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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year ago

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Fitness Trainer

A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)

Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.

TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content

And up... and down, just like that."

The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out.

"One more, you can do one more for me."

"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache.

"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."

He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own.

“Do it with me now,” He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. “Push through it, baby.”

The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.

You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out.

You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you.

You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. You’d crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse.

Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do.

“I hate to say it, but you’re done for today.”

You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath.

Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back.

His body, which should’ve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight ‘TRAINER’ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble.

He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how he’s always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didn’t get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gym’s ‘premium membership’, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi “specialty.”

You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meathead’s face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love.

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.

“Feelin’ sore?” Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. “You went harder than usual today.”

“Yeah,” You let out after a gulp of water. “Definitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe I’ll actually take you up on one of those massages.”

You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoine’s eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin.

“Of course-- definitely, I’d be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldn’t believe.”

Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight.

“Wha- you mean right now? I’m all, sticky.”

“Now’s the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort they’ve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.”

He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadn’t expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders they’re too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades.

“But considering you’ve pushed so hard, I don’t want to see you back here for a couple of days.” Antoine insisted.

“Awe, you want me outa here that badly?” You joked, laying your head forward as Antoine’s fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. “I see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.”

It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing.

Antoine shook your shoulders.

“Don’t say that, now!” He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. “It’s not funny; I hope you don’t see me that way.”

“It’s just a joke,” You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.

“I never understand your jokes.” He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh.

“Woah, hey,” You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers.

“I have to get to your hips, you can’t do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day… well, you see what I mean.”

The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back.

“O-okay.. I guess..”

He’s not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, he’s the trainer, shouldn’t they know best?

He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh.

“Does that feel a little better, Mon cœur? Less pain?” He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks.

You’re awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides.

“Yeah… feels a lot better..”

“You can rest your head on my shoulder, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.

The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more… audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual.

“Just like that...” He mumbled, giving a deep hum.

With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldn’t get enough of.

But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished.

“Uh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really… got all the kinks out.”

You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his “magic fingers” again.

“Of course. And that’s just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.” He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.

Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; he’d never try something with you, his client.

“Yeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.” You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoine’s work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. It’s gonna be hard to bend down for a while.

Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesn’t use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing he’d just drag you back down to the floor if he did.

“Thanks again-- I mean, I know it’s your job but--”

“Don’t thank me; it’s always a treat to have you here, my cherie. I’d train you for free, you know!”

You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, you’d ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasn’t cheap!

Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard part’s over. Too bad you can’t look at Antoine’s pretty face anymore, though.

Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door.

His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. How’d you never notice they didn’t just give these things out?

He’d brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that you’d use it every and anywhere.

Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got.

His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didn’t know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you… it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear.

No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally?

Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower.

Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you.

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san8ny · 8 months ago

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can you pls write nerdy ellie? it can be sfw or nsfw

HOT! HOT!

?: Ellie is alot of things: She’s well articulated, She’s liked around campus, but for the life of her, she cannot get laid. It’s gotten pretty embarrassing, maybe you can help? - NSFW - Excuse me for any spell checks!

!: My mutuals have really yummy fics about nerd!Ellie so please let me know if you’d like any recommendations. - Thank you for your anon, means sm to me baby

You stare at her with an incredulous expression, the sight alone being one of pure unbridled shock upon this new-found discovery.

“Never?”

“Never.”

She reaffirms after you, running a nervous hand through her auburn tresses to ease the silent tension in the air. Ellie Williams, all around “good at fucking anything,” is a virgin. The thought alone was something that poked curiosity and incredulity. You knew she was quite kept to herself, often times busying with books and videogames, but this was something you didn’t expect. I mean, she was with Dina at one point.

You don’t want to make her make her more uncomfortable than the topic is, so you give her some form of comfort; “It’s quite normal, honestly, I don’t even blame you in this society.”

That earns you a laugh and a slight snort from her, throwing her head slightly back. “Yeah?”

You return a chuckle, shrugging, “Yeah, but you’ve atleast kissed before, right?

She immediately quiets down, olive-toned cheeks flushing with a light wash of embarrassment.

Holy fuck.

If you weren’t shocked before, you were gawking now.

“D-don’t look at me like that, man..” She groans, tossing her glasses onto the coffee table as she buries her face in a nearby decorative throw-pillow. “No, no— I don’t mean in a bad way, just surprised.”

“Surprised?” She murmurs softly, staring at the dim dorm lightbulb that hangs above them, “That’s a first. Dina usually calls me forcibly celibate.”

You want to curse yourself at the noise you let out, eyes watering as you slap your mouth with a cupped palm. Ellie side-eyes you with a scoff as she gets up from her seat, “Yeah, Yeah, Alright—“

“I’ll be serious! I promise.” You call out, reaching for her wrist to sit her back down, to which she does.

“Have you ever, like, considered it, though?”

Her interest piques at this turn, reaching for her glasses back, “What? Having sex?”

Well, duh.

Ellie hums, thinking about it for a second, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it..” She trails off, wiping her lenses with the corner of her graphic-tee, before putting them on. “Only to someone I really like.”

“Aw, that’s actually really sweet, I actually had a friend once who—

“Which is why I want you to fuck me.” She bluntly puts, staring at you four-eyed.

. . .

“Come again?” You cock your head out, “You want me to..?”

She inches forward, nodding like a bobblehead, “Yeah! It makes sense. You’re my friend, and I like you, so it’ll work.” You sigh, shaking your head, “Ells, it doesn’t work like that. What if you regret it?”

“So you’d agree to it if I don’t regret it?” She smiles, tone a bit ecstatic as she sees you entertain the idea.

She really was putting you on the spot, huh?

You stare at her for a bit, studying her face. She seemed enthusiastic about getting the opportunity to even lay hands on your soft skin. Saying you were pretty was an understatement, you were the epitome of wet-dreams; She was head over heels pretty much in-love with you, and the idea of even losing such a prize position like her virginity to you symbolized things she could only dream about.

You roll your eyes as you both kneel on her mattress, her fiddling with your bra like it’s the most complicated thing. “This shit is a death machine, holy smokes.”

Holy smokes?

When she finally succeeds, she’s jittery and giggling to herself, scooting back into the pillows to get a good look at your beautiful breasts. “They’re so fucking hot, ohmygod..” Next thing you know, she’s cupping them softly, kneading the fleshy dough in circular motions, gaze fixed on the way your back arches ever so slightly, eyes fluttering. So she is doing something, right?

She leans her head down, giving your perked areolas experimental licks, opting to suckle them when you give her the green. Your hand finds itself buried in her hair, massaging her tender scalp while she works her tongue on your sensitive buds, closing her own eyes at the pure idea she might be making you feel good.

After a while, you pull her off your tits, pushing her down onto the sheets as she looks at you confused. Poor baby doesn’t understand sex is transactional because she’s too busy giving you her all. You smile softly, leaning over her, legs on each side of her torso as you give her a kiss on the lips, the brief ‘smooch’ sound music to her ears as she opens her heavy lidded eyes back again; they’re filled with neediness, a surge of wanting to be touched more.

By the time you’ve readied her for the real thing, littering her body in soft bruising marks, her voice slightly higher pitched with each ‘uhn!’ she lets out, brows scrunched together and lips slightly ajar, coated in a sheen of saliva from how you kiss her with reassurance you’ll take care of her— she’s telling you with pants, no, begging— “P-please, baby? ‘Can’t take it anymore..”

She means her bottoms, fabric cruely soaked and covered in her own arousal from all the attention you’ve been giving her; Ellie feels lightheaded, tears brimming her crinkled eyes when you thumb her through her boxers. However, words cannot explain the feeling that rushes through her when you lean down and lick a fat strip through the cloth, eyes locked on hers. She hiccups a gasp, shuddering as the cold air hits her mound when you pull the elastic band from the side.

“I wanted to eat it through it, but I think you’re a bit impatient for that, so i’ll cut to what you want.” You whisper, warm breath fanning over her sensitive pussy. By the time you dig in, she’s whining at volumes you literally need to reach up her torso and cover her mouth.

“Uhn! Uhn—! F-fuck—?”

What sorcery did you have on her? Genuinely? She can’t believe she’s been withholding herself from such pleasure, your tongue trudging through her gummy folds making her want to die and come back again. She can barely even think straight, letting out muffled wails against your hand, saliva seeping through and rolling down your wrist in dribbles. You’d be disgusted, but the sight alone boosts your ego, you had her whipped.

Was it mentioned she’s already orgasmed before you even went near her cunt? That’s right, she already came once while you two were kissing. You definitely knew she’d atleast finish early, but damn were you surprised when she shook against you, humming against your lips rhythmatically.

“Am I making you feel good, baby? Can you talk f’me?”

She could barely hear you, and here you were, asking damn questions. Nonetheless, she gives you a small huff in response; alluding that she was somewhat conscious.

Once you deliver her to cum, she’s shivering against the sheets, balling her fists up as you rip both a cry, and orgasm out of her. “A-Ahnnnn..?!.”

Rest of the night, you two went at it like animals; Ellie insisting you teach her everything there was to know about sex in a singular sitting— ..fucking? To say you both tired eachother out would be an underemphasis.

You ruined her.

When you both seemingly knock out, well, atleast you, she slowly sits up, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as she gazes around your naked body, you were gonna sleep over..

She seems more excited at the prospect you’ll stay the night than the fact you two have been literally keeping the entire female dormitory quarters up— likely going to be hit with a personal visit by the RA.

Who cares, not Ellie for sure. She’ll happily flaunt the fact she’s (finally) got some, just to show off.

God, was she a geek.

#Ellie Williams #ellie williams x reader #Ellie williams smut #ellie william hcs #The last of us 2 #san8ny #tlou 2

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ireneispunk · 11 months ago

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Duty

Jacaerys Velaryon x female reader smut

After a rough start to your marriage, whispers from the palace cause you and your betrothed to start what you should have done months ago; produce an heir.

w.c: 1487

c.w: SMUT 18+, NO use of Y/N, not exactly enemies but y'all beefing, hate sex (if you squint, but more like dislike sex and its more just sass idfk), mention of pregnancy, breeding kink, afab reader, p in v sex, fingering, overstimulation, pls let me know if i've missed any

a.n: so i recently watched the queen charlotte bridgerton spin off and i absolutely loved it, this is very inspired by charlotte and george's earlier dynamic tee hee.

Four months and 3 days. That is how long it has been since your wedding, and how long you have loathed your husband. The two of you were not exactly close before your betrothal on account of the rapidness of it but the tensions that spread between parts of his family did not help. You both seem to fight every conversation you had thereafter, so it became easier to avoid each other. That was until around 3 months into your betrothal that questions of when you would need your dresses altering had you worried. You were supposed to making heirs but you both exploded whilst in the same room as each other. You’d visited the prince in his separate room and communicated the issue, he was reading by the fire. You played with your fingers in your hands as he eyed the flaw, thinking intently. He placed his book face down on the table as he petted the bench beside him. You hesitated for a moment, before sitting next to him. “Once a week, we will fulfil our, uh, duty to try and produce an heir. Once you are with child we will stop.” You thought for a moment, before nodding. You couldn’t help but feel your heart sink. This was not what you had wished for in your marriage. Jacaerys was a painfully handsome man, dark curls that framed he chiselled features.

“It is the end of the week today, your grace.” You spoke, not fully considering the implications of the statement. But the quicker your belly was full the better.

He turned to you, hesitated for a moment before moving closer to you and pulled you onto his lap. You were surprised by the sudden closeness of someone, let alone your husband. He looked up from beneath you with a glimmer of what he had on your wedding night, without the naïve hope. His hands slid up from your hips to the bust of your dress, he looked into your eyes before giving the bodice of your dress a quick tug down allowing your breast to spill out. You gasped as his hands cupped over your breasts, massaging them before running a thumb over your nipple. You brought your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt a warmth spread over your body. You didn’t dare look him in the eye, keeping your eyes shut or trained on the ceiling. You felt as one hand left your breast and hike up your dress further up your hips. He sighed to himself slightly, at the sight of your exposed cunt. He could not believe his luck the first time he had saw you. You were quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and unfortunately that did not change the more you both disliked each other. If anything, it grew. Seeing you from across the room at formal engagements, gluing to his side when you needed to seem like the happy couple. It made the frustrations between the two of you even more palpable over the past few months, given the lack of relief. You opened your eyes to see his dark eyes looking up at you. He brought his two first fingers up to your lips, “Open.” His soft tone contradicted the demand and look upon his face. His fingers slid into your mouth, gliding across your tongue as you closed your lips around them. Out of sheer lust you grinded your hips against him, needing to feel some release and gaining small jolt at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against his clothed cock. His free hand shot to your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He removed his fingers from your mouth, admiring his spit covered fingers for a moment before they reached between your thighs and lightly grazed across your clit. You jolted, leaning forward to grip the bench behind him.

You could not stop the moan that escaped your mouth as his fingers slowly ran circles across your clit. He smirked as the noises that fell from your lips, knowing how much you couldn’t bare to be around him but fell apart in his arms was a satisfying feeling. “I did not know you were so needy, dear wife.” The honorific felt like a pin prick. Insincere and laced with sarcasm.

Despite the tightening growing in your stomach, you could not let him have the final word as usual. “You hadn’t been paying close enough attention, your grace.” A flash of frustration flashed upon his face as his hand moved to grip your hair and fingers plunged inside of you. A gasp left you as his fingers thrusted deep inside of your cunt, you had gone from strolling towards an orgasm to being thrown at it. The tips of his fingers curled slightly, deliciously massaging that spot inside your pussy that drove you wild. You jaw fell open, eyes going wide at the loss of contact when he removed his fingers from you. You went to protest before seeing his cock in his hands, brows furrowed as he stroked the length.

You couldn’t hold off any longer before you took a hold of his wrists and pushed his hands away to his sides. You took his cock into your hand giving it a few pumps, watching an expression of lust spread across his face. You leaned over slightly, letting a ball of spit leave your lips and watch as it slid down his cock. He hissed, returning his hands to your hips pulling you closer to him. You took the hint, angling his cock towards your pussy, rubbing the tip over your clit for your own pleasure a few times, before lining him up and sliding down slowly, a large groan left his lips as be bottomed out inside of you. You had forgotten just how big his cock was, and just how good it had felt filling you up. You began to raise your hips up and down, moans leaving your lips as you did. You worked at a steady pace but after being accustomed to his hands began to push up and down with the movements of your hips moving you faster. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he pounded into you, no matter how much your stifled your moans, you gave him the satisfaction of them loudly leaving your lips. His hand reached up to yours, removing it from his shoulders and moving your fingers between your legs. You immediately got his instruction, fingers latching onto your clit. You worked tight circles into it as you got filled over and over with Jacaerys’ cock. A familiar tightness returned to your stomach as your head dropped back and numerous illicit words left your lips. Recognising your peak, he pulled you forward by your thighs, almost pressing your bodies against each other as he quickened his pace. Your orgasm cascaded over you, feeling your pussy tighten around Jacaerys’ cock and your body buzz from the overstimulation. You rode out your high atop of him, watching as his eyes screwed shut and his thrusts became sloppier.

You took the opportunity to return your knees to the bench either side of him and bob your hips up and down as fast as you could. His fingers reached the lip of the bench gripping it until his knuckles turned white. “Mmm, my grace,” You moaned out. His eyes shot open, his heart pounding at your remark. “Please fill me with your seed.” You pleaded and moaned, half doing it for a reaction, half because it felt too good. His jaw hung open in shock for a split second before he sputtered a moan from his lips, hips snapping into yours. You felt satisfied as a warmth filled your pussy. Your hips moved slightly, slowly thrusting his cock inside of you still. His hand shot to your hip, mumbling something, before you placed your hand flat across his chest. You bobbed a few more times on his cock, being sure to be as full as possible with his cum. You smirked to yourself seeing his head throne back, lip quivering, veins prominent in his hands gripping your waist, sweaty curls sticking to his neck. You slowly raised yourself off of his cock, standing to your feet and trying to mask your wobbliness as adjusting your dress.

You stole a glance his way, admiring his beauty before he spoke and ruined it. He panted through his mouth, arms outstretched over the sides of the bench. You smirked to yourself, admiring how he too had crumbled for you. The opening of his doorhandle caused him to call your name from behind you. You glanced at him and smiled. “Goodnight your grace, see you in seven eves’.” He opened his mouth to response, but you had already shut the door behind you. You hoped it would be sooner before he fucked you again.

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johnbrand · 4 months ago

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Thrift Haul

“Hey babe.” I grandly dropped the bags of my thrift haul onto my bed. “I got you something.”

Jace groaned, still in his pajamas. The plain white tee and sweatshorts were a favorite of the late sleeper. “I told you to stop getting me stuff.”

“But why?” I flashed him with my signature puppy-dog eyes, feigning innocence. “Is it so wrong to treat my lover every now and then?”

“Every now and then, no.” Jace took a seat beside me, his heft weighing the mattress down in his direction. “But once or twice a week? That’s too much.”

“Maybe you have a point, but you need these!” With glee, I pulled out a pair of shoes from one of my bags. “They were only $5!”

Jace took the gift curiously. “You found Vans for that cheap?”

“Well I did thrift them,” I shrugged. “But honestly they don’t look that bad. A little worn-in but exterior-wise I’d say they’re almost brand new.”

Jace lifted the tongue of one of the shoes. “They’re a little too big for me.”

“What do you typically wear?”

“My shoe size is 10.5, but 11 in Vans,” Jace frowned. “These are Size 13.”

“You’ll grow into them,” I impishly replied, knowing we were both well past puberty. “But you seriously needed new shoes. I know it was just yesterday but I don't think I'll ever forget watching your Converse get ripped to shreds in the laundry machine.”

It had been a strange predicament no one could have ever predicted. Jace and I had stood there staring in confusion as the laundry machine practically fell apart in the last cycle, its interior suddenly grating against itself in a mess of metal, water, suds, and the sole objects inside the machine. Jace had been lucky he had only been washing his shoes.

“I think I found out why they were only five dollars,” Jace grimaced. “They reek of teenage boy.”

“Just try them on, you dunce.” I had already grabbed a pair of gray socks from his dresser, chucking the wad at him. I then drew closer and led his hand to the imprint of my hard member “I'm going to the bathroom. Maybe if you do as I ask, I’ll bestow upon you another gift.”

I caught Jace’s smile before strolling off to the bathroom. I had known the shoes were a little big–truthfully not that much larger–but I was desperate to help Jace out. For a gay man, he had always had a rather heterosexual style. Sure it was admittedly plain, but who cared? I just wanted to make my boyfriend happy, and to make sure he had shoes. If anything, I knew the Vans would work until we got him a decent pair that would fit.

“So?” The question was already leaving my mouth before I was back in the bedroom. “How do they feel?”

“Honestly, not bad.”

“Really?” I reappeared back in the doorway, finding Jace propped up on the bed. Laying opposite of how the mattress was intended, my eyes found the two shoes propped up on the head of the bed frame.

Jace nodded, “Yeah, the flat soles are fairly comfortable. And surprisingly, they fit perfectly.”

“Really?” The surprise in my voice was evident. But with my own eyes, I could see Jace’s toes wiggling inside the toe box. For being a couple of sizes larger, I had not expected the Vans to so perfectly fit.

“They’re super grippy too,” Jace commented. “And they look sICk.”

The voice crack echoed like an alarm throughout my bedroom. I opened my mouth to comment on it, but instead found myself silenced, observing something more troubling. Jace’s pajamas were rapidly rematerializing. His shirt suddenly sprouted buttons before splitting open in the middle, exposing his hairy paunch, and his sweatshorts tightened into a more restricting, trendy pair of denim counterparts.

“Jace…” I started slowly. “Why don’t you take those shoes off?”

Jace made a face, “Why dUDe? I LIKe them a lot.” Jace’s voice was now fixed to a higher register. Its tenor had a more lively, immature tonality. I could do nothing as the new vitality of his voice began to reflect upon his body. Jace’s body quickly thinned out, becoming youthful once more with tight abs, a softer face, and an overall hairless figure.

“Are you sure you like them?” I pleaded, watching Jace’s hair fluff out into a popular layered fringe.

“The boys are going to love these, I’ll fit in perfectly.” Jace affirmed, a renewed focus in pack mentality skewing his desires. “Becca told me you were great, but I didn’t think you’d come in clutch like this, man.”

“Becca?" I stumbled along. "As in my sister?” A second reality began to present itself to me. Jace was no longer my boyfriend of over a year, having met as juniors in college. Now he was my younger sister’s boyfriend of over a year, the two having met as juniors in high school. Before I had a chance to truly reflect on this change, I heard the front door open and close in the distance.

“That’s probably my babe, isn’t it?” the new 18-year-old asked, pointing in the direction of the noise. “I better go catch her dude. Thanks again for the sweet kicks!”

The spry young athlete jumped off my bed and rushed out of the room, a mixed odor of teenage musk and metallic body spray wafting after him. I was left standing there, stunned and wondering what to do with the rest of my thrift haul.

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #age regression tf #dumbification #unintended results

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spicynova · 2 months ago

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nerdy!soobin would definitely put you in this predicament :)

pairing: college nerd!soobin x college reader

cws: 1.7k words, mostly fluff, study sessions with soobin!, slightly suggestive towards the middle & the end lol, soobin calls reader pet names ( lovey, love, baby, pretty girl ), he’s kinda strict w/ reader ( only cause he wants you to do well ).

a/n: heavily inspired by soobin’s 2024 dazed korea photoshoot (specifically the photo above) :)

… ꨄ

you were just munching on some of the chocolate covered pretzels you found in the junk food stash of the kitchen cabinet when you stopped altogether in your tracks once you saw your boyfriend.

you didn’t even realize when he got home since you were busy going through some study material and annotating notes for finals week, heavily engrossed on nothing but the thought of passing these last exams with flying colors.

maybe that’s the reason why you weren’t aware of his presence or the fact that he didn’t make it known. you know he could do this because he’s done it before, not wanting to interrupt your intense focus on studying.

because he knows the minute you know of his presence, you would want a 30 minute break that ends up being however long your night was until you both fall asleep into the next day.

you took a quick snack break but you didn’t think you would see him at all. has time really passed that quick?

upon seeing you as well, his eyes peel away from the tv screen to your face and immediately his lips widen into a soft smile.

“hey, pretty girl.” he mumbles loud enough to reach you from across the living room. “didn’t wanna interrupt your scholar activities.”

and after scanning his entire frame in a doubt take, you can say for once that you’re truly happy he decided to do that.

he would’ve definitely distracted you with this look he got going on and you might even combust because of the nonchalant vibe of his current position.

he looks good. great even.

the kind of good that your brain kinda of short circuits everytime you realize his existence.

there he laid in all his glory;

sprawled over your couch with a huge, dark blue university hoodie that looks great enough to steal and a white tee bunched up underneath, arms crossed over his stomach and hood over his fluffy black locks, comfortably tucked right underneath his jawline. he wore his usual straight khaki cargo pants, legs spread wide apart with one foot hanging off the edge of the couch.

what you couldn’t rip your eyes away from was his exposed abdomen, slightly revealed underneath the shirt and hoodie. it must’ve rode upwards from any movement before, but now you’re just ogling at how his features were accentuated perfectly by just something this natural yet particular.

something about your silence and straight stare made him move a bit and now you’re realizing the small grin mixing in with his smile, snapping yourself out from your thoughts by rapidly blinking your rounded eyes— as if that was going to do anything.

“hi, baby,” you spoke softly and slightly muffled with the pretzel in your mouth, trying so hard to keep your voice neutral as you pad closer towards him on the couch. his arms stood crossed over his chest as his eyes racked over your entire frame once you got closer, uncrossing only when you reached a distance enough for him to wrap a hand around your midriff.

his palm is searing hot against your bare skin- probably from being tucked into his body heat for long or probably because your overheating self in general.

“i’m almost done,” you murmur, feeling him rub the side of your waist in a gentle manner, something he does to soothe or comfort as if it was his first instinct. it’s your favorite combo; the gentle touches and his round eyes peering up at you through his messy bangs. “just taking a snack break..”

“yeah?” his low voice was just as soft as he looked, just as comforting yet heavy as his gaze. there’s something there in his dark irises, something twinkling as his long fingers curl around the dip of your waist. “and how’s that going for you, hm?”

he adjusts his head higher on the crook of the back cushion and arm rest to face you directly, waiting for his answer with a soft smile.

he must know what he’s doing to you.

the natural lighting that pours into your house and surrounds your boyfriend in this beautiful glow was definitely sent by the glowing gods exactly for him; shaping his chiseled jawline and facial features perfectly by shadowing his harsh lines and highlighting his soft plumped edges.

“uhmm…” you quickly seat yourself, which happened to be the space between his waist and the edge of the cushion, legs curling and tucking your knees into his body as he rests his arm over your pressed thighs underneath his armpit. “it’s going okay. i just have to study the muscles chapter for anatomy and then i should be done for today..”

you nod as you bite into another piece of the pretzel — to keep yourself from not losing it completely as you meet his gaze. the way he actually listens, paying full attention and even nodding softly after each sentence..

“oh? sounds like you’ve gotten far,” he hums. “i’m very proud of you, lovey.” his hand runs down the side of your upper thigh out of comfort and affection, your other hand falling on top of his.

he always has to be touching you somehow. to show his love language in some way.

“mhmm, thank you, soobie.” you murmur with a pause, before you offer him a pretzel too. he nods and opens his pouty lips for you to feed it to him, letting his tongue engulf the treat before he closed his mouth.

“mmnn, they’re good..” he spoke in between chews, shifting to rest his other arm behind his head. the movement makes his shirt and hoodie tug up higher and you might just be going more insane.

He kept his eyes on you the entire time, observing your movements and mannerisms that began to slacken. He assessed how you snuggled closer to the couch to prevent yourself from falling off.

or maybe cause he knows you’re starting to fall prey to your procrastination and wanting more of his warmth like always. this is how it always goes.

at least that’s what he thinks; he doesn’t know that you’re busy shifting and squirming closer because of your desire to quell the familiar warmth that rises from deep within your body upon seeing him.

this natural, this casual, all for you and waiting for you.

you stay in silence, letting your eyes trail over his outfit, admiring his beauty.

“baby,” his tone suggests that he knows what you’re doing, set as a gentle warning as his hand reaches over the slightest to pat your rounded butt. “cmon, go do your last thirty minutes and then we can cuddle. promise.”

“but-“ you already begin to whine in defense and in attempt on having him give in. nerdy soobin never lets you miss any studying because he knows how important it is.

“go. it’s not like i’m going anywhere,” he drawls out in such a lazy tone, folded arm behind his head shifting as he gets more comfortable on the couch. “i’ll be right here when you come back.”

something in you wants to just tell him how you truly feel, why you’ve been ogling him for so long but another thing lets you know that he knows why as well. the tiny grin smile on his lips, the narrowed look on his face, the slightly raised eyebrows — it all gives off that drowsy look he’s portraying, but with glint of mischief.

“soobie,” a soft whine falls from your pout, hand reaching up to tug on his hoodie strings and fingers twirling the material. “i’m tired..” you tried, you really did.

he knew you were tired; you must’ve started since early because of how you look. you didn’t even try slipping off your bedtime clothes before you got to work, his smile widening as he took the beauty in front of him.

“i know baby, but another 30 minutes wouldn’t hurt after studying all evening.” he supplies, still patting your butt lightly. “c’mon, think of me as your good reward for being a great scholar, yeah?”

“but what if i want my good reward now?” it might be a bit cheesy and even soobin knows it, his bunny nose scrunching in slight digust. once you push and shove him, his grimace turns into a bright smile as he giggles, holding your hands away from hitting him. “soobin…”

“noooo,” he drawls out in a rasp, his fluffy hair falling over his eyes as he shakes you from his hold on your hands. “come back after your thirty, you thirsty animal.”

okay, so he did know.

“but i only want cuddles-“

“mhm, yeah. you don’t think i can tell the differences of what faces means what already?” he supplies, twisting his neck to eye you once again. he’s so sassy.

there’s no point in denying it either.

“okay, but you expected me to act this way so i don’t wanna hear it..” you huff, rolling your eyes as your lower lip curls further down once he pulled you closer to lean over his stomach. “you knew what you were doing putting this on.”

“what, my regular clothes?” he scoffs back in an incredulous tone, hands letting go of yours to wrap around your body and pull you closer. “you shouldn’t be talking?”

now it’s your turn to squint your eyes at him, highly confused about his comment and he sees this, but doesn’t add on. instead, he pulls away abruptly and pushes you into a standing position despite your loud whines.

“go, i won’t say it again,” he softly reprimands, chuckling at the way you slouch your posture and turning you away from him. “i’ll be waiting here for you, like a good boy..”

he gives your butt one last pat before you’re huffing. he hums, snacking on the last pretzel you gave him and watching you trudge back.

“i might give you more than just cuddles if you study for an hour..” he finally calls out, and you’re immediately running back to your room to do exactly that.

curse him. you can hear him laughing at the sound of you running.

“have fun!!”

————- ꨄ

a/n: there’s a part 2 to this post … lmk if you want me to post it :) tehhehehhehhhhhh

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liebgirl · 2 years ago

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to depart from my usual annoyance when people reblog my posts that i intended for the small audience of mutuals and followers who know my lore, i actually love that people will occasionally put this one in my notes <3 i love penelope so much it makes me so happy when people watch penelope…. i love how most of you reblogging this one don’t even know how half this post connects to my lore it just spoke to you anyway as a fellow penelope enjoyer :)

the way he first meets her and can’t see her and has to talk to her through a one way mirror so he’s really just looking at himself as she talks to him with kindness. like again. what if i loved you so much it forced you to see the beauty in yourself. what if we weren’t some predestined love story but just two people who met by chance and connected and stayed and had a profound influence on the other’s life and self to the point where we literally grew into better people together like a sunflower and the vine of a morning glory coiled around it. what if there was no me without you anymore because you changed everything. WHAT IF I LOVED YOU SO MUCH IT FORCED YOU TO SEE THE BEAUTY IN YOURSELF. i love you movie <3

#i said the sunflower thing because at the time last summer i had sunflowers with morning glory vines wrapping around them…#i half quoted once upon a time in there at one point #‘what if i loved you so much it forced you to see the beauty in yourself’ IS a sentence i made up but i do say it as if it’s a quote #and that’s because in truth it IS a quote. from my june 2022 letterboxd review for call me by your name. unfortunately #beth.txt #also in truth i wrote and drafted this whole reblog last night and now today tee just watched penelope too….. the tumblr mutual hive mind…

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1800titz · 1 year ago

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HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip.

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying.

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar.

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss.

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away.

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock.

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows.

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way.

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental.

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that...

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks.

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck.

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does.

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter.

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi.

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her.

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.”

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her.

“Easy.”

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?”

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders.

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement.

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet.

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again.

“Hey, you.”

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?”

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly.

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over.

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair.

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry.

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?”

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug.

That’s dangerous.

She’s glad he isn’t.

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.”

Her breath stutters.

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?”

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear.

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.”

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.”

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work.

“Would you like that?”

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently.

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.”

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs.

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch.

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased.

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest.

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?”

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.”

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth.

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon.

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more.

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled.

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…”

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?”

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign.

It’s not.

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters.

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks.

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though.

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress.

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.”

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head.

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists.

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?”

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.”

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.”

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.”

The pointed little end grazes over his balls.

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.”

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that.

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her.

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first.

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.”

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth.

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?”

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.”

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene.

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face.

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.”

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds.

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans.

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.”

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.”

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.”

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach.

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway.

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.”

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that?

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile.

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back.

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.”

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter.

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock.

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?”

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat.

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?”

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back.

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull.

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath.

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts.

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence.

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.”

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before.

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends.

Just friends that fuck.

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

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moviestarmartini · 1 year ago

Text

hey lil mama - jude bellingham x reader

el tiempo puede pasar / te perseguirá mi nombre / yo siempre seré tu hombre.

summary: fwb!jude calls you up in the middle of the night, insistent he needs to come over.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: lowk an undefined situationship, nsfw (18+), soft dom!jude, praise, a tiny bit of degradation, p in v, unprotected sex (DON'T!!!!), creampie, two very needy idiots, lowk a happy ending.

A/N: took this lil blurb from my lovely @judesecret (thank u sm prettyy !!) and turned it into this train wreck of neediness hehehe enjoy y'all

now playing... hey lil mama by eladio carrión, rauw alejandro

“Hello?”

Your phone had almost fallen off your nightstand with the incessant buzzing. You ignored for a certain time, as you did with your first alarms. You only rolled around and reached out to answer it when the idea of someone calling you for an emergency appeared in your mind, deciding to not take any chances.

“Baby…” You perked up at Jude’s breathy; whiny, even. You could notice he was agitated just from the way his exhales saturated the microphone.

“Jude? Is something wrong?” You asked with a yawn following close after. Your voice showed disinterest, but you were surprised to hear from him; you hadn’t done so in a while. At least not directly, his name, voice, presence… the ghost of him followed you everywhere. The silence seemed to lull you back to sleep, his labored breathing miles away in your hazy mind.

“I just need you, darling.” He finally breathed out. “So bad.” It wasn't usual to hear Jude in such a desperate state. If you weren’t half asleep, you would’ve jumped eagerly onto teasing him, enjoying the way his cocky attitude was knocked down a peg.

“Jude it’s…” You parted your phone away from your ear, the screen lighting up. Your eyes squinted to get used to the sudden stream of light, making out the numbers to be “Four AM. But we can FaceTime, alright?” You stirred a little, but the will to make yourself look presentable was lacking.

“No.” He quickly stood his ground, and you could hear movement on the other line. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I know where the emergency key is hidden.”

Then he hung up.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, believing firmly he was probably messing with you. Starting with the troubles and tribulations of your relationships, once built upon pure infatuation, now just consisting of jealousy and sex. He also had training in the wee hours of the morning, the risk too great to be taken.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d woken up from a wet dream, blushing like a prepubescent boy. The desire for your body watered his mouth as he rushed to pack a duffel bag with his clothes for training in less than a few hours. With a shrug, your arm outstretched to place the phone back on the nightstand and chase back the few minutes of sleep that were slipping through your fingers.

But at exactly four-thirty AM, you could hear a key jingling and twisting around the lock in the peculiar way that the doorknob to your place required in order to unlock successfully. You only raised your head at the noise, the door closing was followed by a thud and featherlight steps.

“I thought you were bluffing.” You tutted at the figure standing by your doorframe, Jude slowly making himself welcome in the room. Without saying much, he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket before sneaking under the duvet with you. You’d always found it funny, that such a tall, muscular man like him laid in between flowery bed sheets, frilled pink duvet, and stuffed animals.

“Never.” He finally responded, a strong arm wrapped around you as he cuddled up from behind, his lips planting a kiss on your shoulder. You snuggled back against him, goosebumps blossoming with the way he toyed with the hem of the large tee.

It was his shirt.

“Not when I knew you were laying like this in bed.” He hid his face in the crook of your neck. Feeling your heart thumping against your chest, the deafening sound filling up your ears. “I know you wear those skimpy panties because you think no one will see them. Do you know how much I torture myself with that information?” His voice was low, and raspy because of the slumber he must have awoken from at some point before the call.

“You live in my mind rent-free, princess.” He pressed a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand inviting itself under the top. “I missed you so much.” His fingers traveled your torso painfully slow, the same way he displayed kisses down the length of your neck.

You didn’t reply for what seemed an eternity. You thought about it profusely; you could be snappy, ask why the sudden urge when he hadn’t been giving you the time of day for almost two months now. But you didn’t have the energy to argue, instead finding comfort in the way he caressed you.

“You should’ve called earlier.” You breathed out, ignoring the way your skin prickled, and only nestled further in his arms with the pretense of getting comfortable. The groan that left his lips echoed in the cold air.

It was quick, the way he swiftly shifted his weight and placed you under him. Startled, your chest heaved against him, lips parted in surprise.

“Because you’re always available for me, right?” Jude cooed, his hand gently reaching and squeezing your cheeks, before stroking your cheekbone. You felt small under his gaze, identifying a certain mocking tone in his voice. “My sweet girl…” His knees pried your legs open as his torso found its place between them, finally closing the gap between your lips. “I knew he couldn’t please you like I do.”

Your eyes widened significantly, eliciting a small laugh out of him. He’d found himself enjoying the taunting, letting his hand caress your left thigh. It was enough distraction on the painful hard-on he’d had for around half an hour now. “You think I don’t keep tabs on you, lil mama?” He reached to flick on your bedside lamp. It became a habit; your expressions only tipped him over the edge further and motivated him to do the most to make you cum. Under the warm light, Jude noticed you were still visibly tired, but you were as gorgeous as any other day you applied makeup and had your hair done.

Leaning closer, his lips brushed yours, and he’d even pulled back when you tried to close the gap. He wanted to get you riled up, the same way you’d make him feel when his sources told him you were attempting something with some random guy. The way you huffed, hands reaching to pull him in, made Jude know it wasn’t going to take long to reach his first checkpoint of the night.

“Jude…” You complained, all those weeks away from him had started to weigh in. “I was jealous, okay? He could never make me feel like you do.” It was the little things; things Jude learned with time, with touch and experimenting. The hours you’d spent locked in a bedroom with one another had him learning the tips and tricks that ruined everyone else for you.

The desperation made his chest swell, your admission dissipated any of the pent-up jealousy, the need taking over every inch of his soul as his lips crashed into yours. An involuntary moan left your mouth, mixing with the heavy breaths, getting lost in the frenzied sync your lips took. You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

Goosebumps formed at the trail his hand left down your leg, hand edging dangerously close to your warm core. You shivered under him at the ghost of his fingers over the thin layer of cloth, fingertips grazing the damp area lightly. You tried leaning in closer to the touch, trying to get some— if any— tangible pleasure. But Jude just smirked between sloppy kisses.

In a swift movement, he tugged the light fabric aside, with such strength you could hear some seams breaking. “Damn, lil mama,” Jude breathed out, his index finger collecting a good amount of slick. He placed it in his mouth, humming at the taste. You were still wondering if this was a dream, if you were actually asleep and would wake up with your alarm in a few minutes.

“You still get dripping wet from just kissing me.” It sounded more like praise than mockery, and you could tell he was proud… of himself. It riled you up, enough to lower your hand and cup his bulge with a smirk. “I could say the same.”

There was that defiance once more, but Jude seemed to be having none of that as he took your lips, hostage, in his again. You almost yelped, but once his hand slid downwards, you helped in undoing his pants. The same sentiment of need had spread over to you, tugging down your panties, both struggling to keep your lips in touch.

The desire was suffocating, Jude was unable to keep his hands off your body, pulling the shirt upwards but with no intention of removing it fully, too desperate to go through the whole process of getting bare and turned on by the fact you were wearing his memorabilia.

“C’mon mama, help me out here,” He panted, lining himself to your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his hips to give him a better angle, almost melting into the mattress with each inch that filled you up to the brim. “Look at me,” Jude complained, his voice coarse as he pushed you back against the bed, knowing you were inevitably going to hide your face in the crook of his neck once he moved his hips.

Jude watched intently the way your face contorted with every slow thrust he gave you; the parted lips, eyes struggling to stay focused on him, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Jude praised with his whole chest, cupping your cheeks with one hand and giving you yet another ferocious kiss.

Your moans found their place at the back of your throat, practically choking you as he slammed into you, tongues intertwining. It was bizarre; the groans and the peculiar sound of skin clashing mixed with the soft tweet of birds outside as the sunrays overshadowed the hard work the nightstand lamp was doing by lighting up the whole room. The world seemed to move around you, but time stood still every time he hit that particular spot, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” Jude managed to groan in your ear, your flustered face hidden in the crook of his neck. “I’ll always be your man.” The hand resting on your hip tightened its grip, and the way you arched your back to respond to the touch only sent him more shivers down his spine.

“Jude,” You whined and moaned, almost like a plea. He only could smile gently and caress you, just before manhandling you into laying on your stomach, pulling your hips back to give him that perfect angle.

“That’s it— ohh, you fucking slut, arch your back,” He muttered, admiring his last name and number 5 on the tee before slamming back inside you. He subsequently took off his shirt so nothing could obstruct the recoil of your ass every time his lower abdomen came in contact with it.

“I-I’m gonna cum, baby,” You whined against the pillow, his hands digging into the doughy skin of your hips as he fucked you right into the mattress with enough force to make the bed creak even louder than it did before.

“You’ve been amazing for me, do it,” And as if his praise wasn’t approval enough, he leaned down, his hand across your abdomen and downwards to press two fingers against your throbbing clit, drawing circles around the numb.

That was it. The thing he knew how to do best: send you shivering and chanting his name for your neighbors to hear. He found it perfect also, as you squeezed his cock deliciously, making the rhythm of his hips sputter before he filled your pussy up to the brim.

Jude collapsed on top of you, feeling a big amount of melatonin rush back into his system. “I missed you too.” You muttered from under him, replying to what he said seemingly hours ago.

“Hm, yeah?” He rolled off to your side, pulling his sweats up before drawing you to his chest straight away. “We must do this more often, then.” He peered over your shoulder to check the time, turning off the lamp once again. “Great. We’ve got one hour left.”

“You’re not leaving?” You tilted your head up. He never lacked in the aftercare department, but left as soon as it was prudent.

“Nu-uh.” Jude yawned, his grip around you tightening. “Let’s snuggle up. And have a lunch date later.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead, brushing the lightly sweaty strands back.

You nodded, an arm across his chest. Now the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat combined with his hand massaging your scalp lulled you to sleep, not the tears you’d spilled because of him.

You were so glad you picked up the phone.

#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #tbh not using the jude tag by itself since i don’t want to clog it w more fics #football smut #football fic #𓈒ㅤׂ 𓇼✽ — writing !

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