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jezebelblues · 2 months ago

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old records on the shelf | h.s

summary: y/n and harry are holed up in a record store due to inclement weather.

cw: unedited - none (?)

word count: approx 2.5k

super short blurb i wrote during lunch break

masterlist

The rain had been relentless all day. the kind of downpour that turns cities into rivers, umbrellas were useless and the sky never shifts from a slate grey gloom. the storm drains even started to clog ever so slightly, and the ground was just one big shallow puddle. Y/n ducked into the record store just in time as a roar of thunder boomed. Her clothes were damp despite her best efforts, drops of rain still clinging to her sweater and hair. The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside, the warm, dimly lit space a stark contrast to the growing chaos outside.

The store was almost vacant, almost. it was a lofted, building, which allowed her eyes to drift up to a man standing on the second floor with his hoodie pulled over his head, looking at different records front to back. There was also a shorter old man who sat at the front desk, flipping through a quaint book after greeting Y/n with a smile. She hadn’t planned on staying long, but the rain had other ideas. The droplets pelted the glass a bit harder, and if it wasn’t the end of summer she’d assume it was sleet. She maneuvered around the dusty aisles, floorboards creaking with each step as her fingertips feathered across the different records sleeves. She had just moved into a studio after years of saving up for a move to New York, and she desperately wanted all her favorite vinyl albums littered about.

Not finding the genre she wanted labeled on the wooden shelves, she ventured up the spiral stairwell to the second floor, hand barely grasping the handrail. Her sneakers squelched against the metal, a sound she’s grown to hate. Gazing around, her eyes met an oddly familiar seafoam green pair. Their glance was fleeting, but she would recognize this man anywhere. Was she a gigantic fan? No, but she enjoyed his music - and it’s hard to not know who Harry Styles was; given his decade long reign in the spotlight. A baggy grey hoodie hung from his frame, stained with raindrops. his hoodie was pulled up over his head, but he wore a baseball cap underneath - most likely an effort to hide his face, maybe? The tattoo on his knee was visible, and his once pristine white vans were speckled with mud.

She had made a sharp right to the shelves beside her, breaking eye contact first. They were both hiding from the downpour, and she didn’t want to make the atmosphere even more unsettling by gawking. After all, he’s just a human. A low rumble of thunder bellowed, the windows fogging up from the heat inside. Y/n strolled through the aisle, wanting to dry off a bit and make a beeline straight out of the shop. She tried her very best to keep her eyes only on the items around her, but she couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at the brunette. He looked as stranded as she felt, pausing now and then to look out the rain streaked-windows before turning back to the shelves. The soft hum of jazz flowing through the speakers buzzes between the walls, a coziness settling in the air.

Another crack of thunder rattled the windows, and the shopkeeper looked up from his book, frowning at the droplets that pelted down harder. After a beat, he bends the corner of a page and closes the book, clearing his throat. He stepped out from behind the counter, craning his neck upward at the two who stood on the second floor. “Sorry, folks.” He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Closin’ up early. Weathers gettin’ worse, radio said subways flooded - complete mess out there. You can wait he for a while if ya like. Ain’t nobody getting anywhere in that storm.” He informed, his accent thick. “Let me know ‘fore I lock the door.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as his words sunk in, nodding at the old man below them. He shot a slow glance back toward the girl on the other side of the room, trying to decipher if it was a smart decision or not. He looked for any inkling of her being a jittery bundle of nerves, a fan that could make being trapped a bit more claustrophobic. He’d like to think he was good at reading people, and when he found a gaze that seemed as uncertain as he was, he felt his shoulders relax. The city was grinding to a halt outside, and there was no escaping the storm outside. Y/n hesitated before crossing the room, standing next to a window that was closer to Harry than she was. She sighed quietly, her breath fogging the glass.

“Well,” Harry broke the silence, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Seems like we’re stuck.”

She turned her head toward him, managing a small smile. “Guess so.”

He shifted on his feet, glancing back down at the pile of records he’d been browsing. A lopsided grin formed his lips. “Could be worse. Least we got good music to keep us company.”

The shop owner muttered something about going to the back and disappeared, leaving Y/n and Harry by themselves. The jazz played on, mingling with the constant drumming of the rain. The dim lights overhead flickered briefly as the wind stared to pick up. “So,” Y/n paused, hoping conversation could distract her from the mess outside. “Looking for anything specific?” She asked as she took a soft step to continue down the aisle, fingers absentmindedly finding their way back to the spine of the albums.

Harry shrugged, following behind her, mirroring her slow pace. “Jus’ browning, really.” He mumbled, watching her fingers. “Thought I could wait out the rain, suppose not.” He let out a breathy chuckle, which earned a small glance from Y/n. “Are you big on vinyl?”

“A little.” She admitted, sneaking a peek of him through the corner of her eye. “I like coming here to clear my head.”

“Yeah?” His grin widened slightly as he leaned against the shelf behind them. “Sorry for takin’ your spot then.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. They gazed over the rows of shelves together, occasionally pulling out an album and showing their favorite artist. Harry shared small anecdotes about certain records that held sentiment. She would do the same, and she felt surprisingly comfortable in his presence despite the strangeness of their situation.

Harry found himself wandering toward a record player on the first floor toward the back, eyeing the old turntable. “Y’mind?” He asked, nodding toward the table as he held up an album she didn’t immediately recognize. Y/n shook her head, curious to what it sounded like. She watched as he carefully pulled the record from its sleeve, placing it on the turntable, his fingers brushing the edge of it with ease. There was a low crackle as the needle hit the grooves, followed by the smooth voice of Otis Redding.

A familiar melody filled the room while Harry leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest as he listened, a smile spread across his lips. “Not bad for a stormy night, eh?”

She laughed, nodding. “Could be worse.” She echoed, repeating his earlier words. The record continued to spin as the mood shifted into something quieter, Harry humming a line here and there. His voice was honey. They stood side by side, an unspoken understanding settling between them as they soaked in the moment.

Their hips would occasionally bump into each other if a beat of the song was repetitive enough, and goofy smiled pasted itself on both their lips each time. It felt easy, like the sun shone in the record store alone. “S’like time slowed down.” Harry mumbles, his voice smooth and quiet - almost harmonizing with the music.

She turned to look at him, eyebrows raising slighting in agreement. She hummed, nodding her head before gently bumping her hip into his again - which earned a smile from Harry. “City won’t let you catch your breath unless it forces you to.”

He laughed under his breath, absentmindedly fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “Y’right. S’like everything moves so fast, but when it stops…” He paused, gesturing around them. “It’s kind of nice.”

Y/n’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. There was something calming about his presence, an easy charm that floated around him like an aura. They were just two strangers, trapped by circumstance.

The shop owner shuffled back in, glancing at the two of them before nodding in approval to the music playing. He didn’t say much - just grunted and went back to his book, leaving them to stay in their bubble a bit longer.

The fourth song on the album stated to fade into its end, and the girl tilted her head toward the records they browsed earlier. “What else have you got?” She asked playfully, her gaze gentle.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Plenty.” He paused, rummaging through the nearby stack, fingers moving swiftly as he flipped through the albums. He chuckled to himself as he pulled out a pink cover, Harry’s back front and center on it as he flipped it over to show her. His smile was contagious as he held up his first album next to his head, simple poking through. “Thoughts?”

She couldn’t help but mirror his smile, recognizing the cover as his own. She feigned a confused look, eyebrows furrowed as she sent him a shrug. “Heard of him.”

He laughed, shaking his head and putting the album back down with the rest. “Looks like a wanker.” He smiled, accent thicker than before. He finally settled on Stevie Knicks, letting the needle settle over it and crackle into a song. The notes were soft, her rasp entrancing. “Dance with me?” His voice resembled cotton candy, an edge of anxiety to it.

She raised her eyebrows, smiling at him. “Do you even know my name?”

His lips press into a flat line as he pulled his hood down, adjusting the ballcap that sat on his curls. His cheeks flushed a shade of pink as he smiled, “Tell me your name.”

“Y/n”

The brunette rolled his sleeves up ever so slightly, stepping aside and extending his hand out to her. “Dance with me, Y/n.” Her name rolled effortlessly off his tongue, and a part of him hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he could say it. Her face scrunches, a mix of confusion and amusement as she places her hand into his much larger one. His movements are slow and calculated, pulling her close but not too close, swaying with the melancholic rhythm. She exhaled, soft and gentle, the tips of her shoes touching Harry’s as she inched closer. He smelt of lavender, and the rain on his hoodie only made the scent of laundry detergent radiate from him. It was quiet, comfortable and Harry swore he hadn’t felt so transfixed on someone so quick before.

“You ever get tired of it?” She thought out loud, leaning her head back a bit to fall into his gaze. It was delicate, and his features fluttered into an expression to urge her to continue. A stubble peppered the top of his lip, a crease in his forehead and a lock of hair dangling from the corner of his cap. He could be cut and molded from marble. “Of the attention, I mean.”

Harry blinked, his movements stalling as he thought about her question. He lowered his hand to her waist - barely. His touch was a whisper, fingertips only grazing the fabric of her sweater, his palm hovering over the curve of her hip. “It can be overwhelming.” He whispered, his breath a cold peppermint. He bit the inside of his lip as his eyes narrowed, taking in every line and angle of her pretty face. “But it’s worth it. ‘specially in-between the spotlight where I can enjoy moments like these.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the measure of his words. She parted her lips to speak, but Harry let out a small giggle, “The calm between the storms.”

She laughed, and Harry could hear her sincerity even though it was a bad joke altogether, but maybe that was the humor she found in it. Her fingers wriggled in his light grasp, brushing her hands up his arms to lazily wrap behind his neck. Goosebumps appeared on his skin, and he internally cursed at whatever God there was for letting the rain ease up. It faded into a drizzle, and the darkened sky started to lighten into a grey. A pang of disappointment hit them both as they realized the storm couldn’t last forever, and their bubble was meant to burst eventually. She slowly pealed herself from him, a sheepish grin on her lips as she looked back outside. For a moment, they stood there, locked in the reality that this was a fleeting moment - an unexpected connection - was about to slip away as easily as the droplets did. “Don’t think we’re stuck anymore.”

Harry nodded, a sigh falling from his lips as he removed the record from the turntable and placed it back into its sleeve, organizing the pile to sit neatly. He could hear the floor creak as she began to move, and his words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. “Do this again with me?”

Her heart skipped a beat, surprised and hopeful. She smiled, turning around to face him. His expression reminded her that of a schoolboy, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?” Her voice held a lightness despite a familiar flutter in her belly.

He chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “If you’ll let me.” A smile spread upon his lips. “Maybe next time we can plan for better weather - though I won’t complain if it rains again.”

She felt a warmth spread through her, pins and needles in the tips of her fingers. “I’d like that.” She nodded, smile matching his.

He nodded toward the shopkeeper as they ambled out the door, holding the door open for the pretty girl behind him. His lip tucked between his teeth, the breeze light and airy as he pulled the hood over his head. “Um-“ He mumbled nervously, reaching his hand into his pocket and unlocking his phone. But Y/n already took one of his hands into hers, palm upward as she delved into her tote with the other hand, pulling out a pen that’s been in there for god knows how long. She scribbles her number onto his palm, ending it with a smiley face.

His hand still tingled, and his eyes crinkled from the smile he couldn’t wipe off. “What if it smudges?” He calls out, Y/n already beginning to walk the direction back to her apartment.

She turns, her grin almost as wide as Harry’s as she continues her trek, but backwards and slower than before. “You’ll know where to find me!”

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #harry styles fan

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dustedmagazine · 1 year ago

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Evan Parker — NYC 1978 (Relative Pitch)

NYC 1978 by Evan Parker

On April 30, 1978, Evan Parker recorded Monoceros, his first album of long-form, solo soprano saxophone music. With unbroken streams of intertwined tone and complex simultaneous explosions of sound, it upended assumptions of what was deemed possible on the instrument, and opened up for Parker a field of possibilities that he’s still harvesting 40-something years later. About five months later, Parker undertook his first solo tour of North America, where it’s unlikely that many of the people who went to hear him had heard Monoceros yet. If the concerts were all like NYC 1978, they must have blown a lot of minds. At the time, no one was playing saxophones like Evan Parker, nor were they making music like he made.

NYC 1978 is taken from a cassette tape of a concert that took place on October 13 of that year at the loft venue, Environ. Aside from shaving off a bit of high end, the recording method in no way interferes with appreciating the performance. “Environ 1” begins with a swirl of discrete notes spinning away from an unbroken column of air; at the time, the only comparison would have been Terry Riley’s Poppy Nogood, only he needed a tape machine to make it happen, and Parker just had his fingers, lungs, and unyielding concentration. The echoes on the tenor showcase, “Environ 4,” smacks you in the face like a newspaper tossed by a delivery person with major league pitching aspirations, and the intricate dance of piercing, high pitches and raw, punctuating barks on “Environ 5” loses none of the complexity experienced by people who were in the room when the music first went down.

Parker would go on to sustain his circular breathing for longer, and to finger his patterns more quickly and with more complexity. But there’s an unrepentant aggression in his attack throughout NYC 1978 captures the just how ornery this music was at the time. It’s no longer sui generis, but it still stands as a formidable statement of how one person with sufficient command of extraordinary gifts can change what is possible.

Bill Meyer

#evan parker #nyc 1978 #relative pitch #bill meyer #albumreview #dusted magazine #jazz #saxophone #new york city #circular breathing #environ #loft jazz

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st4rbwrry · 2 years ago

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LUV THIS SHIT | eren yeager.

‍ ‍ ☆. warnings — 3.1k. fem!reader, eren’s pent up from working out, asmr sexting, submissive reader, impact play [ face smack, spanking ] public arousal, indecent behavior, mating press, f!oral, fingering, profanity, established relationship, lots of making out, unprotected sex, eren’s aggressive, floor sex, riding, creampie, artist!reader, pet names, reader has black features, minors aren't allowed!

‍ merry christmas! ♡

eren starts his day the same every morning. the alarm goes off at six o'clock which is never your favorite thing to hear considering you're not an early bird. usually groaning in your state of sleep and tugging the blankets away from him after he kisses you on your forehead and steps out of bed. you always snuggle on his side before the warmth he created grows cold. proceeds to take a steaming hot shower, tilting his neck back to let the heavy beats of water dampen his long hair. lathers his body with african black soap you picked up from a shop while SONDER plays from his speaker, careful not to blast it too loud to wake you up. it's your off day so he's respecting your wishes to hibernate all day.

he honestly hates leaving you alone in bed. sue him but being your little spoon is the best thing he's ever known. he's never slept so good in his life until he met you. never knew it felt so comfortable being in another persons arms. eren’s next step is to dress for the gym, the only reason he's up this early three times out of the week. a dark gray towel is wrapped low around his slim waist, tatted chest and arms running with water droplets as he wipes the foggy mirror clear to see his reflection. washing his face with a kale, spinach, and green tea cleanser along with brushing his teeth, cleaning his tongue with a scraper and gargling mouthwash. he forgets to do this backwards sometimes considering he has to eat first. the taste lingers and makes his food nasty.

afterwards, he’s moisturizing his face with cerave healing ointment and his pouty cotton candy lips with one of your babylips sticks. lathering his body in vaseline coca butter lotion and slipping on a olive green colored sweatpants with a black cropped metallica muscle tank, wrapping a matching black bandanna over the top of his towel-dried chestnut hair. he spritz this cologne you picked up at the mall when thinking of him called art deco amberwood by clive christian. makes you fall to your knees to suck him off every time now that he thinks about it.

by then it's near seven and he's down in the kitchen with his black airpod max’s over his ears listening to jazz while he blends his smoothie with spinach, kale, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapples. he gulps that down after filling a mason jar completely. and for further consumption, he makes avocado toast topped with chia seeds, himalayan salt and pepper and two strips of bacon each.

before he leaves he makes sure to run back up the stairs to double check on you to see if you needed anything before he left such as picking up a coffee from dunkin or anything from the art supply store. he peaks his head through the door to see you sprawled out, mouth open and snoring peacefully, cuddling his pillow. he smiles to himself, mumbling ‘my pretty girl’ before quietly tiptoeing close to the king-sized bed with satin sheets to give you a kiss or two before heading out, moving your bonnet aside to whisper that he loves you.

he's got his gym bag and his car keys when he leaves, taking the elevator down the parking lot of the loft you two live in, three years now. he finds his car parked directly next to yours. cute. the pretty wolf gray kia k5 besides his onyx lexus rc 300. there's a gym located in the building but he prefers the one your brother owns a few minutes out of the area.

it's around ten o'clock when you fully wake up, missing his presence already and pouting about it before heading to the shower yourself. sitting in a towel for a full hour stuck on tiktok and getting a craving for samyang carbonara noodles and rice cakes. it's really the only thing that made you leave the house today, throwing on a pair of eren’s gray nike shorts you had to roll up to properly sit on your hips, and a black tank, jewelry remaining on your skin everyday from layered necklaces to multiple bracelets.

you're sitting in the starbucks drive thru which has an incredibly long line but you're not minding the wait, craving a pink drink suddenly. the sun was hitting nicely into your car so you decide to take photos to pass a little time, thumb slipping and accidentally opening the voice memos app with only four recordings, one of them fairly new. created about two weeks ago and you vaguely remember that night. it's about an hour and fifteen minutes long

'luv this shit <3’ is what it's titled. not remembering exactly how it went. you and eren only used this app whenever you're having sex, meaning those four audios were strictly nsfw. you bite your lip in curiosity, deciding to press play to hear it, flinching when you hear how loud you were screaming on top of forgetting that your phone is connected to your cars bluetooth. you swallow in panic, turning it off and sitting back in silence, twiddling your fingers, becoming impatient with the line now because you wanted to hear it. it had to be something the two of you made when you were intoxicated. or else you would've remembered it.

you've retrieved your pink drink, and now it was time to park, too impatient to wait and hear this. sipping your drink, you get comfortable, holding your phones speaker to your ear and pressing play yet again. there's music playing in the background, luv this shit by august alsina in specific, now you knew where the title came from. probably eren’s doing. a rush of heat swarms your cheeks and gut as you hear your boyfriend’s voice, deep and stern as he talks to you while skin connects and your moans overshadow the music. the sound of you kissing wetly makes you shift in your seat, feeling his soft lips on yours at the moment. you loved kissing him.

it lasts for about two minutes before eren’s voice becomes louder than yours when he's fucking you hard, your voice muffled by your hand you assume, doing that a lot since you think you're too loud. “let me fuckin’ hear it,” there's his voice again, unconsciously whimpering along with yourself in the audio. eren’s whining with you, the two of you gasping and listening to how wet you were. a loud smack erupts and you're crying his name, the memory slowly coming back. he smacked your face. the jewelry on his wrist prominent when he does it again, this time it's the outside of your thigh.

“rennnnnn! fuh-uuck.”

“i hear you, baby. come on, come on, come on, cum, cum, cum.” with every thrust he gets louder, hissing as your pussy constricts around his dick. “that's it, pretty. yeah.”

you nearly spill your drink over your lap, the cup slowly slipping from your grip after you zoned out, catching it quick and collecting yourself, setting it in the cup holder. you need to leave. actually, you need to send this to him. he has to be done at the gym by now. then again, you're never sure with him. the man could work out all day if he wanted.

being risky, you grin, pulling up his contact and sending him the audio, following with a text that said . . .

NEW MESSAGE

kuromi princess hello kitty baby star ♡

don't we sound pretty? <3

follicles of eren's hair stick to his sweaty forehead, putting it up before he started his workout, going on for about three hours now. RICH FLEX blasts in his headphones. the neckline of his top is doused with sweat, removing the boxing gloves off his hands to sit down and gulp a full bottle of water. checking his phone, he sees your message. lifting his brow at the audio you had sent, reading your response, and clicking it without hesitating. immediately when he hears your desperate pleading and skin smacking, his pupils dilate, clenching his jaw and checking his surroundings. not many people were in this area of the gym.

“fuck me, baby. fuck me, baby. fuck me, babyyy,” eren listens with wide eyes as he hears your pretty moans, skipping through the audio to hear bits and pieces.

“yeah, speak to me like that.”

eren grows shamelessly aroused from what he's hearing, swallowing hard and shifting his dick back in place, breathing heavier. he's mad at you. mad because you know he's in public and he gets easily turned on by anything regarding you. whether it be your scent, your smile, your eyes, or your fucking voice. when you talk, or scream his name. it's all the same. he's triggered by it all. and you know this, so why test him? not to mention the two of you haven't been sexually active because you've been caught up with work and painting and he's been working doubles. the only time you spend together is brief mornings in bed or one day weekends, usually sleeping all day or being lazy.

all he can think of this moment is fucking you rough and raw. gathering his belongings without another thought and sending you a brief text.

pretty boy ren <3

yea, okay.

it's so stressful walking with a hard dick, and eren really can't wait until he gets home to fuck you up. such a dirty girl needing to be put in place. he forgets his headphones have noise cancellation, so when he's speeding home like a dummy, music continues to thrum in his ears, acting like a complete madman. exactly five minutes before he enters the apartment, you're sitting in your usual corner of the loft where you've made your art station. sitting on the ground while incense flows and sza’s new album plays soundly. a canvas laying on the ground where you sat on a cushion, finger painting a collage of the weeknd’s discography since it's the 11th anniversary for echoes of silence. unaware of the message you received.

that is until you hear the familiar sound of keys jangling and in a matter of seconds, the front door flies open, there standing a big, tall, visibly irritated man. your eyes go wide from seeing him, eren kicking off his shoes, heavy feet stomping towards you and you sit up with curiosity, trying your hardest to hide your devious smile. you knew it'd have that effect on him. eren’s hot hand grabs your jaw fervently, clenching his before yanking your face close to his to connect your lips in a heated kiss. smacking his lips roughly over yours, moaning into his mouth, his eyes focused on your face as you close your eyes too comfortably for his liking. as if you're not in trouble for the shit you pulled.

your hands kept to yourself on either side of his wide shoulders, eren dragging you down to lay on your back onto the cushion you previously sat on, slipping off the black panties covering your neglected pussy, weeping, and waiting for him to get home to do exactly this. staring up at him with glee in your eyes, it's the opposite in his. he can't hear a thing you say because of his headphones, not bothering to toss them off because the only thing on his mind is sliding his dick inside of you and getting his nut off.

raising your knees without his help, he's pushing them further up to your chest, folding you still before arching his neck to release globs of spit onto your cunt three times max, each one emitting a ‘puh’ sound. you clench from his dirty act. his big body hovers over yours, heavy dick practically drenched in precum resting on your mound before eren angles his hips to slip into you. he doesn't give you time to brace yourself, gasping as he groans and thrusts his hips fast, your skin clapping and body jerking under him. beautiful green irises switching darker as he stares into your soul, your moans faintly being heard.

“think you fuckin slick, baby?” eren rasps, your mouth agape, his grip on your thighs harsh. “did that shit on purpose just so i can fuck that pretty pussy stupid on my cock, right?”

“y-yess,” he watches you nod drunkenly, your hands digging on your sides into the rug beneath you. every pound into your slick pussy vibrates into your throat, following his rhythm. happy tears brim your eyes.

“s’okay. ‘cause i got something for you.”

his pace hastens, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he drills deep, jackhammering almost, like a needy, inexperienced boy. your cunts squelching loud, hand pressing at his abdomen in attempt to slow him down but he only fucks you harder, air knocking from your lungs. it's so fucking hot the way he's handling you right now, like he's been so deprived of you for so long he couldn't stand it. couldn't even take his clothes fully off, keeping every piece on because he needed you that badly.

“ooh, i'm fucking cumming. ssss, fuck,” eren moans. you squeal as eren takes both your arms and crosses them over your tummy, holding them there while he puts his weight on you and grunts in your face. sweat dampening his bandanna, breath mixing with yours as he cums inside you. coating your walls with thick spurts of white. your knees buckle from the feeling, his lower halve twitching from the rush.

eren licks his lips, stilling his movements to take a breather, knocking back one of the ears to his airpods to hear how desperate you sound, slowly pulling his dick out, still hard.

“eren, i didn't cum,” you whine, squirming with an attitude.

“i think i knew that.”

you put your middle finger up to him for his smart ass tone, eren arching a brow and scooping you up without another word. smiling, you cling to him as he moves towards the couch, deciding to stay seated on the floor, lifting you so you sit on his lap. his cock resting on his stomach where you're able to see toned abs and a dark, neatly trimmed happy trail to match your cute brazilian strip all cause of that slutty, grunge crop top he has on. his back rests against the furniture. you take the initiative to remove these stupid headphones so you could put your hands and mouth around his neck.

“i don’t think you understand how much i thought about fuckin’ you today. you really fuckin’ don’t.” eren lands a heavy hand on your ass causing you to jump and scoot forward from leaning back on his knees. “could barely fucking focus. all because you sent me that shit.”

“and because you miss me,” you whisper, delicately skimming your lips over his, arching into him as he spreads your ass cheeks apart after smoothing over them. spanking you hard on either side until you gasp into his mouth and he could kiss you again.

“sink on it real slow,” eren taps your clit with the tip to say he wants it done now. sucking on your lip, you raise yourself till he's kissing the entrance and gently easing down, indenting crescent moons into his broad shoulders momentarily. dragging your hands to your waist, you rub over your body, hissing and throwing your head back, feeling a storm of euphoria fuel you. eren hums in fascination as you lose yourself in the bond.

“g’na say sorry with your pussy, baby?” eren taunts in a baby-like tone.

“mhmm,” what eren wants, eren gets. and if he wanted you to ride his dick you were going to. getting up on the tips of your toes and rode only on the tip first, eren choking on his spit with brows furrowed and praising you. soon, inching lower to bounce yourself up and down to his liking, being sure to clench your walls a little tighter just to hear him whine. when eren gets really feral he gets really loud. unable to control what his vocal cords let out. he used to think it was embarrassing, but the two of you have shared enough time together to dismiss judgment. he sounds so pretty when he's getting fucked good.

“shit, you keep fuckin’ me like that m’ not gonna last,” ignoring him, you continue to clap your ass down, skin interaction picking back up, eren’s hands on your hips just for leverage. he never needs to guide you. a few squeezes occasionally since he's so sensitive. painfully aroused it makes no sense.

“i can't last long,” you warn, pawing at his chest as you raise your ass and fuck him faster, eren moaning and helping you out by pounding up into you. you fall forward into his arms, yanking you down each time you'd rise back up. smacking your ass just to hear your voice pick up. “eren, fuck baby!”

“unh huh, keep goin’,” eren’s face scrunches up, whining in your ear while keeping one of his tatted arms wrapped around your backside. your thighs begin to burn but you know stopping isn't an option when he sounds that good in your ear. eren gets aggressive and hits into you harder, same time ass you drop down with more force, tugging at his hair and he whimpers your name. “keep that shit up, baby. yeahh.”

it feels so good you start crying, missing this so much. holding onto him for dear life as he somehow moves quicker, slouching in his spot so his neck settles back onto the couch, slipping his right hand under your right thigh and raising his hips to fuck up into you, lifting you like you're one of his weights at the gym. you watch as he mumbles ‘fuck’ with his eyes scrolled back and mouth wide open, jawline sharp, and adam’s apple in his throat prominent. he looked so fucking good right now you just had to kiss his neck. eren hitting that spot so good you can't control yourself from screaming, mouthing at his neck and leaving hickeys. he smells good, hints of musk and that damn cologne you love, feels good, looks even better. then wonders why you act the way you did. he’s made a monster.

“you fuck me so good, ‘ren. love you so much, missed you so much,” at this point you're babbling, saying anything that comes from your brain mindlessly. it's enough to make eren bellow streams of curses before hiking your ass off and nutting over your back, eren releasing a high-pitched gasp as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. vision blurry.

before you complain, eren’s lifting you higher and scoots further down to sit you on his face, hot mouth munching on your soaked cunt with puffy lips. your eyes cross and you scream into the air, gripping the couch as he slides two fingers, middle and pointer, deep into your hole, thrusting while his fat tongue laps at your clit, silver cuban link on his wrist cold on your stomach. he's swallowing your arousal like he's drinking a glass of water, moaning into your pussy and spanking your ass with his unoccupied hand.

“oh my . . . god,” you're breathless as you cum, legs twitching and squealing from the intensity of your orgasm, losing balance and falling forward. eren smirks and smacks your ass one last time before moving from below you, sitting on his knees behind you and pushing your back down to fix your arch, turning your head to face him, fucked out face staring at him like he was crazy for putting his dick back inside you. you already feel so sore.

eren arches his brow. “oh, you thought i was done?”

#eren x black reader #eren yeager x y/n #eren x y/n #eren x you #aot eren yeager #eren yeager x you #aot smut #snk smut #eren smut #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x reader #𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.

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artdcnaldson · 5 months ago

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looove the patrick’s sister au where art is super mean to her but hear me out im having thoughts and behaving in ways

im gonna emoji sign this if i may just in case you’d like to enable me

alt au where patricks sister is just super super mean and unapologetic like patrick. think sarah michelle gellar in cruel intentions kinda. like fully a bitch and she has a craaazy corruption kink with repressed art

like mayyybee patrick mentioned art wanting to save himself for marriage or smth like that to her and her brain goes brrrrrr i need to defile him… maybe everytime arts at their house she’ll like flirt with him unabashedly… suck on lollipops while looking him in the eye… rub her ass against him pretending to reach for things… and her just having so much fun when he gets all red and flustered and hard :(

idk just some thoughts

- 🐚 (if its available)

This made me need to take a walk. Had to crack open a cold Diet Coke to address this.

But yeah :(( art comes to stay with you and Patrick a lot for summers and holidays since, y’know, he can’t exactly stay at his grandmother’s nursing home.

You and Patrick have lived in the pool house forever— pool house is actually a stupid name for it. It’s a guest house, two full bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a whole loft upstairs. It’s obscene how fucking rich you two are.

And he gets so squirmy when he’s around you and Patrick, but even more when it’s just the two of you alone. He’s been staying up in the loft, pads down the stairs after a lazy, midday nap. And it’s just you on the couch, watching a movie. It’s dark, maybe he slept later than he thought he did.

“Where’s Pat?”

You shrug, pat the sofa beside you. He sits, but leaves an entire cushion between the two of you. “I think he’s fucking the neighbor. The one with the cute curly hair.” Art flushes, ducks his head. You smile, showing off pretty teeth. “Aw… I’m sorry, should I have said he’s making love to the neighbor?”

“Shut up,” he mutters. He’s pink to the tips of his ears.

It’s interesting, you think, that he told Patrick he’s saving himself. It’s sweet, very… admirable. But it’s such a fucking waste. He looks so yummy in his flannel pajama pants and grey tank top that shows off his muscles.

“So, you’re a virgin?” You ask, turning to face him. His eyes go wide before his face twists in annoyance. He splutters out weak— what did Pat say— That’s none of your business— you’re so out of line— but you interrupt. “No need to be shy about it, Art. I think it’s… very cute you want to wait until your wedding night. I’m sure you’ll have a really riveting time figuring out where it goes.”

“Shut up.” It’s the second time he’s said it that night. He really needs to work on his comebacks.

“I can give you a hint,” you say with a grin, scooting across the empty cushion until your knees touch. “There are two main holes down there, and it’s the one that gets all slick and wet when she’s turned on.” He clenches his jaw, looks away.

You laugh and sit back, only slightly. “Aren’t you going to thank me for the tip?”

He turns back, eyes narrowed. “You’re not very funny.”

“Was I joking?” You trail a finger up his arm, give him a crooked smile. “Really, Art, it’s sweet. Maybe I should’ve saved my virginity for a nicer boy instead of losing it in the golf cart shed at the country club.”

He stammers. “You— you could always—“ he can’t even meet your gaze, it’s too humiliating. The smug expression you wear pins him in place. “Start now. Promise to not have sex anymore, not until it’s with someone you love. It’s— it’s more special that way.”

You stick out your bottom lip. “You think I deserve special?” You ask softly. He shivers as your fingers trace swirls onto his chest. “That I need candles and rose petals and soft jazz music when someone stuffs me full of their cock?”

It’s too precious. Too good. His cheeks flame and he sits back. He stands suddenly, doesn’t even look at you as he marches back upstairs. You grin and listen to the sound of the shower turning on upstairs.

You wait until you hear the scrape of the shower curtain closing to pad upstairs and sit outside of the door. A smug grin spreads across your lips at the sound of him jerking off.

All whiny, poorly muffled moans, the slick sound of him beating his dick. All, ah! ah! ah! oh, fuck! god— fuck! You can tell when he cums based on how pitchy and whiny he gets, and the way you hear his head knock against the tile.

You fight the urge to let him know you heard, instead you slip back downstairs. When he comes down, you’ve switched the movie, act like you’d never left at all. You can see the guilt in his expression, like he knew he’d done something bad.

God, he’d be so easy.

#🐚 anon #corrupting art au #NEEDTHAT #WANTTHAT #CRAVETHAT

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