs hitching high on his meaty thighs is almost… poetic. Cinematic, at the very least. Like a scene from an experimental indie film focused on the gradual dissolution of dignity.

The downy rabbit nestled in his arms, coiled more like a floccose ball than a living animal, is the sartorial maraschino cherry— it pulls the look together. Emergency Evacuation chic. He looks about as disheveled as the rest of the congregation; bedhead, sleep still dusting at his half-mast gaze, keyring slipped over his middle finger and his phone cradled in the same hand (though, Harry thinks wryly, no building-wide emergency couture quite tops the tighty-whitey socks-and-sandals combo that the guy up ahead of him is rocking). There’s sparse chatter going on all around him, a kind of background drone that fades into the wail, but he doesn’t have any intention to engage. Despite the unplanned slumber party and the potential opportunity to trauma-bond, he can’t really find it in him to start ice-breaking and sharing life stories. There’s a time and place to build community with your neighbors— half-dressed in a parking lot at three AM isn’t one of them.

Instead, he stands in the midst of the mass, dead-silent as if still calibrating. It takes him a while to notice the young woman a few feet ahead of him— long enough that the cool air has settled over him in a coat. Her bathrobe wraps tight around her, cinched pink terry-cloth. He doesn’t recognize that she’s a familiar face until she turns enough for him to see her side profile, her phone screen casting light and painting shadows in the crease of her furrowed brow as she sniffs. Thumbing over the device, Y/N turns back over her shoulder.

The longer he stands there, creaking into a more-awake rendition of himself as the faint chill cuts through the grogginess in his skull, the more the silence marinates into impatient restlessness. Stretching like old gum. She lingers in his periphery, shifting from foot to foot as if nursing the same restive itch. Once again, his neighbor twists to the side, rocking onto the balls of her feet and then back down onto her heels. A huff spills from her lips as she turns her phone off and tucks it up under her upper arm, crossing them. It’s not cold enough for the air to bloom with her breath, but the exasperation in it is audible. Maybe because he’s managed to seep closer.

“—Wonder if someone just pulled it.”

At first, Y/N doesn’t acknowledge the statement, as if she doesn’t recognize the remark is directed at her. And then, the presence behind her— not pressing uncomfortably close, just distant enough to notice— has Y/N turning her head over her shoulder. She double-takes.

Harry’s in a new light. Still abysmal to her train of thought, already weak on its tracks given that the drowsiness from being rudely awoken in the middle of the night still has her lingering in a dull, cotton-wrapped awareness. But now, he’s a fraying shape; sleepy and half-nakedly soft. Hair a masterpiece of sleep deprivation— the typically styled ringlets on his head sit mussed; whatever shape (she assumes the usual— somewhere between windswept and enticingly intentional) existed yesterday has gone rogue, erased by his pillow. What’s left is a tousled disarray. He’s in another tee, once again pulled snugly over his shoulders, and he’s cradling what could be a live, fuzzy animal, but more resembles a balled fur stole, its potential face tucked into the nook between his muscly upper arm and his chest. Despite the ridiculous assortment of this particular wardrobe showcase, that’s not what catches her eye most. Y/N sucks in a breath.

Considering a fair share of the evacuees around them teeter on the brink of public-indecency, it shouldn’t throw her guard off as much as it does, but all she can manage in such close proximity with Harry’s thighs is to blink wordlessly. It’s not necessarily his thighs so much as the way they’re denuded— not the way his trousers sit on them so much as their entire lack thereof. It’s the way his lower region is only covered up by a pair of jet-black briefs, clinging like a second skin, riding ridiculously high and ridiculously low. High enough that the only place her eyes can focus is the (chewy) musculature, slightly sun-bathed from all those hours spent in the residential pool, dusted with hair. Low enough that a sliver of skin peeks from between the waistband and hem of his shirt, hitched up just a touch on one side. Enough to hint at a sharp dip of a mostly concealed V, where muscle sinks in a hard line along bone. A tease of whatever workout routine he’s committed to. Beside the rigid line chiseled in there, an inked, leafy stem climbs (a set of mirrored layers that she’d observed on him, supine on a pool chaise).

Basically, it’s the type of thing that should legally classify him as a walking thirst trap.

With the crowd sporting bedtime fashion, some covered only in the most legally vague sense of the word, it leaves Y/N wondering: if most of the people decided to haphazardly vacate their apartments by only tossing on the most minimal attire— if opting to add to their garb in any way— what did Harry add? Did he wear the cream-toned tee to bed? Just the Calvins? Both? Or was he entirely bare, only sloppily throwing on whatever was left discarded by the side of the bed? Does he sleep naked?

With all these sordid thoughts clouding up the forefront of her mind like a thick plume of fog, she can’t find words through alphabet soup and the vague mental images of Harry’s bare skin tangled by sheets. To make it better, he’s just staring at her, like he’s expectantly waiting for her to respond. What was the question?

Y/N blinks again. “What?”

“The—“ Harry bobs his head towards the cluster of emergency vehicles, olive eyes oscillating to the apartment complex and back onto her, “fire alarm. I wonder if someone just pulled it.”

If ever the universe was to humble Harry from a breathing renaissance painting, half-clothed and half-asleep would be the time. He could be knocked down to whatever status a man up front is bearing, clad in a questionably classy fusion of tragic, high-cut cotton underwear, socks, and suede, open-toed sandals. Somehow, though, it’s worse that his bedhead, for the most part, still leaves the tendrils curling in lazy, untamed waves. That his nakedly-beguiling thighs, strong and sculpted with muscle, look like they’re meant to pry knees wide. It’s mortifying—

“Then, they’d be an asshole,” she murmurs, her own gaze raking out and lingering on the building. The words come out clipped with exhaustion, and then that pause lingers again.

Harry hums. She chances another glance at the furball curled to his chest.

“Snuggles,” Harry supplies, raising one arm a tad from where it’s caged to support the animal. The motion is enough to jostle the thing, and it tucks its face out, twitching its nose. With careful precision, the man moves one hand out from the cradle— the one not clutching his keys and his phone (by the way, casually dwarfed by the sheer size of his palm and cupped, lengthy fingers) to skim his pointer along the Holland lop’s dangling ear. “He’s a bit delicate and has some strong opinions on sudden, loud noises. Not a fan of fire alarms, as it turns out.”

The young woman hums noncommittally, eyes snaking back off to the polychrome strobe.

The last thing Harry expects from his neighbors during a mandatory, middle-of-the-night evacuation order are pleasantries. Between the slouched postures, the collective, dead-eyed aura of suffering, the general degree of resentment perfuming the air, and the visible internal debates over whether a hypothetical fire is worth enduring the cold, it’s safe to assume morale is at an all time low. Which brings him to his next point— there is, Harry suspects, something about him that fundamentally offends his neighbor.

Not inherently because she’s not talking to him. Naturally, the theory has no relevance to her lack of enthusiasm at the moment.

There’s a clause to life that he learned as a little kid, an absolute truth that the motto “water off your back” was created around, and this clause is that not everyone will like you. There’s really no gentle way to chew on that one, but it’s a fact Harry has long come to terms with. Jealousy, misery, even a simple case of personalities repelling like mismatched magnets— all things that can cause someone to decide you’re just not their cup of tea. Incompatibility could very easily leave your existence grating someone down to the molecular level. And you can never please everyone— that’s another piece of that truth he had to gnaw on before he decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life marching to the beat of his own drum.

Apparently, something about this tempo scrapes at some highly-sensitive nerve of hers like a dull knife on a chalkboard.

It’s an intuition thing, really. There hasn’t so much been a sharp, substantial instance so much as there’s been instances. Little, creeping things; the way her eyes ward when he’s close, despite the way they hover; the tone she seems to reserve for him, not outwardly rude, but suspiciously close to some awkward admixture between tolerating jury duty and being held at gunpoint. There’s more, among those, too— the suspiciously long pauses that sit like preludes to every response she gives him. The way her gaze flickers off avoidantly.

And those last two aren’t flustered mechanisms.

Harry knows he is, according to conventional, societal standards, attractive. He’s no stranger to reflective surfaces, nor is he unaware of the way actual strangers look at him. Ogle. Gawk.

It was a burgeoning metamorphosis he became acutely aware of between awkward kidhood and the place he’s at now. First, all lanky angles of uncertainty, only half-grown into his features, when his bones had made up their mind but the muscle and skin over them hadn’t quite decided what they wanted to be yet. Then, it was almost overnight. Everything began stretching into place and ubiquitously working in his favor. Eyes lingered, heads turned…

It’s safe to say he knows nervous girls. Boys. The lack of eye contact, or on the polar opposite hand, the blanking, empty stares and the silent beat as their response time glitches and their mouth tries (and fails) to keep up with a short-circuiting nervous system. Not everybody is able to stay the most suave version of themselves interacting with someone they find sexually attractive— his firsthand experience involves not only being on the receiving end, but on the giving end, as well. Granted, the aesthetics boost had given him a sense of confidence that buried his inhibitions down, so it’s been a long while since the last time he tripped over himself in front of someone that made his dick sit up and pay attention, but—

The thing is, Y/N doesn’t glance away like staring at him rapidly dissolves her thoughts in a static haze. She doesn’t take long pauses because she’s floundering over the next word. She doesn’t even look at him in a way that insinuates she’s worried he’ll nip her or something, she’s just so utterly…

Closed off. Disinterested. Like his presence is a jury duty evaluation and she’s wriggling in her seat, waiting to talk about her views on jury nullification.

In fairness, it could very well be a me-not-you thing— the awkward shuffle through their interactions, the severe deficit of enthusiasm. Those communication patterns could very well be sound across the board… in another universe. There are footprints that lead him to the massive elephant in the room, and those footprints spell the vague shape of it didn’t used to be this way.

Sure, Harry contemplates, if she was a miserably unpleasant person that holed up in her apartment with no interest in corresponding with another human being, he’d get it. If she’d given him the idea that something about him rattled her down to atoms the first time he ever said hello to her, he’d get it. But she used to smile. Coyly, almost, he’d go as far to say— one finger away from twirling a lock of hair around her pointer as she talked to him. The kind of simper that accompanies a giggle from a barista handing his drink over across the counter, eyes honed. She used to lean onto her door frame when he handed off a stack of envelopes that got misplaced into his mailbox, or hung back with her eyes wet and lively as she stood at his doorway and handed off a package.

What’s more is that his history is marked by drawing more people in after he opens his mouth, than turning them away. He’s arguably likeable— not in an arrogantly self-absorbed way, but strictly based on track record. He’s befriended too many older ladies (who sparked up chatter with him in grocery stores unprompted, mostly), and gotten slipped too many drinks (on the house) from bartenders to believe otherwise. Generally, his existence tends to fall into the category of charming rather than grating.

When he considers all of this, his analysis only leads him to one conclusion— there is something about him that suddenly, fundamentally offends his neighbor.

And it’s with this hypothesis that Harry clears his throat, hesitates, and prods, with just a moment of lull after she’s turned back away from him, “If I’m misreading this, feel free to tell me to piss off, but— did I do something?”

The young woman pivots back over her shoulder, blinking, almost as if she’d forgotten he was behind her at all.

“…What?”

Harry shrugs. The motion coaxes Snuggles to lift his head again. “I don't expect us to be friends, but I also don't want to be the person you actively avoid in the hallway. If I've done something to make things weird, l'd rather fix it than pretend I don't notice."

For a long second, Y/N doesn’t say anything. Just batting her lashes up at him, features lax, like she’s processing the earnest directness behind his words and letting them settle. And then her face twists.

Ooh— okay. Ruckling brow bone, lips tugging down, the nearly incredulous burst of air she expels as she turns her prickling face away—

She scoffs, muttering something strangely close to, “can’t be serious,” under her breath, and Harry’s eyes pensively narrow just a smidge. Enough to be entirely imperceptible as he drinks in her body language. That’s an indicator, if Harry’s ever seen one.

“You know what, Harry,” she says after a moment (now her arms are caging defensively, that’s an interesting touch), “…I just don’t really …appreciate how you treat women, to be honest.”

Of all the responses Harry had been anticipating, curiously honed on every word, that was— not the one. His dark canopy of lashes sweeps over his eyes as the admission lands and… knocks him off kilter, just a bit. His brows relax, then furrow up as he mulls the statement over, buffering.

He sounds a little bewildered when he says, voice much more soft-spoken, “…Sorry?”

“You should be,” his neighbor tells him pointedly, her arms still crossed like a defensive barrier across her chest, “Hitting women is wrong. Very illegal for a reason, actually.”

At the mention, his head bobbles back a bit like he’s dodging a smack between the brows with the context-lacking declaration. He’s not quite sure he’s heard her right, eyebrows climbing and eyes widening almost comically. Right, okay. This is… a gross misunderstanding, he decides. When the realization hits him, truly hits him, his knee-jerk response is an incredulous laugh, which he muscles down. Instead, his appalled amusement trickles out like a little huff, corners of his strawberry mouth tugging up. Unfortunately, the reaction only seems to irritate her further, and her forehead crinkles up as her own eyebrows ascend in stunned disbelief.

“You think there’s something funny about hitting a woman?” Y/N presses, eyes steeling into slits, her priorly indoor-voice rising a decibel.

The volume of her statement (and the misleading content) has his otherwise mirthy expression falling into something far more serious. Full of comically flat, grievous denial, like a kid being scolded for spray-painting a concrete wall after being caught with the can in its hand.

“—No,” Harry shakes his head slowly, side to side, “Not at all.”

Cautiously, his gaze slips off to the corner, where a few tenants have turned over their shoulder to gauge the commotion. As the young woman’s head swivels to tail where his eye contact has meandered, Harry realizes that backpedaling is only going to become a feat of incredible verbal athleticism from here. Upon catching the other glimpses from the crowd, slowly turning back to their own conversations, Y/N makes a deadpan sound of amusement before she turns back to face him.

“Oh, what? You’re ashamed now that you’re being called out for it? Good,” she bites, shoulders teetering as she leans toward him and unfolds her arms, pointing her index finger into his direction scathingly, “You should be ashamed. It’s absolutely disgusting to put your hands on a woman.”

This is tragically weighed against Harry’s favor. Here he was, just a half-asleep evacuee, holding his rabbit, clad in only a pair of hardly decent briefs, contemplating whether he should Uber Eats tacos as soon as the emergency exit fiasco were to clear up (might as well, since he’s already awake). Somehow, he’s managed to morph from an unassuming extra to the perceived antagonist.

No, Harry thinks— this wouldn’t be a disaster film; it’s a full blown, poorly-contrived drama with a plot twist even the supposed villain is caught off guard by. The curly-headed brunette chances another glance to the other side now, where more people have not only glimpsed over in brief acknowledgement, but have fully twisted their shoulders to observe the apparent scandal. As much as Harry wholeheartedly marches to the beat of his own drum, at this moment in time, his reputation is shaking in its boots and he’s reached a mental checkpoint called time for damage control.

Weaving sincerity into his tone and shaking his head placatingly as he steps forward— a subconscious attempt to coax her into lowering her volume— Harry tells her, “I don’t put my hands on anybody that doesn’t consent to it first.”

Her face scrunches up.

“I think,” his pink tongue slinks out to wet his lips, “maybe, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“No, I really, really do,” Harry counters, ducking his chin into a nod.

Instead of hearing him out, however, his neighbor, as if fueled by the internal calling to manually dismantle misogyny, one assumed violent criminal at a time, only raises her volume a little more. Exceeding the normal range, definitely steeping in public-humiliation-ritual territory.

“I’m not misunderstanding,” Y/N bites, brows pinched like he’s personally offended her by even insinuating as much, “I have ears, just so you know, and I’ve heard a woman saying no, and please, and stop. So you can drop your good boy act, okay—“

Harry blinks. If not for the character defamation going on and the way Socks-and-Sandals raises his phone out of seemingly nowhere, pointing it into their direction as if there isn’t a potential fire to be filmed instead of all things, Harry would laugh. But there is, and the flash is on, weak along his peripheral edge—

“I know guys like you, I know your type,” Y/N declares, jabbing her finger against him again, this time so close to grazing the area along his chest, right between the tops of his pectorals, just over Snuggles, “and it’s gross that you think because you’re attractive you can walk all over everyone and do things like that to people, and you know what, next time maybe the cops won’t be so nice—”

Ah, nice. Another mystery resolved; one which involved a pair of men with guns in their holsters at his door performing a wellness check and an excruciatingly awkward clarification on impact play, consensual sadomasochism, and safewords. For weeks Harry wondered what had inspired a legal inquiry into his pastimes. Now, staring at the culprit— case dismissed— he can only blink before his brows wrinkle up.

“You’re the one who called the police?” Harry murmurs, a note of soft incredulity soaking the phrase.

“Any sane woman would call the police when she heard another woman being abused—“

“Abused?”

“Yes! Abused! And— and— honestly—“

Before Y/N can launch into another ruthlessly-curated, virtue-plated diatribe, Harry resituates the animal in his grip, unlocking his phone to the homescreen. Then, Safari. He thumbs over it with a careful determination seeding along his downturned, sculpted expression.

“I don’t know what form of assault would be worse,” Y/N chimes, hands climbing up in an exaggerated, universal symbol of exasperation before they fall back to her sides (as if she hadn’t even noticed his attention has been redirected to his phone), “but when someone says no, it means no.”

It only takes a second for her to register that his focus has been rerouted elsewhere, though. Her tone dips indignantly.

“Excuse me. I’m talking to you. And also, while we’re at it, you’re unbearably loud and an unmannerly neighbor—“

Harry turns his phone around. His expression is impressively flat, all things considered. Y/N pauses.

“Typically,” Harry states as her eyes rake over the glowing screen, “I like to be wined and dined before I give a crash course on my preferences, but.”

The image stretched across the illuminated LED sits over her tired gaze as she absorbs it, pupils jittering as she reads, but through the lens of his own profile mirrored back, he can see the moment her righteously fueled demeanor chips.

“I do, like, a… softcore porn type thing,” he admits.

Still, her brows are kinked. Only now, in stupefied doubt. “I— what?”

It’s with a rotting sense of dread curdling in the pit of her tummy that it suddenly dawns on Y/N— the mortified realization that she has succumbed to a horrible misunderstanding.

The website the tab is set on almost looks archaic, like a kitsch relic— repository archives of a porn blog from the early 2000s. Spankinggram. The page is set onto a profile, something called Rings&Paddles, and the squared image of an avatar slices through the garishly orange palette of the site’s logo. Her gaze sweeps over the vista; a man sitting down on an armless chair, thighs splayed, palm curled over a …hairbrush.

The profile picture sunders off at the neck. It’s a faceless silhouette, but the miscellany of sketches cascading across a forearm and the distinctly chunky medley of rings are… enough—

“Consensually,” Harry— Rings&Paddles, Y/N recognizes, molten heat dripping along the crests of her cheekbones— adds, “No one is being abused.”

In retrospect, the only feasible option to survive this, Y/N decides, is to change her name and move to another state.

Probably something short and vaguely melancholic, one of those names that would look intriguing in all lowercase. A quiet town. Somewhere coastal, maybe. West. No— north. As far north as geographically possible. Perhaps she could get a dog. An older, ratty boy from a shelter. Drive an old car that’s too big with a busted radio. She’ll pretend it’s a benefit, rather than an inconvenience, because she’ll be the fabricated kind of mystique that insufferably enjoys the quiet calm (and rainstorms). A rebranded, movie-clichè hipster, but not unbearable in real life—

“But I understand the concern,” her neighbor says, cutting through the haze as she contemplates what brand of cigarettes she’ll be taking up as a trait of her pseudo-identity. Against all odds, his tone is calm in an all-too-merciful kind of way, “You can look into… domestic discipline, if you’d like. If you wanted to understand a bit better. There’s loads of really good information on the internet.”

For a moment, Y/N deliberates burning alive. If there isn’t a fire licking up her department store drapes, she’s going to set one to avoid bearing the weight of this shame for the rest of her life. Granted, the heat sizzling at her face feels like a flame, enough, both at the way she’s just publicly kinkshamed an innocent man and at the mention of …domestic discipline.

She’s going to cry.

They would be Virginia Slims.

“You— …what?”

The garbled confusion drenching her tone is almost laughable. She sounds it, too; voice pinched and deceptively close to trembling off into a sob. Y/N stares straight ahead, body locked in a fugue state of humiliation as the realization calcifies in real-time. Her shoulders have gone stiff and her spine rigid, posture squeezed somewhere between standing and catatonic. The scale of her miscalculation worms into her skull like a parasite that’ll chew her awake in the middle of the night, years down the line.

For the last month, Y/N has spent every interaction with Harry evasively toeing over eggshells. Floundering over the way his face was sculpted, rather than compromising the integral structure of their acquaintanceship. Somehow, a sleep cycle cut short and the ambiguous suggestion that he had picked up on her avoidant habits was all it had taken to not only slander his (apparently not safe for work) extracurriculars, but probably assure her foreseeable Amazon packages suddenly start going missing.

Now, with a semi-public declaration of his profile pressed out to her face and his name no longer being audibly smeared with accusations, Harry can appreciate the quiet sense of revelation.

His neighbor, on the other hand, looks visibly wrecked. Her entire stance is pulled in tight, like she’s actively trying to make herself smaller, but it’s her face that really gives her away— the way it twists, fluctuating between wide-eyed horror and the dawning realization that she’s just detonated a social landmine at point-blank range. All heat-tinged and shame-doused, the young woman blinks up at him, doe-eyes rounded in apologetic appall and lips parted slightly like she’s still buffering. The combination of words that just left his mouth— softcore porn, domestic discipline, consensual— seem to be wrestling in her brain like tangled Christmas lights, none of them quite fitting together in a way that makes sense and glinters.

“I am sorry about the noise,” he tells her, shutting the phone off and nestling his arm back up under his pet, “I’ll make sure to keep it to a minimum from now on.”

Y/N wilts. With the phone no longer held out into her direction, the way she stays glued to the same spot on the cement— as if mortified into a motionless piece of stone— is ridiculous enough for him to gnaw into his cheek to chew back a bark of laughter. Despite all trials and tribulations, his coping mechanisms never fail.

“You— oh my God,” Y/N whispers. She makes a sound that could be a vaguely pained noise or the byproduct of her soul seeping out of her body. “Oh my God.”

Harry blinks.

“I called the police on you,” she tells him, utter dismay lacing the words together.

“You did, yeah.”

Harry still remembers the blank expression varnished along the officer’s face— the kind of emotionally vacant stare reserved for department store mannequins. The echo of the distant, metaphysical NOPE that definitely rode along his brainstem the moment the curly-haired brunette mentioned “it’s a kink thing,” and the way his partner, hands allocated to his holster belt, started very obviously examining his own shoes.

“I thought—“ Y/N stutters, her wobbling voice sounding squeezed from her trachea, “I thought—“

“You thought you were living next door to a criminal,” Harry supplies. When he tilts his head, a rogue curl flops over his forehead.

Finally, the young woman moves, burying her face in her hands. This will haunt her, she thinks. Forever.

From the corner of his eye, the man can tell that most of the tenants have gone back to their regularly scheduled repertoires of stalled misery. And despite the absolute PR mess her blunder has induced— his eyes wander over her, the way she’s cupping her face like she wants to melt into her own hands and seep off into the pavement— he feels oddly… bad. Not secondhand embarrassed (firsthand, definitely firsthand), but Y/N looks like she’s going to combust. It’s tragic, really. The kind of pitiful that makes him purse his mouth and stare down at her in contemplation.

“Honestly,” his voice cuts through the haze in her throbbing, hot skull, all even-toned sincerity (which is worse, so much worse), “if I was in your position, yeah? I’d do the same thing.”

The admission coaxes her into a horrified peer through the wedges between her fingers. The warmth pressed to her palms feels borderline pyrexic.

“And if that were the case, you’d be the neighborhood hero. So.” He raises a shoulder nonchalantly.

Y/N doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she soaks in the crime scene, doused in the blinking blue and red.

“I’m not sure neighborhood hero is how I’ll be remembered,” the young woman finally answers, groaning through her hands, and then pressing her fingertips into her temples.

Harry hums. Then, he sighs. “No, you’re right. I’d say misguided vigilante. I reckon it’s a bit better than violent felon, though.”

Y/N makes another sound. This one sounds a little more wounded.

Next part here

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles one shots #dom!harry

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vampzity · 4 months ago

Note

Hi I have a request it's ok if you don't do it but I was wondering if you could do a blurb of how the skz members react to you feeling insecure about your body a slight chubby reader idk why these fics make me feel so ahhhh comfortable

skz members reacting to your insecurities

pairing: ot8 stray kids x chubby! reader

word count: 2.1k

💌: this was such a cute ask! as a curvy girl myself this truly gave me some good comfort 🥹 & creds to my pookie @lov3yv4mps for helping me with some of these ideas hehe ^^

bangchan:

you guys were like peas in a pod. in love with each other’s insecurity’s while hating your own. no matter how many times chan was hard on himself, he went out of his way to make sure you never felt that way. you always felt self conscious about your body, and if you even fit well as his girlfriend. chan was a gym freak— always working out, dead lifting weights like it was nothing and, keeping himself well in shape. he wasn’t skinny as he put on some good muscle mass, but you couldn’t help feeling out of place.

“is something troubling you angel?”

you’d brush him off, trying to hide how unappealing you’ve been feeling every time you looked in the mirror. your thighs constantly felt too big, your cheeks too chubby to compare to the preferred chiseled jawline. you couldn’t even wear tight clothes without feeling disgusting. chan noticed this— seeing that the once cute boho style you loved to wear, suddenly turned into boyish wear. the casual baggy hoodie with sweatpants. it was unusual for you.

he came up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder as you stared in the mirror. a slight frown pulling at your cheeks as your eyes wandered aimlessly around the bathing suit you wore. his hands wrapped around your waist, poking your tummy softly. he kissed your cheek, smiling at the figure he adored seeing.

“you’re beautiful.” he started, pulling your body to face him and not the mirror.

“you don’t need to be skinny to prove that. i love you just the way you are.”

lee know:

lino made it a tradition to take you out to dinner every friday, making sure you dressed in only your best for the occasion. he loved to see the way your curves hugged your dress, giving him a rush at his attractive it was. the only issue was that you didn’t feel the same way. you hated how tight the dress felt, how suffocating it was against your skin. you stared at your heels as you dreaded putting them on, knowing that your feet would just hurt by the end of the night. you didn’t feel like they were made for you. made for curvier people at least. you couldn’t help but frown, slouching in disappointment as he walked into the room expecting you to be ready.

“hey, you ok?”

you remained silent, refusing to meet his concerned eyes as he entered the room. he walked over to you but your eyes remained glued to the floor, watching his shoes stop below you. his hand slipped under your chin, lifting it to where he could see you face to face. lino placed a soft kiss against your forehead, kneeling on the floor to grab your heels. he carefully slipped them into your feet, not saying a word as he wanted to show you his love through action.

“you look stunning as always in this dress. i’ll keep telling you until it sticks.” he watched your hesitant expression, coming up to sit by you. he smiled softly, his reassurance giving you a sense of peace within yourself.

“but if you would like to wear something that makes you more comfortable, i’m more than okay with that too.”

changbin:

“have you ever gotten comments on your body, binnie?”

changbin nodded, his eyes focused on the tv as he flipped through the endless channels. “all the time. they never really stop.” silence engulfed the two of you as you sat there beside him, your thoughts eating away at you.

well who wouldn’t comment on such a nice body like his?

the silence became awkward, prompting changbin to look over at you for a few seconds. he noticed you picking at the skin of your lips, a clear indication of your nervousness kicking into overdrive. he put the remote down, his hand resting atop your thigh. he gave it a slight squeeze, making you break contact with the tv to look at him. his dark gaze made you red, the amount of pure lust and romance pooling into them making you squeamish. his thumb caressed your skin softly as he gave you a warm smile.

“i don’t only get good comments love.” he frowned slightly, turning his gaze away from you and resting his head against your shoulder. “i get bad ones too— saying im too big or I don’t have the right height for big muscle mass.” he sighed to himself, his hand giving your thighs gentle squeeze. “but i wont let them believe they’re right.. because if i do, it means i believe it too.”

you rested your head against his, placing your hand ontop of his own. he was right. your biggest enemy was his you viewed yourself— if you thought you were fat or ugly, others would believe it as much as you do. you sighed, nodding your head in agreement as your hands intertwined.

“and besides, i believe that you’ll always be perfect in my eyes.” he lifted his head to meet your eyes. “so if you don’t believe in yourself, know that i do, yeah?”

hyunjin:

you sat in the chair anxiously, squirming consistently as you tried to be as still as possible for hyunjin. you looked over at him, seeing how engrossed he was in his drawing as he looked at you every few seconds.

“i can’t get the perfect picture if you keep squirming baby.”

you nodded, forcing yourself to keep still. except you couldn’t help but subconsciously move your arms in front of you. you felt disgusted by your figure— not wanting to be seen, not wanting to be put on display for everyone else to see. your eyes were facing the ground at this point, your mind clouded with countless thoughts of negativity.

hyunjin set his things down, walking over to you. he placed his hand under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his concerned eyes. he kissed your forehead softly, offering you a small reassuring smile.

“you know i’m drawing you because you’re a beauty right?”

you didn’t answer, but you felt your face heat up at his words. he pulled you up from the chair, bringing you to his work space and grabbing the portrait. he held it up to you, taking a quick glance himself before looking back at you. a smile crept onto your face. you never though you’d see your body drawn in this way— the emphasis on your curves, on the parts of your body that you were most insecure of. the soft rolls on the sides of you. he captured every detail you hated and somehow turned it into a different point of view that you never had.

“now you can see yourself from my eyes. from my point of view.”

han:

you were always a huge stickler about yourself, specifically your own body. anytime that you had the chance, you’d find a reason to nitpick even the littlest thing about your own body. han knew this, and his patience was over the roof about it. he knew these kinds of things were normal, as he has the same issues himself from time to time. but he always went out of his way to make sure you knew you were beautiful.

“i think you look perfect as always!”

he’d give you the most reassuring smile, his gums showing through his lips as you stood outside the fitting room. your biggest thing was trying things on— as you knew the mirrors were meant to make you look slimmer than you were. it’s why you never tried things on at the store, but han insisted. “i wanna help you pick clothes out.” he said.

you rolled your eyes annoyingly, doing a small twirl as he motioned his fingers for you to. his face flushed red as he admired the way each outfit hugged your curves just snuggly. he was practically struggling to keep the blood from rushing elsewhere.

a slimmer girl walked out the fitting room with the same dress on, looking a million times better than you felt you were. you looked down at your outfit, shrugging your shoulders as you felt slightly suffocated. han noticed this, walking up to you and lifting your head to meet his eyes.

“stop comparing yourself to others angel.” he pulled the gem of the dress out a bit, admiring the dress outfit in you once more. “you look even better than they do in this.”

felix:

he laid next to you, kissing your plump cheeks softly as he held you close. you felt your face heat up slightly, feeling his arm shake around your waist. you paused his hand, pushing it away quickly and covering your waist with out arm.

“hm? did i do something?”

you shook your head immediately, turning away from him in the bed and staring at the empty wall. felix sighed to himself, attempting to snake your arm around you once more time only to be stopped by you. felix furrowed his eyebrows, sitting up in the bed and watching as you struggled to pull the blanket over you.

“i don’t want you touching me. i know it’s not appealing.” felix sighed, pulling you up to sit in front of him. his hand caressed your cheek, pinching it softly. he brought his other hand up to your face, squishing your cheeks and then squishing his own. you laughed at his gesture, feeling him rest his palms against your thighs. you looked away from his soft gaze, not wanting to face him and he was okay with that.

“you’re blind me with your beauty, what could i possibly hate?” his lips pressed against your check, delivering small amounts of kisses to it.

“No matter what you say or what you do, even how you look can change my perception of you. you are perfect in my eyes.”

seungmin:

he stood in the kitchen, stirring the bowl of fruits together as you grabbed the cool whip from the fridge. he made sure to add all of your favorites and his own, not caring if there were favorite fruits neither of you liked. you sat at the island table, plopping the container on the counter as you slumped in the chair.

as much as you hide it, you knew it was just as easy for seungmin to point out when you were down about your body. he didn’t like to bug you about it, nor give you reassurance that you may not be looking for. a simple gesture was enough for you to know he cared, to know he appreciated you just the way you were. he’d wrap his arms around you, giving you a firm but tight squeeze while his chin rested atop your head. and everytime you would melt under his warmth, his touch.

“you know i don’t care about your looks right? that’s not at all why im with you.”

if he felt even the slightest bit of hesitation from you, he’d poke your cheek and give you a small smile. you looked away shyly, feeling his fingers intertwine with your own.

“you are as amazing outside as you are inside. we all have our moments, but i’ll remind you everyday that you are beautiful.”

jeongin:

jeongin held up one of his sweaters to you, his head poking out just slightly from above as he displayed it to you. you tiled your head; it was cute, but it wouldn’t really give you the baggy boyfriend feel that you badly craved. at least you assumed so. he noticed your hesitant response, his arms dropping as he knelt in front of you.

“how many time do i have to tell you angel?”

he grabbed the sweater, putting it over your hand pulling it down softly so he didn’t hit you. he adjusted the wrinkles and the strings to the hoodie, taking a step back. he held his hands out as if he was looking at you through an frame, nodding i approval

“see. i know what i doing!” he looked up at you, seeing that you were avoiding eye contact purposely. he knelt back down in front of you so your eyes could meet his. he titled his head at you, resting his hands in your lap.

“baby. look at me.” you did exactly as you were told, feeling small out of embarrassment. his smile was huge, his cheeks nearly covering his eyes. he laughed to himself and admired you in his sweater.

“i don’t care if even my smallest clothes don’t fit you, i like seeing you wear my things.” he winked at you for a moment. “This includes my sweaters.

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#—♡vampzity #—♡︎vamp’s soft hours #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #bangchan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

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withleeknow · 4 months ago

Text

lemuria.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship; fluff; unedited bc i suck, self-indulgent etc etc, this is pretty straightforward idk word count: 0.7k note: SO! the only reason i wrote this was bc of a certain purple-haired artist who altered my entire brain chemistry just by saying the words "ma petite artiste" 🫠 iykyk! but please tell me someone knows bc i am dying to talk about this with more people. even the title of this drabble is another desperate attempt to find my people lmao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

In your head, you have a list of favorite things that can’t easily be topped: Saturday mornings (it’s the best time of the week, argue with the wall), cuddles with Hyunjin, and cuddles with Hyunjin on Saturday mornings. Not necessarily in that order though. You’re a simple woman.

You’re in bed, draped over his chest like a lazy house cat, watching as the sunlight slowly filters into your bedroom. Hyunjin’s got one arm around you and the other reaching for his lap, where he’s balancing a pencil and his open sketchbook, gracefully dragging the pointed graphite head across the page until the doodle is detailed enough for you to recognize. It’s nothing special — just the (dying) plant that sits in the corner of the room. At first glance, it seems healthy, lusciously green and thriving but really, it’s grown too leggy to be able to survive on its own.

You call it Viv, short for Vivian, which obviously is an unconventional name for a plant. Hyunjin says goodbye to it every time he leaves the house. In a way, you suppose it’s like a child that you care for with him, something that you try to keep alive and nurture together.

You sigh, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Your artist, your love. Your muse too if you were even one tenth as gifted as he is.

The sun ventures further into your safe space, tiptoeing across the wooden floors like slowly-skipping stones, brushing against every object in sight until it reaches the two of you. You lean back when the light lands on him, smoothing over his soft, soft hair, caressing his cheeks, weaving itself in the tiny spaces between his fluttering eyelashes. You’d put him in a museum if you could.

You don’t know what compels you to reach out, but your hand has a mind of its own anyway. It makes him pause the sketch, your fingertips tracing the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips. His chiseled jawline and the beauty mark that you love to kiss. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin – important things must be repeated thrice.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his sharp eyes.

“This is my way of drawing you,” you say, completely unbothered, enamored with the way his smooth skin feels under your finger.

He hums, abandoning the pencil and the sketchbook in favor of catching your wrist and pressing his lips to the palm of your hand.

“Ma petite artiste,” he murmurs against your skin.

For some reason, it floors you. Flabbergasts you, stuns you into silence for a few seconds.

When you come to, you make a show of dramatically arching an eyebrow, a silent accusation despite the way your face flushes with a rosy tint, burning you from the inside out. You can barely suppress the smile that tugs on your lips, and Hyunjin catches it oh so easily.

“Where did you learn that?” you probe with affection. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“Duolingo,” he says as he moves to press you against the bed, ignoring the second question in its entirety because it simply doesn’t warrant an answer. Who else would he do anything for but you? Who else would it ever be for?

“Duolingo,” you repeat in amusing disbelief, barely containing the laugh that threatens to escape from your throat even though the heat on your cheeks is still painfully obvious to the both of you. You’re shy, embarrassed that all it took to melt you was a couple of cheesy French words he learned on Duolingo of all places, but Hyunjin is endeared, always so damn endeared by you and everything you do. “That owl teaches people how to flir–!”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, doesn’t let you get to the quip before he’s kissing away whatever remaining wit you have in your flustered state. The kiss, deep and slow and intimate in a way that sets fire to the heart inside your ribcage; his lips, addictively soft and wonderfully warm, much like the caramel sunlight that dances over the two of you.

It’s Saturday morning, and your plant is still (probably) dying but you can’t really bring yourself to care about it right now, not when you’re drunk on his pillowy smile pressed against your own, on his quiet giggles as he tries to make you blush.

It’s Saturday morning, and Hyunjin is your favorite person in the world.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x you #stray kids #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin

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whateverjynx · 1 month ago

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Co-Parenting

Your new boyfriend and baby daddy, Eren, have never gotten along, so it only made sense that when it came to your daughter’s birthday, your boyfriend would sit this one out—not knowing that this would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life.

1:00 PM

It was a hot day in June, so it was only reasonable to throw your six-year-old a pool party at the community pool of your apartment complex. A table was set up with blues and purples, her favorite colors, along with an assortment of food and drinks for the kids and parents who would be coming. You wore a beautiful blue two-piece that matched your daughter's one-piece, with your Brazilian wavy bundles styled into a messy bun, gold hoops, and dangles to match.

“Where’s Daddy?” your daughter asked after just coming out of the water leaving her friends. The party had started an hour ago! But it was typical for Eren to show up late.

“He should be here soon, baby, I promise,” you assured her with a smile as you watched her accept your answer before turning and running back to her friends.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone to start blowing him up, you saw that same emerald green Trackhawk that had brought you here in the first place pull into the nearest parking space. Out stepped Eren, wearing white swim trunks that showcased his chiseled abs, holding a large purple gift box and two bags. You rolled your eyes at the sight, trying your hardest not to smile—even just a little bit—at his entrance. You could hear your daughter scream, “DADDY!” as she dashed past you.

You watched as he dropped the box and bags, picked her up, and twirled her around, water dripping from her soaked swimsuit onto him. They chatted for a few seconds before walking to you in the swimming area.

“You’re late,” you said, rolling your eyes and trying not to look at his beautifully sculpted body.

“Hey to you, mamas,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“What did you get me?” your daughter asked eagerly, having overheard the small talk beforehand.

“You’ll see when we open all your presents. Now go play so I can talk to your father.”

She did as told, leaving the two of you. It was silent as you both began to study one another's attire for just a few seconds, like a race against time.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re late?” you asked, turning around so he couldn’t see you begin to fluster.

“You try wrapping a dirt bike; that shit is harder than a motherf—”

“You bought her a dirt bike?” you asked, irritated.

“That’s what she texted she wanted.”

“Yeah, she also said she wanted the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory. You don’t see me buying that.”

“Girl, calm down. She’s good; she’s eight now.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you began to mentally figure out where you were going to put it in your apartment.

Still turned around, you could feel him step closer, just a step away before your butt would touch his shorts. “Where’s that man at?” he asked in a low tone.

“At work,” you said smugly, cocking your head to the side while turning around in the small space you had, trying not to bump into him, getting a good look at just how close he was.

“And where’s that bitch at?” you asked just as cockily.

“Damn, why she gotta be a bitch for?” he said with a low chuckle, using his fingers as a comb to fix his hair.

“Oh, you must have Alzheimer’s or something,” you said, folding your arms.

“I mean, shid, you right, you right. But nah, we, um, broke up.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

“Chill, nothing like that, I swear. We just weren’t a good match, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow before rolling your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face as the words left his mouth. Why were you slightly happy about that?! You’re in a relationship—REMEMBER!

You could see a smile beginning to form on his lips as you could feel where his mind was going.

“Anyways, I’m going to go set up the birthday cake—tired of looking at you,” you said in a serious yet playful tone.

“Yeah, right.”

This was normal for you and Eren, although unhealthy. You’d find yourself in a relationship, then he would be too, but once you broke up, he would also. But not this time! Or so you thought...

Nighttime came, and by now everyone had left. Your baby had enjoyed herself, and that was all that mattered. You were feeling like an accomplished parent, and everything had gone to plan—except that Eren was still here...

“She’s asleep, you know,” you said cockily as he began to open your balcony door.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, pulling his shorts up while walking around like he owned the place and not even bothering to put on some real clothes. You followed him onto the balcony in only a nightgown, your daughter fast asleep from the day’s activities.

“So, what are you still doing here?” you asked.

He chuckled in response, pulling out a cigarette from the pack already on the balcony and lighting it.

“Why that man really didn’t show? I mean, this is his what…daughter-in-law?” he asked, taking a puff while eyeing you up and down slowly.

“Well, let’s see…you fucked me, got me pregnant, and are still fucking me. I mean, the list goes on—”

“I’m still fucking you?” he asked, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he took another hit.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed with his bullshit, as if he were oblivious to just two months ago when you and that “man” were on a break.

“So what does that mean? Because he knows I ain’t going nowhere. The real question is, why stay? Some simp ass shit if you ask me.”

“Because he actually loves me, Eren, and he wants to give it a chance and work to be a family and grow a family—”

“He ain’t special. F/n, I love you too; it’s just you be tripping, bro.”

“I be tripping? Asking you to come home was tripping, and asking you to be involved with your family was tripping? You act like I was asking for money?! Mind you, I worked just as hard as you—”

“Bro, that was what, seven years ago? We were kids, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’ve told you I’m sorry for all that.”

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t account for me going through my pregnancy alone, Eren. I didn’t even have my family…member? I was doing all this shit alone, remember?”

“And I’m sorry, mamas, I am. I tell you that every time we have this conversation,” he said, his voice getting lower as he walked towards you, moving a few strands of hair from your face behind your ears.

“I’d tell you that every day just to make it right—to take it back, I would. Why won’t you let me?”

You glared at him, but it was hard to resist those pleading green orbs staring into your soul. A mix of regret and sadness lay behind them, but you weren’t falling for it…or were you?

You looked away, rolling your eyes, not knowing what to say. Why was it that you couldn’t take him back? Why, in his case, he been trying to make it right? What was it about him that made you want him yet hate him all at the same time? So many question yet no answers tonight…

there was no telling how to two of you had gotten from point A to point B but it was happening.

Without another word, Eren closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face as he leaned in. Their lips met, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, growing more passionate with each passing moment.

F/n melted into him, her hands finding their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as she pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of warmth and sweetness that sent shivers down her spine. Eren’s hands moved to her waist, drawing her against him, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

As the kiss intensified, F/n felt her body responding to him, the heat spreading through her as she pressed herself against him. Eren groaned softly, the sound reverberating through her, fueling the fire that burned between them.

They kissed like they were the only two people in the world, losing themselves in the moment. Eren’s lips traveled from hers to her jawline, trailing soft kisses down her neck, eliciting a sigh from F/n. She leaned her head back, giving him more access, reveling in the sensations he was creating.

“Eren,” she whispered, her voice a mix of desire and urgency.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with need as he searched her face. “Tell me you want this,” he urged, his breath warm against her skin.

“I want this,” F/n breathed, her heart racing. “I want you.”

With that, Eren captured her lips again, their kisses growing more frantic, fueled by the overwhelming emotions they had been holding back. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in their own universe of passion and connection.

By now, they were on the bed, slowly pulling off one another’s clothes, barely breaking the passionate make-out session the two shared. The air was thick with desire, and each kiss ignited a fire within them that couldn’t be contained.

Eren’s hands roamed over F/n’s back, his fingers tracing the soft curves of her body as he peeled away the last barriers between them. Her skin felt electric under his touch, and he couldn’t suppress the low growl that escaped him as he reveled in the warmth of her.

F/n responded eagerly, her hands exploring the toned muscles of his chest and arms, feeling the strength in his body. She pulled him closer, their bodies pressed tightly together, the heat radiating between them almost overwhelming. Every kiss deepened their connection, and every touch sent shivers down their spines.

As they finally broke apart to catch their breaths, Eren looked into her eyes, a mix of desire and tenderness in his gaze. “Are you sure?” he asked, jokingly, the weight of the moment settling between them.

“Yes nigga now fuck me,” she breathed with a couple giggles in between, her heart racing with anticipation.

With a shared understanding, they leaned into each other again, kissing hungrily as Eren’s hands found their way to her thighs, gently coaxing her legs apart. F/n gasped against his lips, the sensation sending waves of excitement coursing through her.

Eren took a moment to admire her, his gaze filled with awe and longing. “You’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

F/n felt her cheeks flush at his words, and before she could respond, Eren captured her lips again, their mouths moving together as he positioned himself between her legs. The heat between them was palpable, and F/n could feel the tension building once more.

As Eren began to move, slowly at first, he watched her reaction closely, wanting to savor every moment. F/n arched her back, a moan escaping her lips as he deepened their connection, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt both exhilarating and intimate.

“Eren,” she gasped, gripping the sheets as he continued to thrust, each movement sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

“Just like that, baby,” he encouraged, his breath coming in heavy pants as he lost himself in the sensations.

F/n met his movements with her own, her body instinctively arching against him, urging him on. The world outside faded away as they became lost in each other, the only sounds filling the room were their breathless gasps and whispered encouragements.

Eren’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer as he quickened their pace, the intensity building with each thrust. F/n felt the pressure mounting within her, a delicious tension that threatened to consume her.

“Eren, I’m so close,” she cried out, her nails digging into his back as she clung to him.

“Fuck mama,Me too,” he grunted, his voice thick with desire. “Let go for me, F/n. I’m right there with you.”

With his words, the dam broke. F/n’s body surged with pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed over her, and she cried out Eren’s name, the sound echoing in the room. Eren followed closely behind, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside her, their bodies trembling together in the blissful aftermath.

They collapsed onto the bed, breathless and entwined, the world around them fading away as they held each other close. Eren pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips.

*high as FUCK writing this I promise imma get better 😭🙏🏾

#black reader #black stories #aot x black reader #attack on titan #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren x reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren x you #eren smut #smut #blktumblr #eren jeager smut #pls help

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afroslacks · 22 days ago

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So Good Part 3/?

After Elijah gets himself put back together, you leave his company building to enjoy the rest of your day. As he drives, he takes a quick look at his golden Patek watch. “Baby, it’s noon. You wanna get something to eat?” he asks, glancing over at you as you scroll through TikTok on your phone. “Sure,” you reply.

Every time you go out, he always knows where the best spots are, so he typically picks something. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty.

Thirty minutes later, the car comes to a stop. “We’re here, baby girl,” Smoke says to get your attention.

Putting your phone away in your purse, you look up to see the name of the restaurant on the front of the building. You sit silently in the car, waiting for Smoke to get out and open the door for you. He’s always been very big on you not lifting a finger when you’re with him.

The car door opens and you see his large palm waiting for you to place your smaller hand in his. You oblige, stepping out of the car. “Thank you,” he affirms. “You know you never have to worry about anything when I’m around. I make sure of it.”

The warm summer air greets your skin as you leave the air-conditioned car, happy that the chill is finally knocked off your bones. Before you can even start walking, he grabs your hand, lacing his fingers into yours. “This restaurant is new in town. I thought I’d spice it up a lil’ bit,” he admits, guiding you along the concrete path.

“You know I don’t mind wherever we eat, as long as it’s good and you’re with me.”

As you both arrive at the door, he lets go of your hand to open it for you, allowing you to walk through.

The hostess stands at the entrance behind a desk. She looks up as you step inside. “Hello, will it be a party of two today?” she asks, grabbing two menus and stepping from behind the counter.

“Yes,” Elijah says, coming up behind you to wrap his large arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

His public displays of affection have always thrown you off—he just never seemed like the type. But to you, it goes to show that good nookie can turn anyone out. The toughest men can melt in the presence of a beautiful woman.

“Alright, well, you can follow me,” the hostess says, leading the way into the restaurant’s dining area.

Elijah keeps you close, rubbing his hand along your lower back. You lean into him, quietly saying, “You’re so clingy, you know that.”

He kisses your forehead. “So? You know damn well you like it. You want me all over you just as much as I want to be all over you.”

You playfully swat at his chiseled chest, amused by his ability to call you out every time. Those slick, bold comments always remind you of the difference between the two of you—Elijah is so quiet, but when he strikes, it lands... sometimes hard.

It goes to show—he’s not someone to be messed with.

The hostess stops at an available seating arrangement for two. It has burgundy leather booths, a white cloth-covered table, extra lighting, and a small vase of flowers.

“Well, here’s your seat. A server will be around shortly to take your orders. Enjoy,” she says before walking away, leaving you both alone.

You reluctantly pull away from Smoke and slide into the booth first as he shields your back with his hand. Once you’re seated, he slides in right next to you—like the clingy man he is.

As he settles in, he places his hand on your thigh in a familiar, comforting hold. His other hand grabs the menu, sliding it between you both. You rest your head on his neck, breathing in his cologne, feeling the cool metal of his gold chain brush against your cheek.

“You wanna know something?” you ask, without looking at him.

You feel him inhale before responding, “What is it, babygirl?” he asks, rubbing your thigh.

“I don’t know what to eat,” you confess.

A moment of silence passes before he smirks, “What else is new?”

“You never know what you want to eat. That’s why I’m here—to make sure you stay alive,” he teases, shaking off your usual indecision.

He didn’t always care about what you ate. Half the time, you’re not even hungry. He practically has to bribe you just to eat something.

The server appears, directing his attention toward both of you—though clearly unsure of how to proceed. He doesn’t know that Smoke usually speaks for you. You like it that way. When he takes control in public moments like this, it gives you space to retreat into yourself.

“How may I help you both today?” the server asks, casting a slightly uneasy glance your way as he notices you leaning silently against a man who looks older than you.

Smoke notices and instantly shifts his energy.

“She’ll have red wine, and I’ll take Hennessy to get us started. You can bring us the entire bottle. I’ll make sure it’s finished. Then we’ll both have steak, mashed potatoes, and asparagus.”

The server hesitates. “Sir, are you sure? It’s a big bottle.”

Smoke laughs. “I know—that’s why I ordered it.”

The server reluctantly nods and jots the order down. “I’ll be back. Excuse me,” he says, then walks away.

You lift your head from Smoke’s neck. “Why did you order the entire bottle?” you ask, already suspecting the answer.

Elijah looks at you with a hungry, hazy gleam in his eyes. He places his hand on your cheek, gently guiding your face so you’re looking right at him.

“Because, baby… you’re gonna eat, of course,” he begins, voice low and sure. “But I wanna get you drunk so you can be my clingy baby without restrictions.”

He grins, completely unapologetic.

“You thought we were done after that hand job? You know better than that. I’m gonna have fun with you all day long.”

You shake your head with a smirk. “You’re trying to kill me.”

He pulls you into a slow, deep kiss, then bites your bottom lip gently before letting go.

“Nah,” he says, correcting you. “I’m trying to make you feel good.”

A/N: Sorry, I'm late! But what did you think of their dynamic? what do you want to see with this series? I need ideas because I don't know what to do with this. Also if you want to tagged let me know!💕

#sinners x reader #michael b jordan x reader #smoke x reader #x black reader #elijah moore #elijah moore x reader #micheal b jordan sinners #elijah smoke moore #stack x reader #black reader

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gooseraider · 6 days ago

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Staaaaaaawp imagine just yelling "babe! Sunscream" to ellie and putting on her pretty face

Or just being on a summer family trip and ellie and reader just being all cute and kissing or fighting in the pool

Stoppppppppp

Ellie, reader, joel, dina and jessie in a family tripppp

I cant

family trip with ellie

“ellie please move over, i can barely feel my arm.” you whine while slightly pushing her away.

“well, if you haven’t noticed there’s not exactly anywhere else to move.” she says in a rather sarcastic manner.

you guys are currently packed into a four seater truck that’s headed up to the mountains for the next few days. every year ellie, her dad, and her two friends (who are basically her siblings) head up to joel’s cabin in the mountains to escape the summer heat. this is the first family trip where ellie has a girlfriend and in true girlfriend fashion she begged joel to let you come on their trip. it didn’t take much convincing as joel already loved you.

so here you are, cramped in the back of joel’s truck with ellie sleeping halfway on your body, dina and jesse bickering over whether there are more doors or wheels in the world, and the urgent need to use the bathroom.

a couple hours later, y’all arrive at the cabin, “ellie baby wake up, we’re here.” you say, gently shaking ellie.

“already? damn, thanks for being such a great pillow babe.” she says, placing a kiss to your face.

the cabin is nothing short of beautiful, exterior covered in chiseled wood and stone with a breathtaking lake just outside the front of the house and surround by tall lush redwood trees.

you hear joel from the other side of the truck, “okay yall, we’ve made it. everyone go take your bags inside and i’ll get started on dinner.”

everyone nodding in acknowledgment, grabbing their bags and heading inside. “c’mon, let’s hurry inside so we can get the best room.” ellie says taking your hand and practically dragging you inside.

once in y’all’s room, ellie pulls you down with her on the bed, your body intertwined with hers. “i can’t believe i get to share a bed with you for the rest of the week.” she says, rolling you on your back and kissing you hard. the kiss quickly becomes intensified and ellie’s hands are roaming under your shirt.

“hey horndogs, joel wants everyone downstairs for dinner.” you two pull apart instantly at the sound of jesse’s voice.

“jeez, ever heard of knocking?”

“ever heard of keeping it in your pants? oh wait, no you haven’t. you’re like the horniest person i’ve ever met.”

ellie goans, shutting the door and muttering a soft “fuck you” under her breath. “we’ll finish this later.” ellie whispers in your ear, taking your hand and guiding you downstairs.

outside, you all are sitting around the fire pit, plates of food in hand, and telling stories that make your ribs hurt.

“and then, she fell off the horse as it ran away.” joel explains, barley finishing his sentence due his own laughter.

”i did not fall off that horse, he kicked me off.” ellie quickly coming to defend herself.

“it’s okay baby, we can’t all be great horse riders.” you giggle, rubbing a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“so..anyone else got any embarrassing stories about ellie? i need a good laugh.”

ellie flips joel off while you and dina look at each-other, knowing exactly what story yall want to tell. and so for the next fifth-teen minutes you and dina talk about the time ellie tried to make friends with a clown and ended up getting chased five blocks by said clown.

“okay i’ll admit, it wasn’t one of my best moments, but it’s pretty impressive that i out ran him.” ellie says.

“that’s because the clown was freakishly short, you can only run so fast with short legs.” dina says through laughter.

“alright yall, it’s gettin’ pretty late, think it’s time to call it a night?” joel suggests while gathering everyone’s plates.

after everyone heads inside, you and ellie are back in y’all’s shared room. you two have spent the past couple of hours laying in bed watching random youtube videos.

“y’know what would be fun?” ellie asks with a mischievous look on her face.

you turn to her raising an eyebrow, “what?”

“swimming in the lake.”

“you can’t be serious, it’s like midnight.”

“no it'll be fun, we can pretend to be mermaids or something.”

“no.”

“pleaseee, i promise it’ll be fun.”

“if we do this you have to shower with me tonight.”

“deal.”

you and ellie are now outside the cabin, the only source of light coming from the moonlight reflecting off the lakes surface. ellie is the first one to get in, “c’mere, why’re you just standing there?”

“it’s cold outside ellie, and i’m sure the waters even colder.”

“i’m here to warm you up but you have to get in.” ellie says in a teasing tone.

you start walking towards the water, instant tensing up when you feel the coldness of the water. ellie swims up to you, taking your hand and pulling you deeper into the water.

“ellie stoppp, it’s cold.”

ellie wraps her arms around you, pulling you as close as possible. “you warm now?” ellie asks, kissing up your jaw.

“mhm, very warm.” you say, softly whimpering as she continues kissing down your neck.

“hey i thought we were gonna play mermaids.”

“we are, i’m a mermaid that loves kissing her beautiful girlfriend.” she says kissing your lips.

your gaze settles on ellie’s face, admiring the way the moonlight captures her features perfectly. her vibrant green eyes now blending in with the dark forest trees, her freckles now more defined by the moonlight, her lips and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “you’re the most beautiful girl ever.” you say, running your hands down her cheeks.

her light pink cheeks turn multiple shades darker, “not true, cause you’re actually the most beautiful girl the ever walk this earth.”

“i beg to differ but i’ll let you win this time.”

yall continue to swim until you feel your bodies cannot withstand the cold anymore, deciding to head back inside to prepare for bed.

you open the front door, hearing it creek slightly. “shhhh baby, you’re gonna wake the whole house.” you just roll your eyes, heading back to the room.

ellie walks in instantly flopping on the bed. “ughhhh ellie no you’re soaking wet and you have to shower.”

“do i have to?”

“yes, you promised you’d shower with me, now get up and c’mere.” you say, pulling ellie up from the bed.

you and ellie’s shower was anything but productive, yall spent half your time in the shower washing each-others hair and giving each-other mowhawks. “you look like a wet duck.” you say, giggling at ellie who’s head was covered in shampoo.

after a semi successful shower, you and ellie are now dressed in comfy pajamas, holding each-other under the covers. “goodnight baby, i love you.”

“i love you more.” you whisper

“i love you the most.” ellie whispered, kissing you on the lips, quickly ending the debate.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the brightness from the morning sun wakes you up and you immediately notice the lack of ellie’s presence, and as if on queue ellie walks into y’all’s room, “morning sweetheart, gotta get up, we’re going to the lake.” she says, placing a mug of tea on your nightstand.

ellie plops back onto the bed pulling you into her arms, lightly scratching your head, “joel has sent us out on drink duty today, so we gotta go to the store soon.”

“mm okay, grocery shopping date yay.”

jesse calling yall down for breakfast pulled you both back to reality, “wish we could stay in bed all day.” she mumbled.

“when we get back we can stay in bed all week if you want?”

“i would want nothing more.” ellie says kissing your head, getting out of bed, pulling you with her and leading you downstairs.

after enjoying some delicious pancakes dina made, you and ellie were in joel’s truck, on your way to the grocery store at the bottom of the mountain.

the drive there was peaceful, country music was playing softly in the background and ellie’s hand was in yours, occasionally kissing the back of your hand. yall arrive at the store, heading to go grab a shopping cart.

you ask ellie, “what did we need again?”

“drinks.”

you wack her arm, “i know that genius, what kind of drinks.”

“joel said whatever we want.”

“okay, this should be ea-“ you pause mid sentence as you watch ellie climb into the cart.

“ellie, what the heck are you doing?”

“taking a seat on my royale throne, what’s it look like im doing?”

“you’re unbelievable, i’m not pushing you around the whole store.”

“but you have to, this is my royale throne and i’m royalty, so you must obey me.” she says in a really bad british accent.

you end up pushing ellie throughout the store, her lap full of lemonade and soda, ellie declares it’s time to check out now (she’s secretly tired of being in the cart but refuses to tell you).

“wait before we check out i wanna get sweet tea.” you say, turning the cart away from the checkout counter.

“who the fuck even likes sweet tea?” disgust evident in her voice.

“me duh.”

“no way, i would’ve never dated you if i knew you liked sweet tea.” you gasp.

“how dare you.”

“sorry baby but i don’t think i can be with someone who actively enjoys sweet tea.” you just roll your eyes, smacking the top of her head.

you finally convince ellie to get the sweet tea and now yall are finally heading back to the cabin.

“joel’s gonna kill us” she’s says

“why?”

“cause we were in the store for like an hour.”

“we wouldn’t have been in there that long if you just bought the sweet tea like a normal person.”

“whatever, i still stand by what i said, sweet tea is absolutely nasty and anyone who likes it is a freak.”

“don’t call me a freak!”

“hey, not my fault you’re a sweet tea loving freak.”

back at the cabin, you two bring in the many drinks you bought. “what took you girls so long?” joel asks.

“someone here wanted to pick a fight with me over sweet tea.” you say gesturing to ellie.

she groans, “oh my god, stop with the sweet tea talk.”

“dina and jesse are out there by the lake if you want to join them.” joel says.

out by the lake, you and dina are taking some photos while jesse and ellie get ready to go dive for the fish in the lake. ellie is about to go get in the water when you call out for her, “ellie c’mere!” she turns around and jogs over to you.

“what’s up babe?”

“you gotta put on sunscreen before you burn and turn cherry red.” you say already reaching for the small bottle.

you take a small amount and carefully rub it in on ellie’s face, you notice how her freckles have multiplied since being outside and how her eyes look extra pretty in the sun “your skin is so soft for someone who doesn’t have a skincare routine.”

“what can i say, it’s my young and youthful face.” ellie says as she makes a couple of model faces.

“yeah, i guess you’re going to be sexy forever.” you say giving her a kiss on the lips.

somehow you got roped into playing a game of chicken, you’re on top of ellie’s shoulders, trying your best to push dina off jesse and into the water. “c’mon babe you got this!” you hear ellie shouting from below you. you eventually are victorious and successfully push dina off jesse. ellie celebrating your victory by giving you a fat kiss on the lips.

you guys play another round, this time it’s you versus ellie. “i love you babe but i don’t think you’re gonna win this one.” ellie says, obviously too cocky for her own good.

“we’ll see about that.”

to your surprise you actually managed to push ellie into the water. “what was that you were saying earlier ellie? yeah that’s what i thought.” you say, turning to give dina a big high five.

ellie swims over to you, ”just so you know i let you win.”

“didn’t take you as the sore loser type ellie.”

“i am not.” she says, splashing water at you

“don’t splash me!” you say, splashing her back

she splashes you again and before you know it you two are full on wrestling in the water. she’s dunked you under water at least five times by now so you swim under water and pull her feet out from under her, dragging her down to the bottom of the lake.

ellie comes back up, “that had to be a form of attempted murder.”

“it was not! you’re just a bad swimmer.”

“wanna test that out? i’ll race you to tree on the other side.”

“bet.”

you ended up losing.

“who’s the bad swimmer now?”

“still you.”

ellie splashes more water at you, “wrong answer.”

you and ellie end up sitting on some rocks away from everyone else. there’s a silence between you two, not awkward, just comfortable. ellie’s head finds its way into your lap, eyes fluttering closed as your nails rake through her damp hair.

“we should head back soon.”

ellie sighs, “can we just stay here for the rest of the day?”

“as much as i would love to, it’s gonna get dark soon and we’re still in the middle of the forest.”

“don’t care, i’ll fight off any bear that tries to eat us.”

“and i’m sure you’ll put up a great fight against the bears.”

you and ellie eventually swim back towards the cabin and head inside. you two head upstairs to freshen up, while you’re in the shower ellie takes this time to sketch in her journal. more specifically she sketches you sitting on the porch, you swimming, and the way you look at her like nothing else matters.

“whatcha drawing?”

ellie looks over to see you exiting the bathroom in one of t-shirts and a pair of shorts, “oh nothing, just random stuff.” she says while closing her journal.

“i know you’re lying els.”

“you don’t know that.”

“you’re ears are bright red and you’re fidgeting.”

ellie didn’t even notice she was fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, “i was drawing you.” she says in a low tone.

“huh?”

“i- uh was drawing you.”

you smile at her.

“i know i know, it’s sappy and you probably think im a creep or someth-“

ellie gets cut off by you kissing her, “i don’t think it’s creepy at all, in fact i think it’s super cute.” you say while pulling her into a hug.

later that night everyone’s gather around the fire pit again, marshmallows on sticks and cups of hot chocolate in hand. after many silly campfire stories, everyone starts heading to bed. except for you and ellie, you two are wrapped up in a shared blanket, collecting warmth from the fire.

“i’m really glad im here with you.” you say, snuggling closer to ellie.

“me too, you make everything better.”

silence.

“no seriously, i couldn’t imagine my life without you. i don’t know how i was living before i met you, but all i know is i don’t want to continue a life without you.”

“i love you so much ellie, thank you for inviting me into your family and your world.”

“it’s easy when the person you’re inviting is the most beautiful and amazing girl in the world. i love you so much, more than you’ll ever know.”

a/n: hope yall enjoyed!🪿

#ellie williams #ellie willams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x f!reader

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rafedarling · 10 months ago

Note

queen have u seen the new photos of Drew. 🤭🤭

dad!Drew x reader where like it’s the blue suit red carpet and the whole family is in italy together and reader thinks drew looks so yummy so it’s like smut where they get back to the hotel and they have to be quiet AF

yass girl and not gonna lie, he looks fucking hot !

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐲

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader summary: at the venice film festival 2024, drew and you, both acclaimed actors, make a stunning appearance on the red carpet for the premiere of the new movie, ‘queer’. your two-year-old twin daughters, ophelia and olympia, accompany you and drew, captivating everyone with their sweet presence. after the event, the starkey returns to their luxurious hotel suite, where, after putting the girls to bed, you and drew indulges in a passionate, intimate moment, trying to keep quiet as your daughters sleeping in the room next door. | word count: 2,8k warning(s): english is not my native language. 18+, smut, piv, creampie, cum play, sexual content, language, MINOR DNI!!

au: fill this form if you want to be tag. like, reblog & reply or much appreciated! tagging: @rafeyslamb

As the sun was setting over Venice, casting the city in a warm, golden glow as you and Drew Starkey arrived at the Venice Film Festival. The air buzzed with excitement as stars from around the world gathered to celebrate the premiere of QUEER, a film that had garnered significant attention for its bold storytelling and representation. Tonight, you and Drew were not just co-stars but partners, sharing the spotlight with your two-year-old twin daughters, Ophelia and Olympia.

As you stepped onto the red carpet, the cameras flashed, capturing the perfect image of a beautiful family. Drew looked stunning in a deep navy suit, the black lapels adding a sharp contrast that highlighted his chiseled features. His hair was styled just so, a little tousled, giving him an effortlessly handsome look. You wore a flowing, elegant gown that complemented Drew’s suit perfectly, the fabric shimmering under the lights as you walked hand in hand.

Ophelia and Olympia were dressed in matching white dresses, their blonde curls bouncing with every step as they clung to your hands, their little faces a mixture of awe and curiosity. They had been to events before, but nothing quite like this. The sheer scale of the festival, the grandeur of the venue, and the attention from the media were overwhelming for anyone, let alone two toddlers. Yet, they handled it with the grace of seasoned professionals, waving shyly at the cameras, their innocent smiles melting the hearts of everyone watching.

As you posed for photos, Drew leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You look incredible tonight,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “But I think the girls are stealing the show.”

Drew chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at Ophelia and Olympia. “They are, aren’t they? Just like their mom—beautiful and captivating.”

The interviews followed, and as usual, Drew handled the press with charm and ease. The reporters were eager to hear about your experiences on set, the dynamics of working together as a couple, and of course, how you managed to balance your careers with raising your daughters. Drew’s answers were thoughtful and sincere, emphasizing how much he valued the time spent with his family, both on and off the set.

“They’re the reason I do this,” he said, glancing at you and the girls with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Having them here with me tonight makes it all the more special.”

The night continued with more photos, more interviews, and a palpable sense of anticipation for the premiere. But as much as you enjoyed the spotlight, the most important part of the evening was the shared experience with Drew and your daughters. You could see the pride in Drew’s eyes every time he looked at you or the girls, a silent acknowledgment of the journey you had been on together.

After the screening of QUEER, which was met with a standing ovation, the four of you were whisked back to your hotel in a sleek black car. The night air was cool and refreshing, a welcome contrast to the heat of the cameras and the lights of the red carpet. Ophelia and Olympia, who had been little stars all evening, were starting to show signs of fatigue. Their little eyes drooped, and they leaned heavily against you and Drew, their tiny bodies growing limp with exhaustion.

Back at the hotel, you and Drew worked together to get the girls ready for bed. The suite was spacious and luxurious, with a separate bedroom for the twins. After helping them out of their dresses and into their pajamas, you read them a story, your voice soft and soothing as they snuggled into their beds. Drew sat beside you, one arm draped around your shoulders, his other hand gently stroking Olympia’s hair as her eyes slowly closed.

Ophelia was the first to fall asleep, her hand clutching her favorite stuffed bunny. Olympia held out a little longer, her eyes fluttering open and closed until finally, she gave in to sleep. You and Drew sat there for a moment longer, watching your daughters’ peaceful faces, their soft breathing filling the room with a sense of calm.

Finally, you and Drew quietly left the room, closing the door behind you with a gentle click. The suite was silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint noise of the city outside. You leaned against the door, your eyes meeting Drew’s across the room.

“They were amazing tonight,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips.

Drew walked over to you, his gaze intense as he cupped your face in his hands. “They take after their mother,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You were incredible too. I’m so proud of you.”

You felt a warm blush spread across your cheeks at his words. “Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Drew’s eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “We finally have some time to ourselves,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “What do you want to do?”

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine at the implication in his tone. You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. “I can think of a few things,” you replied, your voice breathless as you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Drew responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he pressed you against the door. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the intense need that was building between you. His hands roamed your body, expertly undoing the zipper of your dress and letting it fall to the floor in a soft rustle of fabric.

You broke the kiss just long enough to help him out of his jacket and shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you undid the buttons. Drew’s hands found your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you again, more urgently this time, his need for you growing with every passing second.

He backed you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body as he guided you onto the soft mattress. The cool sheets contrasted with the heat of his skin as he hovered above you, his gaze raking over your body with a look of pure adoration.

“You’re so beautiful,” Drew whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he kissed a trail down your neck, his lips leaving a burning path on your skin. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You arched into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as he continued his descent, his mouth hot against your collarbone. “Drew...” you moaned softly, your voice trembling with need as you felt him reach for the clasp of your bra, expertly undoing it and tossing it aside.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as he gently cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp. Drew smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself as he dipped his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

Your back arched off the bed at the sensation, a moan escaping your lips as you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every nerve in your body on high alert as Drew lavished attention on your breasts, his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony to drive you wild.

After what felt like an eternity of blissful torment, Drew continued his journey downward, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, his hands guiding your hips as he slowly pulled your panties down, leaving you completely exposed to him. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe as he gently spread your legs, positioning himself between them.

You bit your lip, anticipation building as you felt the heat of his breath against your most sensitive area. “Drew, please...” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

He didn’t make you wait any longer. With a low growl of desire, he dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you, your hips bucking involuntarily as you moaned his name. Drew’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he continued to pleasure you, his tongue and lips working together to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

You clung to the sheets, your body trembling with the intensity of the sensations as Drew brought you to the brink of ecstasy. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as he inserted a finger inside you, the sensation of his long, skilled fingers pushing you over the edge.

You cried out, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm as Drew continued to work you through it, his fingers and mouth never stopping until you were completely spent, your body going limp with exhaustion.

Drew climbed back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss as he positioned himself at your entrance. You were still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but the feel of him so close, so ready, reignited the fire inside you.

You wrapped your legs around Drew’s waist, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his breath warm and ragged against your lips. His eyes locked onto yours, a mixture of love, desire, and admiration swirling within them. He held himself there, just at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

You nodded, unable to find the words as anticipation coursed through your veins. The look in his eyes was enough to send another shiver of pleasure down your spine. You could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against you, and the need to have him inside you was almost unbearable.

“Please,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. “I need you, Drew.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a slow, deliberate movement, Drew pushed forward, filling you inch by inch. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure as he stretched you, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other. You both moaned as he entered you fully, the feeling of him deep inside you almost overwhelming.

Drew paused, his forehead resting against yours as he took a moment to savor the sensation, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“So do you,” you replied breathlessly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjusted to the feel of him inside you. The connection between you was palpable, an unspoken bond that had only deepened over time. Every touch, every movement felt like a promise, a testament to the love you shared.

Drew started to move, slow and steady at first, his thrusts deep and measured. Each movement sent ripples of pleasure through your body, building a delicious tension that made you gasp and cling to him even tighter. His hands roamed your body, one settling on your hip to guide your movements, the other brushing the hair away from your face as he kissed you deeply.

The kiss was passionate, filled with the kind of raw, unfiltered emotion that only came from years of love and trust. You could feel the intensity of his feelings in the way he kissed you, in the way he held you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. It was more than just physical; it was a connection of souls, a merging of hearts.

As Drew’s thrusts became more urgent, the pace quickened, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of another orgasm. He seemed to sense it too, his movements becoming more purposeful, his hand slipping between your bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves that he knew would push you over the edge.

When he touched you there, the sensation was electric, your body responding instantly as pleasure exploded within you. You cried out his name in silece, your back arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling with the force of it. Drew didn’t stop, his movements relentless as he continued to drive into you, prolonging your pleasure until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

Finally, with a few more powerful thrusts, Drew followed you over the edge, his own release coming with a guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel the warmth of his release, the pulsing of his body against yours as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion.

For a moment, the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you trying to catch your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through your bodies. The room was filled with the sounds of your breathing, mingling together in the stillness of the night.

Drew finally lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with love. He reached up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he smiled down at you. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with sincerity.

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling with love. “I love you, Drew” you replied, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “I love you, Drew.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was a kiss filled with all the love and affection he couldn’t put into words, a promise that he would always be there for you, no matter what.

He rolled over, pulling you with him so that you were lying on his chest, your legs still entwined. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a state of contentment. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, simply enjoying the closeness, the feel of each other’s bodies pressed together. The world outside might have been filled with the glitz and glamour of the festival, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s love.

Eventually, Drew shifted slightly, his hand running up and down your back in a soothing motion. “We should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “The girls will be up early.”

You chuckled softly, knowing he was right. As much as you wanted to stay in this moment forever, the responsibilities of parenthood would call soon enough. “Yeah,” you agreed, though you made no move to get up just yet.

Drew smiled, tightening his hold on you. “We’ll have plenty of nights like this,” he promised, his voice filled with certainty. “Plenty of moments where it’s just you and me.”

You nodded, feeling a warm sense of contentment settle over you. “I’m looking forward to it,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before finally, reluctantly, rolling off of him.

You both moved slowly, the exhaustion from the day and the intensity of your lovemaking catching up with you. Drew helped you pull the covers up over your bodies, his arm wrapping around you once more as you settled against his side. The bed was warm and comfortable, and you could feel yourself drifting off almost immediately, the events of the day a pleasant blur in your mind.

As you closed your eyes, you felt Drew press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, his voice the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, a smile on your lips as you finally surrendered to the peaceful darkness.

And with that, you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey smut

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latenightdaydreams · 1 year ago

Text

König x Stalker!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2, Part 3, Part 3.2

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, stalking, masturbation, voyeurism

📸

You watch from a distance as König, your neighbor, goes for his early morning jog. It’s become a part of your routine to follow him. A camera in your hands taking pictures, focused in on his muscular arms and legs; eyes lingering on the way his cock bounces underneath the fabric of his sweatpants. What you wouldn’t do to see his cock, have his sweaty balls fill your mouth?

Quickly, you snap out of it when a person walks by. You have to shift focus and pretend that you’re taking photos of geese in the pond nearby. You watch as König gets away from you. A wave of annoyance rushes through you. You’re missing precious time you could have spent with König.

In frustration, you turn and walk to the entrance of the park, walking slowly so hopefully you’ll run into König before going back home. As you look through the trees, you try your best to see König, but they’re just too dense to see anything. The gate for the park approaches, and König is nowhere to be found. You leave the park, looking down at the photos you took of him today.

“Hallo! Y/n!” You hear König’s Austrian accent, like music to your ears.

You turn to see König walking towards you. His black shirt is sweaty and clinging to his chiseled, perfect body. His package was basically outlined in his sweats. He’s a gift from the gods to anyone who loves masculine people. You’d let him do the most depraved things to you.

“Hey!” Your voice is cheery as if you aren’t thinking about being his little free use house wife.

“What are you doing out so early?” König’s pale blue eyes drop to the camera in your hands. “Wildlife photography?”

“Uh—yes. I used to do photography in college, so I decided to pick it back up.” Not a complete lie.

“That’s cool.” König puts his massive hands on his broad hips, taking his time to look at you. “Are you walking back home?”

“I am.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

König walks forward and slows his pace so he can walk side by side with you. Inside, you’re freaking out. This will be the first time you spend more than a passing moment with him. The first time you’ll be able to get to know him more than what you’ve been able to dig and find out about him.

Married once, no children, and didn’t last more than eight months. Colonel of Kortac, an only child. His birthday is in the winter months, and he appears to be very content with being alone. Other than one handsome Asian man, you’ve never seen anyone visit him.

Dread fills you as you approach your homes. König, being a gentleman, walks you to your door. You’d want nothing more than to invite him in, but then you’d have to explain all of the photos of him you have in your home. What if he’s into it? Thinks it's attractive to have someone so dedicated? No, that’s crazy.

“Well, Fräulein. This is where I leave you. Have a great rest of your day.” König smiles at you, his eyes tracing over your body as you turn and unlock your door.

“Thank you, König. See you later.” You turn back to wave goodbye awkwardly.

You watch as König walks to him door, making sure to close yours first so he doesn’t realize that you were watching the whole time. Once inside you let out a deep sigh, if only it could have gone farther. As you kick off your shoes, you remember that at least you got some nice photos of him at the park.

In your bedroom, you sit at your desk and upload your photos. You take time to sit and gaze at each one. Trying to commit to memory every bulging vein or scar. His massive hands, how would those fingers feel being shoved into your cunt? Whenever you spend so much time looking at König, you can’t help how absolutely wet you get.

Not being able to resist, you walk to your bedside table and grab your 8-inch dildo that you’ve nicknamed ‘König’. From under your pillow, you pull out your laptop and begin to watch videos you’ve been able to take of König at the gym, in the park, and taking out the trash.

Your pussy already wet, accepts the dildo easily, a whimper leaving your lips from the rush of pleasure. On the screen you focus on König’s cock and balls bouncing when he walks or jogs. The way his light gray sweats always get so wet when he’s at the gym. You’d love to be a part of his workout routine. If he was here just lifting up in the air, thrusting into you as he counts out each rep in complete ecstasy.

König sits at his desk, stroking his cock with a pair of your underwear wrapped around it. Loud huff leaving his lips as the hidden camera picks up the perfect view of you stretching your cunt with that dildo. If only you knew he was so much bigger than that. He’s not sure your poor pussy could handle him, but he’s 100% sure you’d be eager to try.

The audio from the device picking up the sound of your cunt getting creamy, so loud it matches your moans. You call out for König, begging him to make you cum. Soon, Liebling. So soon.

“Fuck—” König moans out, his Adams apple bobbing as he tilts his head back. His cock throbs in his hand as his warm cum covers your panty and himself. “Y/n…fuck.” A softer moan leaves his lips as he relaxes. His eyes still glued to the screen as you lay there half naked.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 3.2

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zablife · 1 year ago

Text

Runaway with Me

Benny Cross x female reader

Divider credit @firefly-graphics

Summary: You're a nice college girl dating a fellow student and photographer named Danny, but your boring life comes to an end when you meet the man you've previously only lusted after in photos. When you spend a night with Benny, your whole world changes.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, language, drinking, infidelity (sorry Danny)

A/N: Kathy doesn't exist in this AU. Only my second fic for Benny. Let me know your thoughts! Comments are love 💕 No spoilers here!

Benny Cross Masterlist

“Hey,” a low voice called to you, rumbling like thunder on a warm summer night. His smoldering gaze stopped the click of your heels on the pavement before you could reach the bus stop, your attention stolen by a good looking blonde. You watched intently as the flashing streetlight illuminated his rugged jawline and muscular arms, sending a crackle of electricity down your spine.

“I know you,” he remarked mysteriously, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

Your throat went dry, as you struggled to answer. Readjusting your purse on your arm, you shook your head before you finally heard yourself whisper hoarsely, “I don’t think so.” However, you knew he was right, you’d seen his photos in Danny’s dorm room, though the prints hadn’t done him justice.

“You’re that college girl Danny’s always talking about,” he added, eyes roving your body in obvious appreciation.

Your mouth dropped open at the mention of your boyfriend, heart beat quickening as you thought of the way you’d stared at those images, biting your lip in curious desire for a man you’d never met. It hadn’t occurred to you you might actually meet one day, but now it seemed your fantasy was coming true.

Locking eyes with him in a flirtatious stare, you almost felt guilty as you introduced yourself with a coy smile.

Benny's blue eyes twinkled and a wide grin spread across his face as he realized you weren't frightened of him.

"I'm Benny," he reciprocated without saying more. However, the way he allowed comfortable silence to linger, put you at ease long enough to explain that Danny stood you up, leaving you to take the bus home. You couldn’t help the anger that filled your voice, throat constricting with unshed tears as you wondered when you’d be as important as his silly book.

Seeming to understand your need for distraction, Benny asked, “You wanna get out of here?” He didn’t wait for a reply before flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and throwing one leg over his bike.

As you thought of Danny's calls going unanswered, you picked at the strap of your bag hesitantly. “I don’t know, I should be getting back,” you reasoned quietly with yourself.

Benny held up his hands as though accepting defeat. “You gotta go, you gotta go,” he shrugged before starting up the bike.

You glanced over your shoulder toward the uninviting looking bench under the bus shelter just as the engine roared to life, impulsively grabbing his chiseled bicep. His chin jerked up at you in surprise, that adorable grin returning when you yelled, “I’m coming with you.”

Extending a ringed hand for you, he helped you onto the bike, snuggly fitting your arms around his trim waist with the instruction, “Hold on tight."

You didn’t bother asking where you’d be going, your desire for adventure steadily growing. When he accelerated toward the highway with wind rushing past your hair and colors blurring in your peripheral, you could think of nothing except the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the seductive thoughts multiplying with every new sensation.

Pressing your cheek against his back, you inhaled the intoxicating mixture of pomade and leather, closing your eyes to imagine it mingled with the sweat of exertion. The vibration of the bike beneath your legs, body molded tightly against his made you all the more eager for him.

When he pulled into a local motel and helped you off the bike, your legs had turned to jelly and you couldn’t be sure if it was from the overwhelming experience of the ride or your sudden nerves as you waited to see what might happen next.

Benny didn’t seem to notice, walking toward his door with a slow, but confident strut. “Want a drink?” he asked, holding the door for you.

You fidgeted with your necklace as you peeked your head into the small, yet tidy room where he said he’d been staying for the past month.

He offered you the first bottle of beer, knocking the cap off against the dresser with a sharp crack. He shook the fizz from his hand, sucking a little off his thumb before placing the bottle in your hand.

As your fingertips brushed against each other, it renewed the electricity dancing between you, his eyes darkening to a deeper shade of blue as lust overtook his gaze.

With a shaky breath you took a sip and placed the bottle onto the table, quickly forgetting it as he took hold of your arm and pulled you into a searing kiss.

As the cool metal of his rings touched the burning skin of your cheeks, you moaned against him, allowing him the opportunity to lick into your mouth hungrily. He was gentle, but firm as his tongue fought yours for dominance, hands tangling in your hair as his passion increased.

His calloused hands memorized every inch of you on their way down your body to find the hem of your top and pull it over your head. Nipping softly at your lower lip, he distracted you momentarily to unclip your bra and toss it aside, stopping long enough to suck in a breath at the sight of your breasts.

Ducking his head to take a pert nipple into his mouth he lapped and sucked against the sensitive bud, making you whimper with need.

“Like that, pretty girl?” he asked softly, hand kneading your other breast until you thought you’d cum from that simple touch alone. Hands resting atop his blonde curls, you pushed him away gently to catch your breath and he huffed out a little laugh. “A little too much, huh?”

Taking his lead, you wasted no time removing his jacket and shirt to reveal the taut planes of his chest and abs. Skating your fingers across the lean muscle with a sigh, you leaned in to place scattered kisses along his collarbone. You watched the vein in his neck jump before ghosting your lips over his throbbing pulse and chose a place to suck a bruise.

He hissed as you tongued over it in soothing circles, fingertips clutching at your hip when you blew a stream of cold air across his flesh. Deciding to push him further, you snaked a hand down his front, palm gliding over the coarse material of his jeans. A low rumble of satisfaction came from his chest as you stroked his growing bulge, his hips involuntarily bucking against your hand.

You smirked at his responsiveness and the fact that he was much bigger than you’d imagined. Unable to wait any longer, your fingers fumbled excitedly with his belt buckle, Benny groaning at the promise of release for his aching cock.

Falling to your knees, you helped him out of his pants and watched his cock bounce against his tan stomach. The little gasp that left your throat seemed to amuse him as he tilted his head to savor the sight of you before him.

Hand reaching for him like a prize, you began long slow licks along his shaft before taking the spongy head between your lips, eager to please. No sooner had you begun, he grasped for your shoulder to steady himself from the dizzying pleasure, opposite hand sweeping the hair from your face to watch himself disappear down your throat.

Benny’s moans began to fill the room as you worked, a stuttered breath escaping when you stopped to kitten lick and suck lightly on the tip, holding eye contact with him. The sight of your angelic face staring up at him through your lashes, saliva running down your chin was almost too much for him to bear. He knew he couldn't resist you if you continued much longer.

Within seconds you felt him capture your wrists, pulling you up to your feet as he gulped and shook his head. "Not yet, baby."

Walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed behind you, he pushed you onto the mattress with a bounce. You giggled as his eager fingers hooked into the waist band of your skirt and underwear, tugging them down to reveal all of you to him. "So beautiful," he exclaimed, long fingers tracing over your chest and stomach reverently.

He hovered over you, placing kisses to your neck as his fingers found your slick folds, opening you up slowly until you were practically dripping down his fingers. Adding a thumb to circle over your clit, your back arched off the bed and he hushed you with a deep kiss which only intensified when he felt you clench around his digits.

"Need you, Benny," you whined, clutching at his broad shoulders and urging him to rest his weight over you. He pressed his forehead to yours, nuzzling your nose in a gesture far too sweet for the single, powerful thrust that came next. Tears sprang to your eyes from the exquisite feeling of fullness, the pressure on your g-spot intense and immediate.

Benny stilled the moment he'd seated himself inside you, shuddering slightly to hold himself back as he allowed you time to adjust to his size. His cool blue eyes drank you in before resuming a steady rhythm that had you writing beneath him, head tossed back onto the pillows.

The slow drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sent your nerve endings firing little sparks of heat through your core, somehow amplifying the need for more. Benny sensed it immediately, raising your leg to his hip and sank even deeper with a low rumble of satisfaction, matched only by your lustful mewls.

Spurred on by every sweet sound you made, his hips began snapping against you, a light sheen of sweat coating his chest. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging slightly at the roots as your brain fogged with pleasure. As he fucked you into the mattress, your eyes fluttered closed, only vaguely aware of him slipping his thumb into your mouth. Sucking eagerly against the salty skin, you heard Benny groan loudly as the sensation shot straight to his cock.

Removing his thumb with a pop, he snaked his hand between you to circle the small bundle of nerves at your apex causing your mouth to drop open. He leaned in for a kiss unlike before, messy and demanding. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" he asked breathlessly.

You gave a pathetic nod, biting your lip as you felt the coil in your stomach ready to snap. Staring into the oceans of Benny's endlessly blue eyes, a soft static began buzzing in your ears as you heard him whisper, "Yeah? Let me see." His warm breath hit the shell of your ear just as you tipped over the edge, white heat consuming your body. Wave after wave crashed over you, melting your brain and making your limbs turn gooey.

Benny fucked you through it as he chased his own high, hips stuttering before he pulled out with a quick jerk. Emptying himself onto your stomach in hot, thick ropes, he exhaled a contented sigh and smiled down at you with a lopsided grin.

Hours later, overcome with exhaustion, you curled into Benny's side beneath the covers. Safe and warm in his embrace, you found yourself talking about anything and everything. He listened with rapt attention as you described your boring college, the pressure that came with the classes and your dream to escape, seeing the country the way Danny had.

Mostly, Benny listened, but he talked a little about his own travels too. The life he was leading fascinated you and you found yourself wishing you were part of it. However, your voice began to trail off as you glimpsed the far off look in Benny's eye.

Truthfully, Benny found the excitement in your voice endearing and he couldn't help fantasizing about taking you on the road with him. As he idly traced patterns against your arm, he found himself suddenly saying, "Runaway with me."

Clutching the duvet to your chest you turned to stare at him in disbelief. "What?"

His jaw set determinedly, he nodded to indicate he was serious about what he'd said. "Be my girl," he added, eyeing you carefully to see if you'd accept.

Your heart knocked against your chest as you swiftly agreed, moving to straddle him and take his face between your hands for a celebratory kiss.

As the first rays of sun hit Benny’s eyes, he groaned in protest. The morning had come too quickly despite his best efforts to savor the night with you. Turning over in bed to drag you closer to him, his arm stretched over the cold, empty sheets. Clutching the material in his fist until his knuckles turned white, he wondered if you’d caught a cab, leaving the moment you came to your senses.

Shuffling to the side of the bed to retrieve his jeans, he wondered why he’d been foolish enough to think you’d go anywhere with him when you had so many other opportunities. But he couldn’t think about all that before he’d had a cigarette so he fell out the front door, digging in his pockets for a lighter.

Just as he stumbled off the concrete step, he nearly tripped over the chair you’d placed outside the door, eliciting a cry of surprise from you.

As he quickly apologized, you clutched his Vandals jacket to your shoulders, giggling at his disheveled appearance. He was still effortlessly handsome despite his hair sticking up in all directions, the streaks of golden blonde catching the sunlight and arousing another wave of desire in you. However, you noticed he seemed too distracted to reciprocate.

“I thought you left,” he admitted, graveled voice still full of sleep as he closed the motel door behind him.

You raised the hand that held your cigarette, explaining, "Just came out for a smoke.”

As he retrieved the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear, he considered you warily. "Before you took off with my jacket?"

"I was going to give it back when I came in to wake you up," you explained softly, standing to stub out your cigarette with the toe of your shoe.

He turned his back to you, pretending to survey the parking lot as he nodded in understanding, "You gotta go."

You wrapped your arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his back as you imagined you'd do many more times in the future during long rides together. "We have to go. I thought we were running away together," you reminded him with a playful nudge.

He turned around instantly, pulling you close by the lapels of his jacket for a long kiss. Smirking against your lips he murmured, "Then let's go, baby."

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #the bikeriders imagine #benny cross #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #benny cross fanfiction #benny cross imagine #Austin butler

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gigi-loveless · 1 year ago

Note

Okay kind of out there ask, dom reader teasing and topping Abby while Ellie is a little perv and watches from behind them. maybe it's not that out there idk, i just like bottom Abby its so fun

summary - what was supposed to be a chill night in with your roommates takes a hard turn.

warnings - 18+. FILTH. this is FILTH. lowkey dubcon if you squint REALLY hard, intro is cheesy asf so i won’t blame you if you skip it

authors note - i did not proof read this bc i needed to rub one out after writing this jesus chriST anyways requests are open again finally . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“okay, okay,” abby chuckles as she gets the perfect idea. “so we think we know everything about each other right?”

you and ellie turn to each other, both curled up on opposite ends of the couch, and nod in agreement, as ellie passes you her neatly rolled joint, both of your eyes following your cocky roommates detailed arms.

“so,” ellie coughs, “where’s this going then abby?”

“jesus give me a second, williams!” abby shouts, that rare, adorable smile that makes you absolutely melt appearing. “let’s play hot seat.”

ellie rolls her eyes unceremoniously, and peels herself off the couch. “okay, okay!” you notice her ears burning pink underneath her auburn hair, pondering to yourself what an innocent game such as this would make her such a mess.

“okay okay, who wants to go first?” abby asks, as ellie turns away slightly, avoiding eye contact, biting back a smile. her chiseled features glowing in the moonlight through the window. “well, i suggested the game, so how bout you, sugar?” abby gestures to you. your hands start to get clammy, ellie’s odd energy throwing you for a loop.

“cool, yeah.” you agree, making your way over to abby’s chair in the corner of the room.

“okay, els, you know how this works right?” abby questions, as ellie quickly interjects.

“d’you think i’m five? gimme a break dude!” she laughs, playfully punching abby’s shoulder.

“okay, okay….” abby chuckles again as she sets a one minute timer on her phone. “and time starts….now.”

“okay coming in hot, filthiest fantasy.” ellie’s eyes widen with desire as she asks you her question.

“no doubt, wanna have someone watch as i put a girl in her place. sounds so fuckin fun.” you explain nonchalantly as the two girls watch you take the final drag of the minuscule joint between your plush lips.

abby and ellie give each other a quick look before abby blurts out “do you wanna make that come true now?”

you cough, waving the smoke out of your face, laughing. “the fuck, anderson? like….” the girls eyes widen, eyeing you in your workout shorts and tank top. “oh, you’re serious.”

“what is it angels, you wanna see this?” you creep up from the chair, confidence building with every motion. pulling off your tank top and throwing it in ellie’s face, your nipples perk up at the sensation of the cool air.

“fuck….” abby whispers breathlessly, using every fiber of strength to not palm her clit at this very second.

“c’mere abs��lemme take care of you.” you murmur sultrily, running your hand down her braid as you straddle her thigh. “wanna watch, els?” you motion to the stunned girl, her nimble fingers already down her boxers. “ah, ah, ah…..” you whisper to her, pulling her fingers out and sucking on the wetness from her digits. “you’re gonna wanna save that. just getting started.” her breath hitches, wide eyes taking in the warmth of your mouth around her fingers.

as you’re finishing up, you feel abby brushing up against your ass, and going to grope it. “don’t even think about it anderson. you do what i say, yeah?” you ask, pinning her muscular arms up above her head. the blondes expression goes soft, submitting to your energy. “stay.”

“that’s a good girl.” you whisper, before locking your lips in hers. she tastes just how you always imagined; coffee and cherries. she can’t help but buck up her hips into yours, desperate for any friction. “was that….your….plan…all along?” you ask, one hand around her throat while your pouty lips leave tender kisses on her collarbone.

“m-mhm!” she nods, ellie’s faced flushed in awe, scanning the two of you.

“yeah? i could tell from the second you suggested that game….sluts. both of you.” you chuckle, before nearly tearing her muscle tank off her toned body and connecting your gooey mouth to her petite nipples. the moan that comes out of her at this stage is guttural; you smile to yourself knowing you can make these girls fold with a simple kiss. “tell me what you want angel….” you coo, circling her ribs with your nails. without warning, she gets too impatient and starts rubbing her clothed cunt against your thigh. “well….if you can’t behave, maybe i’ll just play with ellie for a bit.” abby whines as you peel yourself off her, as ellie’s eyes darken.

“let’s see how wet you are…”

ellie quickly rips her boxers off, allowing you to spread her pale thighs. her cunt is quite literally dripping. thank fuck you have a leather couch.

“may i?” you ponder from between her thighs. she bobbles her head yes uncontrollably, only stopping to throw her head back in pleasure when you lick a thick stripe up her puffy pussy. “god, y’taste so fuckin good….” you mumble, looking back to abby for a moment. “learned your lesson yet?” your eyes taunting her, before diving face first into ellie’s pussy, no hesitation. the poor girl can barely get a moan out before-

“i know you bought that strap….saw the box.” she sighs out, relieved.

“sorry els…” you giggle, a thin web of spit connecting your drenched lips to her pussy. “i’ll get you later. gotta take care of that slut first. be good and watch, and i’ll reward you again.” she gulps in response, giving you a light kiss.

you motion for the girls to wait, and scurry off to your room to get yourself ready. soon you’re back, bottle of lube in hand, rubbing the cool gel on your 7 inch length. abby’s eyes widen, likely not realizing how big your dick really was.

“this okay?” you ask, hovering over her neatly trimmed pussy. she nods, whimpering. “words, angel….”

“y-yes!” she gasps out, desperately rutting her hips against the tip of your dick. anything, anything for a taste of that delicious friction.

“good girl….” kissing her forehead, you sink into her with ease, her eyes rolling back sinfully as you bottom out in one stroke. “look so pretty like this…s’fuckin obedient….”

her veins melt back into her freckled shoulders as her senses succumb to all of you. her moans are fucking pornographic, you almost wish you got it on video….

in which ellie already has her phone shakily pointing at the two of you, her hand back between her now bare thighs, rubbing lazy circles over her clit. all that’s left of her is her flannel, her breasts poking out from in between the the buttons. because let’s be real, she never wears a damn bra so she can whip them out easily.

“jesus abs….s’fuckin tight.” you moan out, lightly scratching at her biceps. “takin me so pretty….never thought i’d get to have you like this.” the blonde sobs out your name in reply, desperately flailing to close her legs to relieve the pressure in her stomach as you pry her open. “you better stop, or i’ll take you from behind instead.”

“promise?”

and that’s how you ended up with abby andersons back arched for you, ass up, with your cock so deep in her cunt ellie can see the silouhette of you in her abdomen.

“yeah? you wanted this, huh?” you pant, the only sounds that echo through the room are simultaneous moans from the two girls and the squelching of their juices. abby’s noise more prominent as she shrieks in pleasure while you yank her braid so far back she has to stare at ellies glazed over cunt just out of reach while you ruthlessly thrust into her.

“answer or you won’t fuckin cum.” you bellow, tightening your grip on her locks.

“yes! y-yes! need to cum…hah…hah….hah….s’bad!”

“atta girl.” you groan, spreading her pussy to watch her cream a perfect white ring all over your strap, your own high peaking, your thighs shaking in pleasure.

the three of you collapse onto the couch, all going silent for a moment to catch your breath….before bursting out into uncontrollable giggles.

“gotta do that more often, huh?” abby smirks, with the satisfaction of knowing her stupid little plan worked.

“mhm….” you agree, brushing your hands up against the two girls. “gonna put els in her place next time though…”

you shoot a glance at the lanky girl, and her eyes go hazy.

part 2….?

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lostintransist · 6 months ago

Text

Chiseled Heart | Part 3

CW: A man being creepy at the gym

AO3 | Part 1

“She gave me a gift card.”

König stares at his boots, arms crossed and shoulders resting against the back of his therapist’s couch.

“I’m not seeing why this makes you so upset.” Rich shifts in his chair across the small room, putting his stylus on the screen of his tablet. “Last time we talked you told me you were worried about a woman you had helped at the gym since she had been hurt and now you’re mad that she gave you a gift card to say thank you for the help?”

Frustrated, König turned to stare out the window. Sometimes squirrels would scamper down the powerline and give him an excuse to avoid trying to find words. He doubted he would find the words for this feeling in any of the languages he knew.

“I am…upset because,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “Danke was enough.”

“Do you feel like it’s fair to say you are upset because the exchange of money changed the interaction for you?”

“Ja,” he nodded.

“Okay,” Rich glances at his watch. “Can I give you my thoughts on the matter? I know you’ve been working at understanding others more.”

König narrows his eyes but nods his consent. He had worked with Rich for enough years to trust his opinion.

“You said she told you that she would bring a card the next day you saw each other but insisted after you walked her to her car, right?”

“Ja.”

“Okay, did you consider that she felt like asking for help needed something in return? Walking a woman to her car is a layer of safety, a measure of security that to her must have been a weight off her shoulders. She doesn’t know you well but wants the exchange to be equal. Could it be that she didn’t want to burden you?”

König turns the words over in his mind. You had been so apologetic even ask you asked for his help. The only time König had ever feared for his life had been under the hands of his vater.

“Help is no burden,” he argues, not quite willing to concede the point.

“I don’t imagine that it is, you work hard to be kind. I am saying that from her perspective, help and kindness are not guaranteed. By virtue of being a woman, she is always at a disadvantage and will do what she can to keep herself safe.”

He grunted.

“Sorry König, this might be one of those times to use radical acceptance. You will never understand the fear of existing in a small body where every man is a threat.” Rich shrugged one shoulder.

A moment passes in silence before König reveals the other reason the interaction bothered him so much.

“She has started to appear in my art.”

That got a double eyebrow lift from Rich. It wasn’t often that König caught his therapist by surprise.

“You’re art is how you process a lot of the trauma from serving right? How do you feel that your gym buddy is in your art?”

“Conflicted.”

Rich said nothing, only noting something on his tablet.

The silence compelled him to speak more. Rich knew it and König knew Rich knew it.

“Carving her feels different. Pulling memories from stone reminds me of the sting of pain.”

“How does carving her feel?”

“Freeing.”

Rich studies König. König leans over and picks through the basket of fidgets that sat at the end of the couch.

“Do you want to go into that more or leave it for now?”

König delayed answering until he pulled puddy between his hands.

“Leave it.”

“I’ll make a note to check back on the topic next time we chat then. How is your art selling right now? It’s still on display at the gallery right?”

They drift into more familiar and safe discussions.

There is only five minutes left. He has been watching the clock. There wouldn’t be time to get deep into this.

“Tell me to stop, to stop talking to her.”

Rich’s brows lift with confusion, it is also in the lilting of his voice, “You want me to tell you to stop making a human connection? The goal we’ve been working toward for nearly seven months now?”

König scowled as he shifted on the couch, arms folding across his chest. It sounded stupid when he put it that way.

“It’s okay to be scared König. This is a big step.”

He doesn’t reply, debating how to settle this struggle within himself.

“Did you already schedule your regular appointment with the front desk?” Rich asks, letting the topic drop.

One thing he excelled at carving had always been hands. The intricacies and the expressions that can be found in fingers had fascinated him. It was your hands he pulled from a small chunk of granite. Before he knew they were your hands he had carved a delicate ring on the left hand. The fingers on the left hand curled over the right ones, the piece ending below the right wrist. The pose reminded him of how you held pressure on your bleeding finger those weeks ago.

Frustrated he set it aside to continue on a massive piece. With a view into a building, as wide as he is tall, a house of worship is starting to come together. He carved out the rough shapes of the pillars and dug through the stone to what he had decided to be the back wall. Now came the time-consuming work of removing stone until he could begin to carve the bodies that lay scattered along the floor. This had been one of his worst nightmares. They had been too late.

Music drifted through the space from his built-in speakers. König worked late into the afternoon until Feather, the gallerist, arrived to peruse his recently completed carvings to see which she would like to house and which would be listed on the website or hawked directly to wealthy buyers.

Feather looked like she ran an art gallery. Her bold colors, expensive suits, matching lipstick, and perfectly done hair always set König on edge. Even in her heels, the top of her head reached his elbow. He remained seated as she let herself into his studio.

“Ah! There is my favorite artist. Where are the new pieces for me?” She breezed past him as he stayed seated on his stool. Feather knew where the new pieces would be by now.

Ignoring her, König focused on his carving. He could not work while anyone else existed in his studio but this process of removing stone to access the image didn’t count.

After several minutes Feather appeared in his line of view.

“I want the whole lot, stellar as always my dear.” She spoke with a crispness to her words, as if her job required a level of uppityness.

“Same terms as always,” König fiddles with the edge of his chisel. It needs to be sharpened soon.

“Agreed,” Feather crosses her arms. Her eyes drift over his current work in progress before she turns and points to the hands he had set aside.

“How much for the hands?”

A chill wraps itself around his spine.

“Not for sale.”

A good business woman Feather narrows her eyes at him and throws out a number much higher than they usually agreed upon for smaller pieces. He lifts a brow before shaking his head.

She tried three more offers before sighing and folding her arms dramatically.

“König I know all artists are finicky about their work but I have a patron who has been asking for something like this for a long time. He would pay through the nose if I sent him a photo. He would pay especially well since it is your work.”

“Goodbye Feather,” he pulled the remote from his pocket and increased the volume of the music.

He didn’t create for money. König carved images from stone because if he left them inside they would fester and canker his soul.

Feather got the message and fired off a text to him before leaving of when her team would be by to pick up all the pieces agreed upon and confirmed his payment would be sent via wire after they arrived at the gallery. He marked the messages as read and set all his tools in their home nearly an hour later. Eating a quick meal he readied himself for the gym, and more of you.

His time with KorTac gave him the ability to appear focused while his mind drifts. Sliding through his thoughts König cannot quite decide how to feel about the interactions he has had with you. Bringing you up in therapy hadn’t helped yet.

When the doors move and allow you entry König is shocked at your smile as your eyes find his. He reciprocates the small wave you give him as you head into the changing room. Then curses himself for the niggle of brightness that your smile brought. Continuing his workout König kept you in sight but did not approach. He had been stilted and stiff when you had pressed the gift card into his hands on Wednesday and didn’t know how or if he wanted to try and bridge that gap.

A man approaches you four different times in the span of twenty minutes. When you finally snap at him, anger contorting your face, you point to König. He watches as you stomp away from the man and approach him instead.

Any anger disappeared from your eyes by the time you reached him. You folded your arms tight to your chest and blinked rapidly as if to fight back tears. When you stopped you stood entirely too close for the acquaintances that you were.

“König?”

“Ja?”

“Can you bend down a moment for me?”

He does as requested, not pausing to think that he should not accept orders from you.

“There is a man that is bothering me and I told him you were my boyfriend. Can you pretend until he leaves?”

König can only blink at you before glaring at the man in question. The prick sneers a huff of breath in your direction.

“How does one pretend to be a boyfriend?” He keeps his volume low.

“You could put a hand on my waist or something? I just need him to leave me alone. The reason I like this gym is most of the guys only talk to me when they have a correction or to encourage me to hit a new PR. I don’t want to leave but if he keeps bothering me I am gonna have to go home,” you tighten your folded arms to your chest, clearly upset.

Following the twitch of his muscles König pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head as he lets his killer face stare out at the man who bothered you. The fucker tries to maintain a sneer, but when your arms slip around König’s waist and the hateful glare pummeling him from across the gym becomes too much he man left in a tizzy.

When you pull back from the hug König struggles to return his hands to his sides and not leave them trailing the top of your hip bones. His fingers ache both from the touch and the lack of contact.

You rub a palm under one eye, wiping away the wetness that collected there.

“Thanks, sorry. I had a bad day at work and then the nonsense with a guy being a jerk I might actually call it a night.” You sniff lightly, giving him a watery smile.

“We can work out together if you want?”

König took whatever courage he had found a way to take the reigns and shake it until the bastard had to be dead in his skull.

You rub a thumb beneath your nose, face contemplative.

“That would actually be okay, yeah.”

He blinks at you, unsure why you would say yes. And then unsure of how to make this work.

“I don’t want to disrupt your routine,” you rush to fill the silence that had grown between you, “I can do whatever you are doing today, provided we fix the weights for me.”

Nodding König replies, “Company is welcome, but no offering to pay.”

You tongue at your teeth behind your lips.

“Okay, you are uncomfortable with thank-you gifts. Got it.”

König gives a startled laugh. You had labeled the feeling he and his therapist were unable to articulate.

“Ja, help is given, not bought.”

A beautiful blush stains your cheeks. The sight of your blushing smile sticks like a bur on a sock as he walks you to your car and waves to you as you disappear into the night. The change in color on your face haunts his dreams.

Masterlist | Chiseled Heart Masterlist

Part 4

@backseatsoldier minor updates from what you read but 😘

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #konig x female reader #konig call of duty #konig #konig x reader #lostintransist #lostintransit writing #chiseled heart

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gurugirl · 2 years ago

Text

Let Me Show You

Based on this request

best friend's dad!harry x reader | forbidden relationship

Summary: Your best friend's dad, Mr. Styles, is quite good at giving advice, amongst other things OR How your illicit affair with Mr. Styles began

Word Count: 6.3k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, cheating, age gap

best friend's dad!harry masterlist

Mr. Styles had a way about him that you admired. He was sure of himself and was good at just about everything he did. He was also really good at listening and giving advice. When you told him about how your boyfriend had hurt your feelings and how you were considering breaking up with him he told you that you could do better, that you deserved better.

And you knew he was right. He was always right. So when you broke up with Randy you didn’t once look back or regret it.

To Mr. Styles: I did it. Thank you for your advice, Mr. Styles.

You texted Harry as you got into your car in the parking lot of the sandwich shop where you broke up with your boyfriend.

Fae would probably call you weird for texting her dad. She’d wonder what you were doing with his number in the first place.

But Harry insisted you text him after breaking up with Randy. He said he wanted to make sure you were okay and that you’d gone through with it. That he didn’t want to hear any excuses as to why you couldn’t do it. So he gave you his number and he took yours, telling you that if you didn’t reach out to him he’d be calling you himself.

From Mr. Styles: You’re welcome, Y/n. Where are you right now?

You started your car up just as he texted back.

To Mr. Styles: The parking lot at Dixie’s. I’m about to drive home.

You could see that he’d read the text right away and your heart skipped a beat when you saw the text bubbles indicating he was texting you back.

Fae would also hate that you had the biggest crush on her dad. The biggest. It was unhealthy actually, the kind of crush you had.

See, Mr. Styles wasn’t just someone you admired for his confidence and thoughtful advice. He was also gorgeous. His eyes were seafoam, crystal green. His lips were pink berry tinted. When he smiled he had dimples that carved into his cheeks. His jawline was chiseled and his dark hair was thick and wavy. He was tall with a fit body and broad shoulders, tattoos, big hands, a deep voice, and the most sex appeal you’d ever seen in one person.

From Mr. Styles: I’ll meet you at your apartment. I’m in the area anyway. I’d like to hear how the conversation went with your boyfriend.

From Mr. Styles: Ex-boyfriend.

You’d just broke up with Randy but you’d already forgotten all about him as you texted your best friend’s dad back with a large grin on your face.

To Mr. Styles: Okay. See you soon!

Your apartment complex was a little run down. It was in a safeish area but it was what you could afford with your wage as a waitress.

When you pulled into the parking lot you spotted Harry’s car immediately. His car stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the used, beat-up, and older models.

You quickly walked toward his Land Rover and watched him get out. You slowed your stroll to take him in.

That was another thing about him. He always looked so well put together. Harry was wearing dark blue slacks with a crisp white button-up shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a few buttons undone from the top down, leather loafers, and his hair was coifed on his head just so. Rings on his fingers, and his signature cross necklace, the pendant dangling right at the top center of his well-defined pecs. A gorgeous sight.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted you and pulled you in for an easy hug.

You hugged back and smiled as you pressed your cheek to his shoulder, he smelled nice.

Backing away from the hug you looked up at him, “Hi, Mr. Styles.”

He loved that you were so polite. So sweet. Yet he knew that you had a crush on him and that he loved the most.

You led him up to your apartment. This was the first time he would come inside. He’d picked up Fae a few times so he knew where you lived. But the idea that he’d be stepping into your little home made you feel nervous.

You kept your place tidy most of the time. You had pictures framed and hung everywhere. Some art pieces that you made yourself for fun. Your couch was cheap but it looked nice. Your rug was from Ikea and was a splurge.

But that wasn’t why you were nervous. It was because this man you’d lusted after for years was coming into your private space with you. Alone.

You weren’t dumb. You knew the implications. You understood on some level that Harry thought you were pretty. But of course, he was married. And he was your father’s age. So it was unlikely that this meant anything. But still. The fact that he was conveniently in the area and said he was coming over, knowing you wouldn’t say no… well it certainly wasn’t out of the question that something could happen.

Harry stood close behind you as you unlocked and opened your door, stepping in and allowing him space to enter behind you before you closed the door. Sunlight came through your windows and it was bright enough that you didn’t bother to flick on any extra lights out of habit. You didn’t like to turn on lights when you didn’t need to. Who wanted to pay a needlessly higher electricity bill?

You looked up at Harry as he scrutinized your space in silence for a few beats.

“S’nice, Y/n. Clean and uncluttered. I’m impressed.” He moved past you to look at your wall of framed photos.

You followed and stood next to him, “Well, what did you think? That I was a slob or something,” you chuckled as you looked at your photos.

Harry turned to look at you and the slight grin on his face gave way to a wider smile, “Okay, sassy girl. I was just giving you a compliment. No need to get mouthy.”

You laughed and looked down at your cuticles, not knowing how to respond exactly. He had you feeling a bit empty-headed in that moment.

But then you brought your gaze back up to his and remembered your manners, “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Styles? I’ve got water, strawberry soda, orange juice… uh… almond milk–“

“A glass of water will be perfect. Thank you.”

Harry watched you traipse to your kitchen quickly as he continued to look around as he sat down on your little couch and waited for you.

Harry wasn’t sure exactly why he was with you alone in your apartment. He knew he shouldn’t be there. He knew better than to entertain the kinds of dirty thoughts he often had about his daughter’s best friend. But, well, here he was. And you were adorable wearing your short cutoff jean shorts and white razorback tank top.

When you returned with two glasses of water you sat down next to Harry and nervously smiled.

“Thank you, darling,” Harry lifted the glass upward before bringing it to his lips and taking a big gulp. You followed suit and then placed the glass on your side table.

“Tell me about how it went. Did he try to change your mind?”

You swallowed and nodded, “It was hard. I hated doing it but also it felt really good. He promised me he could change and asked me to give him another chance. But I just remembered what you told me, about how I deserve better and I kept that in mind and stood my ground.”

Harry kept his eyes on you as you spoke and every bit of your body and skin that Harry’s irises landed on heated up from his gaze. You wiggled in your seat under his examination.

“Stood your ground. Good girl.”

You could have passed out. He’d never called you that before. And the way it sounded coming from his mouth had your throat going dry.

“You do deserve better, you know. You’re too good to waste your time on a boy like Rudy.”

“Randy.” You corrected.

“What’s that?” Harry raised his brows at you.

“Uh… his name is Randy. You said Rudy.”

Harry nodded slowly and looked down at your lips with a smirk before settling his gaze back onto your eyes, “Right. Randy. Definitely would be a shame to get his name wrong.”

You nervously laughed and shook your head, “Oh it’s okay! You know… I don’t care actually. Not important.”

Harry watched you squirm nervously as he licked his lips. As if he was readying himself for a meal. You did look mouthwatering. You pretty much always did. And he could admit that he’d like a taste at the very least.

“And what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

Shaking your head and shrugging your shoulders you looked down at your lap. His intense gaze was making you blurry and dumb. It was like listening to him speak another language and you had to translate the words in your head before you could understand and then respond.

“I’m… uh… was just gonna maybe call Fae. Go out later since I’m off tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, “And where would you go out to?”

You cleared your throat and kept your eyes down so you could breathe, “Thinking about that bar just up the street. We haven’t been yet and it’s so nearby–“

“I need you to look at me when you’re speaking to me.”

You’d never whipped your head upward so fast in your life. That was another thing about Mr. Styles. If he told you to do something you never hesitated. “Sorry, sir.”

He kept an easy grin on his face as he leaned his back into your couch cushions, crossing his ankle over his knee, and then moving his arm along the back of the couch, “No need to be sorry. Just want to see your pretty eyes when you’re talking is all.”

You could feel the warmth from his thigh radiating against your bare leg. You looked down to see how close he was sitting to you before quickly planting your gaze back on his.

He saw your glance downward and looked himself to note the proximity, “Am I sat too close to you?” You shook your head quickly, “No. That’s fine. The couch is small anyway. Can’t really help it.” You smiled and tried to chill out but the way he was dragging his irises over your skin and along the material of your shirt that stretched softly over your breasts before bringing them back up to look into your eyes had you sweating. And you hated that you’d begun to grow a little wet in your panties.

“Can I ask you a personal question? You don’t have to answer but I’m curious about something.”

You tried to focus your eyes on his and not look away as you swallowed and nodded, “Yes. Sure.”

He brought his arm across his body and touched the side of your neck, gently brushing the pads of his fingers against your pulse point causing you to inhale sharply, “This. Is this from Randy?”

You blinked your eyes and put your fingers on the spot he was touching and remembered that Randy had given you a hickey. When you first noticed that gave you a hickey it was quite large. You’d been covering it with makeup but now that it had mostly faded you didn’t think anyone would notice it.

You nodded, “Yeah. From a while ago. It was really big but now it’s mostly gone.”

“Did it feel good when he gave it to you?”

You dropped your mouth open in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. But you also didn’t want to not answer the man.

You smiled and dropped your hand down into your lap while Harry’s fingers remained on your neck, softly brushing at your sensitive skin, “It did. I hate it now because it’s from him, but… at the time… yeah.”

Mr. Styles nodded and you felt his thumb press over the spot before lowering down to the top of your clavicle.

“Did he always make you feel good?”

You were barely holding it together. Between the way he was touching your neck, and how intense his eyes were on you it felt like you were having an out-of-body experience.

“What do you mean?”

“You two had sex, correct? Or at least fooled around a bit?”

You began to pant as Harry’s finger wrapped gently along the side of your neck, his thumb at the front softly stroking your flesh. “Yeah. Um… not always. No.”

“Okay. Did he make you come?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you sucked air into your lungs and felt his thigh press against yours.

Shaking your head you opened your eyes back up to look at him, “No. Never.”

Harry cocked his head and furrowed his brows, “Never? You’ve never made yourself come either?”

“Oh! I mean… yeah. I just mean that I never came with Randy. He wasn’t… didn’t listen.”

Nodding his head his furrowed brow softened, “Sounds about right. Has anyone ever made you come? Or just yourself?”

You knew he could feel the way your blood was pumping through your pulse point. Your heart was going wild in your chest as you watched Harry’s eyes darken, “Just by myself.”

“S’what I thought.” Suddenly Harry’s hand left your neck as he stood up from the couch. He put his hand out to you to grab, “Let’s do an experiment. But we’ll need to move this into your bedroom if you don’t mind.”

Harry pulled you up from the couch and kept his big palm wrapped around yours as he walked you to your bedroom.

Harry pointed to your bed as he looked at you. “Climb up, love. Don’t be shy.”

You let out a small nervous laugh through your nose as you sat on your bed and let your legs dangle off the edge. You watched as he got onto his knees in front of you and began untying your tennis shoes, taking each one off before pulling your socks off your feet.

He looked up at you softly as he put his hands on your knees, “Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like. So next time some asshole says he doesn’t know how to get you off you’ll remember this and you’ll know the loser’s just too lazy to work for your pleasure,” he slid his hands up your thighs as you began to nod quickly. His warm hands gliding over your skin and to the fray of your jean shorts was more erotic than anything Randy had ever done with you.

“Is that okay? You want me to show you?”

You continued nodding as your breaths deepened. You could already feel your nipples tightening under your thin bra and you were positive Harry could see it.

“Is that a yes? I’d like to hear you say it to me. I appreciate the nod but your voice is too pretty not to use.”

“Yes, sir. Please.”

Harry grinned, “And I get a please too? So sweet for me.”

Harry sat up so his hips were against the side of your bed as he plucked your button from its spot and then unzipped slowly, “We’re gonna get these clothes off of you. I need access to all your bits. Understand?”

“Um… yes. Of course.” You pulled at the bottom hem of your shirt to pull it off but Harry grasped your wrists and tsk’d at you.

“Ah ah ah… Let me show you what’s it like to be treated as well as you deserve. We’re not in any hurry. Are we?”

Shaking your head you whispered, “No. Sorry.”

Harry pulled your hands to his mouth and kissed the inside of each of your wrists, “Don’t be sorry.”

Mr. Styles began to gently tug your shorts down your legs, leaving you in your yellow Sponge Bob panties. That was embarrassing. You hadn’t expected anyone to be seeing your panties and you’d totally forgotten which pair you threw on that morning until Harry smirked and inspected the cotton fabric stretched over your hips, “Cute. I like these,” he rubbed his thumbs over the edge of the fabric at your hips slowly before taking your tank top and pulling it up over your head as he stood up.

You were adorable. Little yellow cartoon panties and a white stretchy bra with a tiny pink ribbon at the center. Mismatched but practical he supposed. Didn’t matter anyway. They would soon be off.

Harry put his big hands on your hips and pushed you deeper into the bed, crawling with you. You propped yourself up by your elbows as he smoothed his hands up your tummy and to the underside of your breasts before bringing one hand down to your left thigh and pushing it outward just a bit. He turned his gaze to the fabric of your wet crotch. The yellow material was darker where your arousal had seeped out.

He licked his lips again and grunted as he thumbed along the elastic that clung to your inner thigh and he sucked in a sharp breath, “So wet already? Honestly, I didn’t expect this, Y/n. S’a very nice surprise for me. Do you get wet easily?”

You shook your head. Your lips were already parted as you began to respond, “No. Usually takes a bit.”

Harry grinned as he thumbed the wet patch on your panties and quickly found the spot where your clit was, “I consider this the highest form of a compliment. Like a little gift just for me.”

You let out a shaky breath as you watched him smooth his thumb over your panties and press into your button before bringing his digit to his mouth and sucking it into his mouth.

He had a devious smirk on his face when he pulled his thumb out and spoke, “No shower today?”

You gasped and tried to close your thighs together but he pushed your legs apart, his fingers digging into the soft inner part of your thighs. You put an arm up over your eyes to shield yourself from embarrassment.

It was true. You hadn’t showered that day. Not yet. You planned on going out to celebrate being single with Fae later on and you’d shower before that, but you hadn’t had the time yet. It’d been a little over 24 hours since you had.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Y/n. Your little pussy’s so fragrant so I just had to ask. Hate when it doesn’t smell or taste like pussy. It’s just another nice little surprise for me is all.”

You felt him pull your panties down your legs and you moved your arm to watch. You were mortified. You knew you were “fragrant” down there. Which was why you’d planned on showering before going out. But now you had your wet pussy bare and smelly before Harry Styles who pointed this fact out to you.

“I was going to shower before going out tonight…” you moaned when he dragged his thumb through your crease.

“You’re not going out tonight. You and I have work to do here. Don’t we?”

Your eyes were burning and your vision was fuzzy, which you knew to be from lust. You were so turned on that all your senses were being affected by him.

Nodding your head you spoke softly, “Yeah. Okay.”

Harry sat up and leaned over your frame his face coming in close to yours, “I forgot my manners completely. Got so caught up with you. Made me feel so needy that I nearly forgot we haven’t even kissed yet.”

You were just a melty little puddle of breaths and pumping blood under him as his lips pressed into yours. He tried to start off slowly. You could tell he was going in gently but you were shaky and out of your mind. You licked over his lips and grasped onto his collar to pull him into you and deepen the kiss.

Harry sputtered a laugh but was cut off when you licked your tongue into his mouth.

From there, Harry’s mouth pushed against yours hard and his lips and tongue guided your mouth. His fingers found your wet folds as he continued kissing you.

You gasped into his mouth when he slid two fingers inside of you. He hadn’t bothered to take his rings off and you could feel the metal against your soft skin as he pumped his long digits and in and out slowly.

When the bed was suddenly directly under your back, you realized he’d pushed you down flat as he parted from the kiss. He looked over your frame under him and his hands were sweeping over your bra before he kneaded gently, slowly pushing one hand underneath your back to unhook the clasp of your bra. You arched your back so he could reach it and the moment the metal hook was undone the stretchy fabric was pulled from your tits and Harry’s mouth was on you, sucking and lapping at your nipples

And then you heard him moan when he latched on particularly hard to one of your nipples and he placed his fingers back inside your cunt.

You could come. Just like that. His long fingers stretched and poked deep while his mouth worked over your tits softly before pulling your nipple harshly.

Sticking your fingers into his hair and closing your eyes you moaned loudly and began to writhe against his hand harder when you felt your orgasm close in. It was a shock how quickly it began to unwind but you were at Harry’s mercy and he was doing everything right.

Harry pushed himself up and smiled down at you with slick pink lips as he pulled his fingers from your cunt, “So sensitive too. How is it that you’ve never come with anyone, hmm? When you’re this reactive to me?” He circled his thumb over your clit teasingly and you bucked up into his hand and groaned just as he pulled it away.

Mr. Styles dipped in to kiss your lips again before moving down your body and hovering his face over your pussy as he looked up at you, “Do you want to come?”

You were already on edge, just about to tip into a new realm as you nodded hastily, “Yes, sir. I do.”

The smirk on his face was suddenly hidden as he lowered his lips to your clit and licked. The obnoxiously loud moan that fell from your lips had him laughing into your cunt as he lapped you up and reinserted his fingers.

His free hand held your opposite thigh down and the pressure that built up again was causing you to shake uncontrollably. You stuck your hands into his hair again and gasped at the way his lips worked your wet pussy, the way his fingers dug into you deeply and nudged into that yummy spot that you only ever got to enjoy with your vibrator.

“Ooh! My god! Mr. Styles! Mr. Styles…” You were powerless under him. The way he was sucking your clit into his mouth felt exquisite but at the same time, it was like your blood and guts were boiling hot and filling your limbs, searing your skin.

Harry hadn’t heard a woman squeal in a long time. He used to enjoy things like this with his wife but it had been a minute since she wanted to really play with him in the way he liked. All his skill and sex appeal were wasted all these years. But now he was getting to finally unleash his prowess on you. Such a delicate and sexy little thing. You deserved it. He imagined it more times than he should, doing the very thing he was at that moment, making you wobble and wet his face and shriek as you came.

He watched your soft tits shake and goosebumps cover your skin as he held you down and gently licked you as you came down from your release. It was incredible. So pretty to see you spread out and vulnerable for him.

When you finally opened your eyes Harry’s face was still between your legs. His cheek against your inner thigh as he looked up at you, “Better?”

You breathed out a laugh and nodded as you pushed yourself up to your elbows, “Yeah. Better.”

Harry sat back to his shins and you noticed right away the massive bulge pushing at the front of his pants. You reached your hand toward him and looked at the lump he was sporting, “Can I? Do you want…”

The grin on Harry’s face told you he knew what you were asking but he wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He wanted you to say what you wanted, “Can you… what?”

“You’re hard.”

“Tends to happen when I’m eating pussy,” he licked his lips with his eyes on you.

“Do you want me to… like… give you a blow job?”

“Hmm…” Harry squinted his eyes as he began to undo his pants slowly, “Maybe. Would you be against letting me fuck you?”

Your heart rate increased once again. Sex? With this man? You were nodding quickly before the words left your mouth, “Yeah. I mean… I’m not against it. I’d like that. I… I don’t have any condoms here–“

Harry pulled at your wrist and shushed you, “It’s okay. If you don’t want to that’s fine. But I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but Fae’s mom in a very long time.”

“Oh.” The reminder that Harry was married to your best friend’s mom made you step outside of the moment as you looked down toward where he’d opened his pants. His grey boxer briefs peeked out from under, his clear erection curving beneath the fabric. He looked so yummy and you’d love to feel him. But this was wrong, wasn’t it?

Harry noticed your hesitation and he pulled his pants up as he started to tug at his zipper but you were quickly reaching for his hand and looking up at him with those sweet eyes he couldn’t stop thinking about, “No! Please. I want you. I’m on birth control. So… And I always used a condom before so I’m good.”

Harry raised his brows at you in question, “Positive? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better are you? You want me to fuck you?”

“So much. Yes. Please.”

His lips smashed against yours when he pulled you into his chest. You could feel his heart pounding under his shirt. He was excited too.

When he’d gotten you laid back and spread out he pulled his pants and briefs off and removed his shirt. You were sure his nice clothes were going to wind up wrinkled with the way he tossed them into the floor but he didn’t seem to care.

And you’d seen his body before at the beach when you went swimming, and in his house when he walked around after working out and didn’t bother putting on a shirt… But you’d never seen his cock. And certainly not hard and leaking like it was.

His heavy shaft swayed as he positioned himself back in between your legs and he pushed the tops of his thighs to the back of yours. You couldn’t help it when you reached down to stroke him. He was thick and warm and the smooth, ridged skin felt delicious under your palm.

“Feels so good having your little hand on me like that, Y/n. Don’t think you know how many times I’ve imagined this very moment.”

You were still slick from everything before but you felt yourself clench and drip just imagining how good it would feel to have him stuffed inside of you. He was long too. So you knew it would reach into your cervix and make you ache in the way your vibrator did.

“I’ve imagined it too. I’ve wanted this for a long time, Mr. Styles.”

Harry keened and sucked at his teeth as he rocked his hips softly and began to slide the underside of his shaft through your folds. You kept your palm over the top of him as he moved up and down, slowly wetting himself with you. He kept his eyes on yours as he nudged his tip into your clit and then to your entrance, “You ready? You really want this?”

“Yes! Please!” Your chest was heaving in anticipation as you moved your hand from his shaft and held onto his forearms.

It was slow at first. He entered your tight muscle with a small snap and pulled back before pushing in deeper. You could see his muscles straining, his dark tattoos against his tan skin, his hair falling over his forehead, pink lips parted, nostrils flaring. He was enjoying your body. It felt good for him and you could see that.

“Holy fuck…” he grunted as he continued to bury himself deeper inside. He was already shaking like a teenage virgin. Your tight pussy wrapped around him, coated him, opened up for him slowly…

You choked out a garbled moan when he finally bottomed out. It was deep and you were right. Your cervix felt his tip kissing it with each thrust.

He began to roll his hips a little faster as he sat up and pulled your legs over his thighs, lifting your bottom off the mattress so he could fuck into you deeper yet and rub your clit to make you tip over the edge before he did. He knew he was going to come unbelievably fast. You were too pretty and felt too fucking good.

Harry’s hands stayed at your hips to keep you in place over his thighs as he plunged into your wet cunt over and over again.

“Hear that, Y/n? Hear how we sound together?”

You moaned a yes and gasped at how full he felt inside of you. It was noisy. You were absolutely soaked and the syrupy sound of his wide cock dipping into your drippy pussy, parting your walls was dirty. Soppy.

“How’s it feel, Y/n? Tell me what you need.” Harry’s words came out in panted breaths as rolled into you and released one of your hips to manipulate your clit with his fingers causing you to coo loudly.

“Oh! Mr. Styles! It’s so good. So deep, Fuck!”

Your bed creaked under you as he began to work into you even more and push into you deeper. You seemed to enjoy the way his dick poked into your cervix so he’d give you more of that.

“Yeah? I’m so deep in your tummy? Gonna give me your come? Let me feel you fall apart on my cock like this? Hmm?”

The view of his thick shaft, shiny and creamy with you as he plunged into your entrance, your lips gripping him tight as he pulled back and pushed in, was going to be something he’d be fucking his fist to for a long time to come.

“Yes! Please!” Your tits were swaying as he swiveled his cock into you painfully deep, hips pasted to yours, only pushing in deeper and deeper, balls tucked into your bum, slick with the way your arousal had melted down over him as he fucked into you.

Harry gasped and clenched his teeth at the way you squeezed around him tightly.

When he finally pulled back to his tip you both caught your breaths. He was so close to coming and you were on the edge already. Just as he intended.

He gently thumbed at your clit and watched your face contort, small puffs of breath and whiney gasps falling from your lungs.

“Y/n. Can you look at me, sweet girl?”

You peeled your eyes opened and set your pupils onto his. You were already looking absolutely fucked out, in a total daze, and that made him smile.

“Where do you want me to come? Want to know beforehand so I’m not doing anything you’re not okay with. Because I’m gonna come very soon.”

You swallowed and blinked your bleary eyes. Harry’s chest was rising and falling heavily and his skin was flushed.

“Want your come inside of me. Is that okay?”

Harry breathed out a laugh of disbelief and nodded, “More than okay. S’perfect in fact. You’re gonna milk my cock good, aren’t you? Want me to fill your tummy with up nice and full?” Harry dipped in a few inches before backing out to the tip again and you whimpered.

“Yes. I want to be full with you.”

Harry closed his eyes and called on all his strength to not come that very second. Your soft rounded eyes looking at him in that way that told him you needed him while his cock was inside of you was nearly too much. He was obsessed. There was no way he wouldn’t want to do this with you again.

But the moment he had composed himself and gotten his second wind he looked back down at your pretty body lying under him and he began to move into you again, getting deeper and deeper until his pace had you being pushed upward at each thrust. Your tits bounced and your bed creaked. Harry's hips rocking into yours was harsh, his skin smacking into yours, wet slushy sounds.

His thumb circled over you tightly again and you moaned as you grasped his thighs bent under yours.

Your eyes began to flutter as your body lost all control of its motions. Your mouth dropped open and your face twisted up. Harry watched you contort your mouth and the little noises you were making egged him on to pound into you harder as his thumb worked your clit back and forth.

Everything was wet. Harry’s whole lap was drenched in you. You’d dripped down your thighs and over his balls on the tops of his thighs. It was the exact kind of sex he’d been missing for so long. Messy and smelly and hot.

You suddenly gasped and then went quiet as your orgasm began to take over. You clenched and pulsed over Harry with your mouth wide, your entire body trembling.

“Ooh fuck me… Fuck, Y/n… Oh shit…” It was too good. Too decadent. The way your cunt clamped down and spasmed around his heavy cock sent him over the edge.

And just like he said, your pussy milked him for everything he was worth. He pushed into you deeply, groaning your name between curses as his balls tightened and emptied into his long shaft and pushed out the tip, spurts of his warm come flooding your insides as he stilled his hips against yours snugly.

You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he moaned your name. You forced your eyes open to look at him. To watch as he orgasmed inside of you, his come claiming your body and ruining you for anyone else. His head was thrown back and he held your hips possessively as he emptied everything he had into you.

Your brain was fuzzy and your ears rang as he lowered himself down over you and brought his mouth against yours softly.

He was still pulsing the slightest as your mouths moved together lazily. You put your hands into his hair and sighed into the kiss. You hadn’t felt so content in a long time. Maybe ever. He truly did know how to do it right. He said he was going to show you what it was supposed to feel like and he did. Now settling for anything less just didn’t make sense.

When he pushed himself up to look down at you he had a haphazard smile on his face, “How was that?” He knew the answer.

You laughed and grinned, “The best. Better than my vibrator even.”

Harry breathed out a laugh and shook his head, “You gonna let me do that again sometime?”

“Thought you said you and I had work to do and that I can’t go out tonight?”

He furrowed his brow, “Yeah?”

“So, I kind of thought… we’d do that again. Like later. Since it sounded like you were gonna keep me busy all night. Or did you not mean that?”

Harry laughed and you got to see his gorgeous dimples before he pushed his nose against yours, “You want it again tonight? I wasn’t sure you’d be up for it. But we can certainly make a night of it. I do have to leave at like nine so no one wonders where I am.”

You turned your head to look at the clock and then back to Harry, your smile giddy and wide, “Good. I’ve got you for five more hours then.”

“Mmhmm…” he hummed against your mouth and kissed you before looking back down at you again. “But I meant beyond tonight too. I think we could have some fun together.”

You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe the kind of day you’d had. It started with dread when you woke up thinking about how you were going to break up with Randy. And now here you were with Mr. Styles’ cock stuffed inside your pussy, his come starting to leak out onto your comforter slowly as he asked to extend this little affair. How could you say no?

“Yeah. That sounds really good. I think we could have a lot of fun together too.”