just me and you

jules : she/her : on hiatus (?)

[mydearesthrry]

harry styles masterlist ❥ mydearesthrry

hi bffs!! welcome to my harry styles masterlist!my requests and asks are always open unless stated otherwise, so feel free to send in anything here!

if you do choose to request something please do keep in mind the normal restrictions, and if u want something specific feel free to specify! all my work has been written from july 23’-present!!

**i do not condone any reposting of my work!!** if any links r broken shoot me a message or an ask and ill fix it asap!!

please enjoy my work, i love u and thank u thank u thank u sm for supporting me <3

—————

❥ - denotes fluff

✮ - denotes angst

✿ - denotes smut

✧ - reader favorites (over 600+ notes)

—————

harry styles <3

— oneshots —

trinkets on tour ❥✧

↬ in which you collect things from all of the tour stops, and harry loves you. (1.3k words)

harry’s house home ❥✮✧

↬ you miss harry, and he misses you even more. (2.1k) [1k+ notes]

obvious ❥✧

↬ when harry just can’t understand what you’re talking about, and he’s also your husband? (1.1k)

behind the scenes: daylight ❥

↬ a first date, a circus, and a horse named honey. (2.2k)

a compilation of ynrry on stage ❥

↬ y/n and harry are both in the band one direction, and although they aren’t allowed to publicize their relationship, their love shines through on stage in the tiniest moments. (1.2k)

sweet nothing ❥✧

↬ a very sleepy harry in an ice bath. (1.6k) [1k+, personal fave!]

love in secret ❥✧

↬ 5 times when y/n and harry just understood each other. (5.9k, check cw!) [1.5k+, author and reader favorite!!!]

a mutual understanding ✿

↬ y/n just cant stand harry, and he loves a chase. (2.6k, check warnings!)

hayday, braids, and chocolate ❥✧

↬ a lazy sunday at home with harry. (1.1k)

right back home to you ❥✮

↬ y/n trying to be cool about it (and failing)! (4.8k, check warnings)

— blurbs (<900) —

spill or fill your guts ❥✧

cloud watching ❥

sweetener (the zane lowe interview) part 1 ❥

the end ❥✧

forever ❥✧

honeyed bliss ❥✧

debriefing ❥✧

dynamic ❥

baby ❥✧

book (lovers)

— concepts —

new!gf Y/N seeing the ‘olivia’ tat for the first time <900

new!gf Y/N getting jealous at a party with fbh >1k

body shots with fbh <900

[sugurugetos]

HOUSE TOUR Sabrina Carpenter, 2026

[barnesdreamcatcher]

I just want you

clark kent x f!reader

summary: you’re only in the early stages of your relationship with clark, but during your first sleepover, clark comes to a conclusion: you’re the one he wants. for life.  based on this request

cw: tooth-rotting fluff

wc: 900ish

a/n: i’m feeling romantic today. maybe it’s because valentine’s day coming up. sorry that i've been so unproductive, i feel like I've been studying without a break for the last few weeks so this was a nice distraction. i will be writing so much more in the next two months cause it's my uni break

now playing: Wi$h Li$t – Taylor Swift (Acoustic Version)

The bed smells like you. 

Clark can imagine spending the rest of his life in these exact covers, enveloped in your scent. His fingers run over the plush of the blanket, and he pictures you in it the night before. 

Your skin freshly moisturized, every curve and line of your body sunken into the mattress. Your hair splayed out against the very pillow he was resting his head on right now. 

His hand brushes against the corner of the nightstand, then reaches for the book you’ve left there. He never reads these days anymore because he’s busy saving the city or stuck at work. In between your sheets, he is finally able to rest—he could close his eyes if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t.

The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar, allowing him glimpses of your nightly routine. Clark watches as you wash your face, following the gentle movements of your fingers across your skin and the way you apply your products with such delicateness. It had been your gentle hands that led him right into your orbit. Like a ship steering towards a lighthouse, lost in the storm of his demanding life, into the comfort of your presence. 

He knows he’s staring at you like a lost puppy. There’s proof in every picture taken of the two of you: his eyes glued to you, body turned inwards, one hand on your waist. 

Clark almost feels a little embarrassed about being so clingy. He wonders if it’s too much, too soon. After all, this is still new and fresh. Delicate.

It’s the first time he’s ever slept over at your place, and at the beginning, he felt out of place. Too big to sit on your sofa, too large to move through your kitchen.  Your home mirrored you. Every corner had your essence embedded. The colors of the walls, the rugs, and the books you displayed throughout your house—even the way you stacked your shoes. He had even held his breath when he first walked in so that he wouldn’t accidentally corrupt everything you owned with his awkward height and large hands.

Until you told him to breathe. To slow down. To stop worrying.  Your smile glowing bright as you whispered that you wanted him here. 

As the evening had progressed, every bit of tension had fallen straight from him, and the strain in his body had turned into sweet relaxation. Comfort. 

Now, clad in his pajama pants and smelling like your toothpaste, he gazes at the only thing worth looking at: you. 

Part of him wishes you’d hurry up and climb into bed right next to him so that he could wrap you in his arms and press his nose into your hair. But he enjoyed seeing you like this, so relaxed, and so… you.

The sheets rustle as he adjusts his position in the bed to get an even better look at you, and you perk up. When your eyes meet his, an involuntary smile grows on his face. 

“You okay?” you call out to him. You still have a little bit of moisturizer on the tip of your nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great,” he replies. His fingers twitch, wanting to pull you into a hug and never let go. 

“Getting restless, Kent?” you teased softly, and turned off the bathroom light. 

He grinned sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head. 

“Just… I miss you.”

Your eyes soften, and there’s that look on your face that Clark loves. It’s filled with softness, and that one word neither one of you has said yet. 

As you walk over to him, holding out one hand, he reaches for it and pulls you onto him. With a soft ‘oof’, you land on top of him, and he grins. 

“Right where I wanted you,” he mumbles.

Your soft giggle makes him smile like an idiot. 

“Got something there,” he murmurs, and wipes over the patch of lotion on your face. He feels your skin warm underneath his fingers. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

He cups your face between his large palms and presses a kiss against your forehead. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replies quietly. 

The two of you stay like this for a while, bodies pressed together, your head resting on his chest. He begins to let his hands dance over your back, up and down your spine, until you feel like you’re going to doze off. 

“Want me to get down?” you mutter, barely even lifting your head, “I don’t wanna squash you in your sleep.”

His deep laughter rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your own. 

“Not gonna happen,” he states.

As you begin to drift off after a barely audible ‘goodnight’ from your lips, Clark stays awake. It’s not restlessness that keeps him from following you into the dreamlands—it’s the fact that reality is so much better than any dream his subconscious might be able to muster. 

The light inside the room is dim, but he glances at you, nonetheless. And his mind starts to run. 

Valentine’s days in fancy restaurants, Christmas trees decorated, birthdays spent together. 

A sparkly diamond in the center of a ring, him on one knee, practically begging you to make him the happiest man alive instead of just the strongest.

Wedding bands, church bells, and rice in your hair. 

Children who are the perfect mix of you and him. Actually, maybe just mostly you. 

Grey hairs, smile lines, and crow’s feet that match. 

Clark holds you a little tighter and makes a promise to you, but also to himself: he won’t ever let go. 

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[webslingingslasher]

angst w frat!peter n trouble is all i can think abt 😞

mild angst to fluff.

'then give me your phone!'

peter pauses and soaks in your words, everything starts to catch up. 'that's what this is about?' he tucks his fingers into his front pocket and slides his phone out.

peter teases a throw, you ready yourself to catch it. a short toss and the phone is yours. 'my passcode is 8001.'

why doesn’t he look nervous? why doesn’t he seem unsure? why did he do it so easily? did he expect this and already get rid of any evidence?

‘what are you looking for?’

you’re not sure. it makes you even more upset how nice and understanding he’s being. you stare at his home screen, you have unbridled access but you don’t even know what to look for. you hadn’t expected to get this far.

‘you know what.’ it comes out snappy, you keep waiting for him to slip up. if you act like he has something to worry about, it might come out.

‘i don’t. does it feel like im hiding something from you?’

why does him trying to help make you so mad? ‘i’m leaving.’ peter blocks you and speaks softer than you deserve.

‘who got into your head?’

who told you you have something to worry about?

‘isa was talking to other girls.’

he’s was your friend's boyfriend and you feel bitter about it. you were just as crushed as your friend when she found out. if isa made loving his girlfriend his entire identity, what chance did you have?

‘no.’ peter sounds as depleted as you over it. ‘what was he doing?’ you smile weakly, ‘pictures.’

‘trouble, i’d-‘

you know what he’s about to say. and you know it’s true. ‘you’d never do that, i know. but kristen thought isa wouldn’t either.’

‘come here,’ peter’s arms are wide open and he looks so warm and loving. 'give me a hug.’ you glance back down at his phone, the screen gone black. you step into his hold but keep his phone in your hand, you're not ready to hand it back yet.

if you look... where does it end?

when you don't find what you're thinking you'll find, will you keep checking until you do, expecting a slip up?

will you bombard him with texts and calls when he's out to make sure he’s where he said he’d be?

will you start skimming texts in case someone's name is saved under something less threatening?

if you cave and give into the voice that says to 'just make sure,' you might never be able to silence it again. you don't want that kind of relationship, the one where you have to verify and validate your feelings and concerns. the one where you're constantly hoping a short leash will keep him contained.

you want to be able to talk to him and explain your anxiety and let him hold it in his hands, soften it with his eyes, and seal it with a warm hug. the kind of growth that comes from trust not fear.

you close your eyes and melt into him.

when you pull back, you gently hand his phone back. he doesn't hide it away, he keeps it between you. 'you don't want to check?' you do, but you want to be better than that even more. 

'no. i trust you.'

'you don't sound like you're sure of that.'

'i'm not.'

peter chews at the corner of his bottom lip before stepping next to you and unlocking his phone, he goes straight to his messages. 'hey, look at this for me, does my update look weird?' you squint and shake your head.

'no, really, scroll for a second.'

you know what he's doing, you reach out and appease him with a quick scroll. 'looks fine to me.' he nods once and goes to his instagram, 'let's make sure this is looking good too.' he opens his dm's the only recently opened one at the top of his list is you, even ethan's been left on delivered for three days.

peter backs out and goes to his following list. 'i hit my head on my desk a few hours ago, i'm just going to check my memory real quick.' he scrolls a little, 'ah, molly, triple delta member-our sister sorority- business optics.' you don't say anything, 'trinity, same story. maddy is molly's roommate.' another one he spies, 'ariel, she's the house mom for triple delta. she literally saved my life one night when i was still pledging.'

every girl he names off is either only being followed for greek life networking reasons, someone he went to school with for the majority of his life or a lesbian. you meet his eyes, he goes to his home page and accidently taps on the explore page first. no girls in bikini's, no dancing videos, just cooking videos and a lot of dogs.

'i didn't know you liked dogs so much.'

'i think reels are stupid. i just don't scroll past the dog ones.'

'peter, you might love dogs.'

he answers with something between a huff and grumble. his homepage is just as dim. lots of party pictures, a guy way too obsessed with his car and way too many people proud of golfing with their friends. it took him a minute to find a post from a girl and it was a photoshoot with her boyfriend.

right below it was a post from weratedogs, he liked it without even thinking and passed right by it. 'i really didn't take you as an animal lover.' peter shrugs, 'i support their cause.'

peter closes out of instagram and tucks his phone back into his pocket. 'i'd have you make sure my snapchat and tik tok were working too but much to your demise, i don't have them.'

'you didn't have to do that.' he knows that, he also knows you would've let it chip away in the back of your mind, always wondering if you trusted too hard and let it ruin you.

'i just had to make sure i didn't suffer any severe trauma from hitting my head but if it made you feel better for other unrelated reasons, i call that a double win.' you hold back a smile. 'i don't know... your instagram is full of other bitches.'

peter's face falls. his mouth opens to try and explain how it's not like that, how he's not like that, but the joke catches him in time. 'oh. cause of the dogs. yeah, well, sometimes people put boots on them and they stomp around and i have to like it because it's shoes on dogs. they don't know how to use them. it's funny.'

has anyone ever gotten cheated on by someone who thinks dogs with shoes is the pinnacle of humor?

you give him another hug because you're fairly certain that even if there's people who got cheated on by someone who thinks shoes on dogs are the funniest thing ever, peter wouldn't put you in that category.

because he's too busy looking at compilations of dogs at a dinner table to see all the new spring break posts. 

[velvetground-6]

swear jar explicit 18+ mommy kink, raw, Clark being afraid to even say dick or cock while he’s getting bounced on, teaching him p0rno dirty talk, wet and messy drabble

-

The idea of Clark being afraid to curse while you’re making him feel so good. His manners never seem to get lost in him even while his eyes are rolling back and you feel him jump while he’s inside you.

Even when it’s dirty talk about his own anatomy as you’re grinding your naked pussy lips all over his girth. Teasing him with little bunny hops while he’s tearing up and begging. Still not able to penetrate yet.

It gets so wet and sticky between your close bodies as you roll, humming to yourself while his cock fed you plenty of inches to rub on. Drops of messy white globs start to dust the bush of his pubes while you’re grinding down on it. He watched your needy pussy clamp up on nothing right before you’re chasing down his tip, snatching it up in your hand to finally begin feeding the crown in your hole, splitting you open when it’s intruding. When it goes in you’re filled with his warmth and relief, getting to clench your wall’s muscles around him while you still circle it around to snag on your favorite parts.

Clark throbs and gasps as soon as he feels himself going in, using his thumbs to keep you spread open for movement and the view, uttering to himself and to you -

“Mmm, make my… my p—mm, you make it feel so good baby. It feels so good. Leak on it, yeah, that’s it… s’a pretty girl. Feels like I’m in heaven.”

“Baby boy you know you can say it’s your cock or your dick when it’s just us,” you breathe with a heavy lidded smile. Never stopping the way you’re sliding all the way down to the hilt and wiggling around on it.

Clark almost ignores your reminder entirely, lost in it while you’re bouncing up and down on him. “Ohhh - oh shoot, shoot that’s perfect, I like that.”

“Yeah? This pussy making this dick feel good?”

Clark is beat red, stuttering a nod. Still refusing his whimpers allow him to utter even a word of profanity.

“Gosh.. I’m inside you so deep already. These hips… I can’t—”

“C’mon, be a naughty boy for me. Say you’ve been missing this pussy,” you ground down in circles. His pillowy balls pulse while they’re pressing up against your clit. “Say you’ve been a dirty, naughty boy, thinking about taking mommy’s pussy.”

Clark shudders and waits a minute to gather up the courage. Takes deep breaths with little moans trailing the end of them when he repents and follows orders. “I’ve—I’ve been a naughty boy. I’ve been thinking about mommy’s pussy all day long,” he heaves. Kissing lines down your jaw while you tighten around him and destroy all his willpower in beats. “Been thinking of having sex with this—with this pussy, how it makes me feel so good. I could cum right now, but m’gonna be a good boy and hold it.”

“That’s a good boy, being so perfect for mommy. You think her pussy looks good on you?”

“So…. so amazing, looks so wonderful while you ride. Wanna cum. Wanna cum while I’m inside.”

“Say this makes you wanna nut. Say you wanna bust your nut in this pussy.”

“Oh… oh that’s so dirty,” he whimpers, his own hips going wild while you meet him in the middle with a slamming pace. Liquid even splashes between your conjoining parts, obscene while Clark blushes from watching you shape circles his dick.

“Say it for mommy, be a dirty boy for mommy.”

Clark knows he leaks and adds to the mess while staring down at his lap getting ravaged, taking a deep shaky breath while his dark sweaty hair sticks to his forehead.

“I… I wanna bust a nut in mommy’s pussy, wanna make her gush, hmmm that’s gonna make it happen faster,” Clark whines. Feeling your ass shake while you vigorously ride. “Fuuuuu…. I’m your naughty boy, always gonna give you this naughty dick— feel so dirty getting to do this to you — you’re about to make me nut.”

You smile with an almost sinister looking glint twinkling in your eye at getting him to break. At fucking him so good he loses any sense of his good boy control. You see stray little tears stream quietly down his cheeks, holding onto you with nearly bruising strength. Breathing whines to himself while your pussy clenches and creams all over him in a dreamy flood.

“What a good boy, good fucking boy,” you praise with each word emphasized in a heavy slam of your hips, squelching even more obnoxious and obvious than before. “Cum in this pussy, naughty baby, you’re gonna feel so good when you let go.”

Clark cries out as his face scrunches up, whimpering while his balls shrivel up in preparation.

“I’m… mommy, mommy I’m gonna—“

“Shh, that’s it. Bust while you’re stuffed in mommy’s pussy. It’s okay. Thaaaat’s it. Doesn’t that feel so good?”

Clark is clenching his jaw and letting out more pathetic pleads when his cum starts barreling out and dripping around him as he stays lodged inside you. It leaks from the rim all around him while you keep bouncing, no room in you left while his cock still keeps you filled so nice and full.

Runny yet thick and bubbly, it rains out of you while he pulses and closes his eyes through the sensitive aftershock rounds. He’s still flustered with puppy dog eyes from the words he let leave his lips. Feels some shame at how he can’t seem to control himself when he’s around you.

“I’m gonna make a swear jar for you just so you don’t feel so guilty baby,” you coo in his ear before kissing him slow and sweet. “You’re always so good for mommy.”

That seemed to be what makes having such a potty mouth worth it for him.

“That’s all I wanna be.”

-

-

thinking of him being a preacher boy type that wasn’t raised to say anything dirty then having a partner that bosses him around and rides him so hard he lets loose ffghghhhj

I’m still working on another part to the corrupted Clark work, they’re so endearing and sweet. this is almost like them except without any weed and adding some precious mommas boy mommy kink. I feel like he’d be so ashamed to even say cock hdjcndjs

[theworstwolvie]

whatever keeps you around - masterlist

now playing: first time - hozier

summary: clark kent knows that he's not good in relationships. clark kent also knows that he's desperately in love with you. every girlfriend he has, he drives away. will you be different?

CWs: doomed relationship (im so sorry), fem!reader x clark kent, drama and drama and dramaaaa, probably toxic relationship dynamics, idiots in love but at what cost, a TON of yearning, inspired by a hozier song (he is a warning all on his own), slightly nsfw with the potential to become very nsfw so 18+ mdni!, clark's pov and he is NEGATIVEEEE about himself, lots of self doubt, overall misery, ANGST! SO MUCH ANGST!

author's note: folks. im so sorry. this is going to hurt. also i had smallville!clark in mind for this because i fear tom welling has bewitched me body and soul, but you can feel free to imagine any clark that your heart desires. that being said, let me know if you want to be part of the taglist <3 thank you one million billion times to my lovely bestie @clarkscolumn for helping me with the editing and being a second pair of eyes. i adore you.

part one - such an awful sound

on a particularly overwhelming day at the daily planet, you're clark's only solace. to a normal person, that's a good thing. to clark, though? it's a nightmare.

part two - the first time (18+ mdni!)

the first time that you call clark "baby" doesn't exactly go how he thought it would. or maybe it did. because it causes him to spiral, after all, and that's exactly what he expected. will he change his ways and stop doubting himself? he isn't so sure.

part three - the last time

clark doesn't know the last time you called him baby. he also doesn't know if the fallout of your relationship is something that he can survive - but he'll try his best to get there.

taglist: @clarkscolumn @duchesz @jujubes888 @luvekent @poptxrts @tooloudarts @almostjollypizza @starryymeg

[jarofstyles]

The Best Gift

Ho ho ho… and welcome to the Christmas Special! I had so much fun writing it. I have some other things for the season to put up that I'm excited about, and I figured I'd shake up the routine a little bit. I really want to hear your thoughts!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 300+ exclusive series, one shots and expansions on our other series!

Send in requests here

WC- 9.7k (its a big one)

Warnings- smut, yearning, unprotected sex, sooooo fluffy and soft, cream pie, friends to lovers

“Honey, I’m home!” Harry called out as he opened the door to her apartment with the spare key he had, balancing a large pizza and a bottle of wine in his arms. Kicking the door shut behind him, he locked it with a snicker before making his way over to her. 

He took in the sight of her, surrounded by a borderline overwhelming amount of various Christmas decorations in bags from the shops or boxes she’d brought up from storage, sitting in the middle of it all with her hair up in a messy bun, wearing an oversized Christmas sweater and fuzzy socks.

Harry had unsurprisingly replied yes without hesitation when she had asked if he wanted to come over and spend the night helping her decorate her flat for Christmas. He loved the holiday almost as much as she did, but that wasn’t the real reason he had said yes. 

Harry took any excuse he could get to spend time with Y/N. His crush on her had never faded from being childhood friends with what he learned to be butterflies lingering in his stomach whenever she leaned her head on his shoulder, and it felt even better knowing they’d been getting increasingly close now that she had moved back into town. 

She’d been gone for about two years for a job that had all but sucked the life out of her and despite still texting a lot, he’d felt the hole in his life with her being gone. Y/N hadn’t been far, only about an hour out, but it wasn’t like this. He couldn’t just pop over and meet her for coffee or a drink, he couldn’t just run to pick her up when she got a little too much to drink when she was out with her girlfriends, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to take any bit of time with her for granted.

Spending the night on her sofa, eating pizza and drinking wine while decorating her flat for the second year in a row after missing her for the two before sounded like the perfect way to spend his evening and he’d choose it over the date he’d canceled tonight for this any day.

It was pointless to think he would be able to move on from her. The light of his life was in front of him trying to justify her hoard of Christmas decor and he felt like a dog wagging his damn tail at her. 

“I know I went overboard, but I don’t think what I had last year was enough… so I sort of went behind your back and bought up the clearance last year and had it in my storage until now, so I only went slightly broke from buying it all.” She sighed, standing up from her kneeling position and stretching her arms over her head. “I’ll open the wine if you set up the tree, pretty please?”

“You know I can’t say no t’you, little dove.” He let out a sigh and set the pizza box down on the coffee table. “But don’t think I didn’t hear that little quip about goin’ behind my back. Rude.” His joke was met with a throw pillow being tossed his way which he swiftly caught before grabbing the box for the tree and dragged it over to where she had been talking about setting it up all week. 

In reality, she had sent an entire mock up of how she wanted her living room to look she had sketched out over a photo of the room on her tablet. Christmas was that serious for Y/N and he knew better than to overlook it. 

Sitting on the arm chair, he huffed as he hauled the tree out of the box and started to assemble it, trying to avoid poking himself in the face with the plastic pine needles. It was going to take a while to get it to the right ‘fluff’ level as she liked it to be but he would do it for the happy grin on her pretty face and the hugs she gave him. They were the best fucking hugs, so it was a perfect reward- at least for him. 

He was used to her going overboard with decorations because Y/N always had- she did for most holidays. Her apartment looked like a winter wonderland every year, a pink and red Cupid’s pad on Valentine’s Day, a 90’s kid dream Halloween set up, all of the holidays were honored when it came to her. 

"You always did show favoritism when it came to Christmas, so I shouldn’t be surprised that y’snuck back to the store. I’m just sad I missed out on a haul." He teased lightly as he clicked one of the metal poles for the first tier into place on the base of the tree.

"I don’t have any shame in it.” Y/N sniffed, placing the wine glasses on the counter.  “I love Christmas more than any other holiday and I’d put that in my autobiography. The music is the best for a reason. It's the most wonderful time of the year!" Y/N sung slightly off key as she uncorked the bottle.  “You can't blame me for wanting my apartment to look amazing. We need more whimsy in this world and we have to create it as adults. Besides, you know how much I love decorating. If you want me to do your place one year I’d be happy to, but you’ll need a good budget. You barely put up anything!" 

“Why would I if I come over here and see a department store level display?” He raised a brow, spreading out the branches for the next level. The comment had its intended effect as she preened, bouncing on the pads of her feet. 

“Compliments will get you everywhere, mister.” Y/N liked flattery and he was full of it. More than she was likely ever aware of, with lots of things he wanted to say but held back- but it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. 

Soon, hopefully. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, dove. C’mon and put on the music. Think we’re old pros at this by now, we can get this done in record time.”

——-

After devouring a few slices of pizza each and drinking two glasses of wine that Harry had been scolded for spending a bit too much money on for a girl who liked box wine on a normal day, they moved onto the ornament portion of the evening. Y/N was… particular about where each ornament went on the tree - it was practically down to a science to her. She'd spent fifteen minutes deciding where to put one single ornament before, so Harry was used to this part taking a while. He didn't mind though. 

Maybe for anyone else he would be irritated at the back and forth, the contemplation over things that realistically no one else would ever realize nor care about- but with Y/N he was man enough to admit to himself that he found it adorable how passionate she was about decorating, and he was a self proclaimed loverboy when it came to anything to do with the woman.

None of their other friends had been able to truly enjoy decorating with Y/N because of this particular section but he happily moved the baubles from branch up and branch down and let her look from multiple angles because it gave him an excuse to stare at her.

She was comfortable tonight, and something about the fact that she felt good enough around him that she didn’t bother with a lick of makeup and wore her silly sweater and fuzzy socks with a pair of Santa boots bobbing around on a headband next to her messily done bun had him feeling extra lucky. 

Not many people got to see Y/N like this- sort of the truest form. She was bare faced except her cranberry Vaseline lip balm that had made his mouth water to smell when she offered him a sniff, and he was greedy with getting to look at her in her softest state. The wine didn’t help with how soft she made him feel, but he liked the amplified feeling.

Nothing he felt for Y/N ever felt wrong, regardless of how many times he tried to talk himself out of his feelings for her. 

“We’re almost done, I promise.” Y/N bit her lip as she checked the time on her phone. It was midnight already but the time always flew when it was the both of them. “I think this is the best tree yet, H. I really do.”

"It's the best one yet, alright." Harry agreed, taking one of the hooks and threading it through the top of their last little round of ornaments. He loved seeing her like this - happy, relaxed, and in her own little world of twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. It suited her, and he found himself falling even deeper under her spell. 

Every time he tried to release himself from it he found the resistance was enough to keep him from letting go. 

His train of thought was interrupted by the beginnings of a song that he was quickly coming to hate after hearing it for a third time this season. “Oh for fucks sake… Can you grab my phone from the coffee table? I want to change the song. I can’t listen to songs about grandmothers being run over by deer any longer.”

Y/N listened easily,grabbed Harry’s phone from the coffee table, her fingers brushing against the smooth edge of the table as she did so. As she picked up the phone, she couldn’t help but notice the notification light flashing on the screen. Curiosity getting the better of her, she tapped the screen to unlock it and see what the notification was for.

‘From: maybe: Lindsey Brown

I’m sad I don’t get to see you tonight, I was looking forward to it :(‘

“Who’s Lindsey?” Y/N asked, placing the phone in his hand as she took the ornament from his other. “And why did you cancel on her for tonight? Please tell me this didn’t ruin your plans.” 

There was a strange tilt to her voice that had him frowning, clicking to the next song quickly before pocketing the phone. He hadn’t intended on her finding out he ditched a date to be here but he wasn’t necessarily ashamed about it. 

“Just a girl I met on an app. I tried to get back out there but when you asked me to come, I cancelled.” He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. The man knew he might have been failing but he busied himself with the next ornament. “It’s our thing. I’d much rather be here.”

Y/N processed this information, her expression keeping neutral. "So, you had a date tonight and canceled it to decorate my flat instead." She summarized, taking the next ornament from him and moving it to a different branch. "Does this girl know she's been ghosted?" Her tone was off, he knew, but there was an undercurrent of something else - jealousy maybe? He wasn't sure. 

Maybe that was wishful thinking. 

"Because if she's texting you like that she probably doesn't." 

“I haven’t exactly ghosted her yet.” Harry had a tendency to… do that. He didn’t mean to, honest. It wasn’t blatant or necessarily purposeful most of the time but his interest in anyone but Y/N always dwindled down to nothing but polite disinterest and he would forget to answer unless he was double texted. It was a flaw of his, he knew, because he did try to communicate that he didn’t feel a connection when he didn’t- but the accidental ghosting happened more than he would have liked. “I was trying to put myself out there but I’ve come to the conclusion for the third time that the apps aren’t for me. I can’t stomach them anymore.”

“Yeah, well, poor girl probably thought she was gonna get some action tonight.” Y/N commented dryly, hanging the last ornament on the tree and stepping back to admire it. It looked even more perfect than the previous years, the classic colors she had decided on blending beautifully and the lights she had special ordered twinkling like little stars. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her sweater to her body. “At least she won’t be waiting up for you tonight. You’re not going back out, you’re staying here.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and Harry found himself raising a brow at the tiniest hint of irritation in it. She knew damn well he wasn’t leaving with his duffle bag slumped over by the sofa, but he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel a thrill at the base of his spine at her claiming his time tonight. 

“Of course.” He simpered, reaching out to flick one of the mini boots on her headband. “Meant it when I said there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, dove. It’s why I canceled in the first place. I’d choose spending time with you a million times over.”

Was it a slightly intense statement? Yeah, and he knew he probably laid it on a bit thick, but it was the truth.

Y/N let out a hum as she turned back to the tree, adjusting a few ornaments unnecessarily. They were already perfect and they both knew she’d end up moving them back, but he understood the need to do something with her hands. He wished he had more ornaments to hook.

"Well, I'm glad you chose wisely then." She muttered softly, her voice slightly huskier than before from the wine and late night and maybe something else, but he could only hope. He caught the glance back at him over her shoulder, catching his gaze already on her and he didn’t hesitate to hide that he had already been looking at her. Something passed between them at that moment, the air felt charged, but she turned back to the tree and he felt air rush back into his chest.

Fuck, he was going insane. Well and true insanity. 

“Do you want to change into your pajamas so we can watch Home Alone?” Y/N spoke without looking at him, adjusting the garland on the tree. “Or we can go to sleep if you’re too tired-“

“I’m never too tired for a movie. You’re the one who always falls asleep.” Harry snickered, watching her snap her head back towards him. 

“No I do not!” She attempted to defend herself, but resistance was futile. “You’re a liar.”

“Yes, you do. Drool on my shirt and everything.” And it was by far his favorite thing, just having her curled into his side, and he would fight through any exhaustion to get the chance to cuddle in next to her.

“I do not drool! What the fuck!” She squeaked, hand wiping at her face as if it would magically appear. “This is slander.”

“Okay, you don’t.” His tone conveyed he believed anything but- because he didn’t. He had definitely been dribbled on by her but he didn’t mind.

“I don’t!” She defended, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t be smart with me, Har. That’s not the Christmas spirit.”

“Why don’t you go get changed into your pajamas too, dove.” He smirked, letting her sputter behind him as he dug through his duffle for his plaid pajama pants and black tee shirt. 

“You’re going to get coal for Christmas. Got a direct line to Santa and I’m telling him.” Y/N muttered as she stomped over to her room, closing her door.

Harry didn’t need the confirmation, but the way his heart throbbed in his chest only reinforced that he was most definitely in love- and most definitely fucked.

———

The movie had ended about twenty minutes ago and Y/N had fallen asleep halfway through, exactly like he knew she would. Something else was playing in the background but he wasn’t paying attention. It was hard to focus on anything else but her. She was curled into his side perfectly, her head resting right over his heart like it was designed to fit there. His arm was wrapped around her middle, keeping her close as her breaths evened out into soft little snores that made his chest ache.

If he could ask for one single thing for Christmas for the rest of his life, it would be this right here. 

There was no way to properly describe the level of peace he felt holding her. He was under no disillusion that this wasn’t normal for most friendships, but Y/N had always been a cuddle bug and Harry had always been greedy for her attention and affection, so it came naturally. 

Nothing compared to the sweet green apple shampoo and her body wash he always stole- some sort of philosophy one about cashmere or something- and the feel of her body warmth bleeding through her pajamas that were a simple buffalo check bottom and black tank top. The blanket was pulled over the both of them but he knew she sought out his warmth before anything else, and the pride he held from that never faded. 

A soft sound left her throat as she curled her fingers into his shirt, letting out a sleepy call of his name as her cheek rubbed against the softness of his worn cotton shirt. 

“Hm? What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Fingers stroked the hair that had fallen from her bun back behind her ear, her little headband resting on the coffee table after one too many ‘kicks’ to the chin by the little boots when the movie had started.

It was easier to get away with being sweeter and softer with her when she was sleepy, coddling her like he always wanted to.  

“M’not sleepin’.” 

“You were.” He chuckled, thumbing over the side of her neck. “That’s okay. We’ve seen this one a million times.”

“No, m’up..” Y/N grumbled, lifting her head up to glare up at him with sleep heavy eyes that seemed to swallow up the color of her pupils. It was really fucking cute, actually. Her face was puffy from sleep and he knew if he lifted the blanket he’d find her feet and leg not on his curled up underneath her like a cat. “I’m not sleepin’, Harry. I’m awake. I’m looking at you.” She paused, blinking slowly at him. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m so annoying… so you don’t want me to be your pillow anymore, huh?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N was quick to deny, narrowing her eyes slightly as she let her head flop down on his chest. “I like when you’re my pillow. I always feel really safe.”

"Well that's good to know." Harry whispered softly, undoing the floppy bun that had gotten looser with time and ran his fingers over her hair. "Because I like being your pillow too." He felt her relax even more into him at his words, her breathing evening out again but staying awake this time. Her fingers played with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly while she stared up at him with those heavy-lidded eyes that always made his chest feel tight. The room was only lit by the television and the twinkling star lights on the tree and fuck, his heart felt so full it could burst. 

“You’re so gorgeous. S’fucking crazy.” He could blame the residual buzz of the wine for his words, but they had slipped past his lips because they couldn’t be held back anymore. Compliments were plentiful for her from him, but the huskier tone of voice he said it in wasn’t the usual.

Y/N's breath hitched audibly slightly at his words, her eyes fluttering down and then back up to meet his. She was used to him complimenting her, but there was something different about this one and he could tell that she could feel it. Something more intense. "Shut up..." She whispered half heartedly, but there was no real heat behind it. Just an embarrassed response. Her fingers tightened slightly on his shirt as she held him closer. “I look insane right now, probably.”

“I love when you look like this.” He admitted another honest thought. It was hard not to feel his stomach rolling as he spoke but his mouth was working before his brain could. It knew all the things he wanted to say to her and had always held back. “I love when you’re… undone like this. Natural in the way where I know you’re comfortable. You’re always stunning, don’t get me wrong but… I love that you’re comfortable with me and let me see you. I’ve never seen someone so pretty.”

"Harry..." Y/N's voice was soft and shy, a hushed whisper as she processed his words and seemingly decided to believe him. Her fingers traced patterns on his chest while she searched his face in the dim light for any sign that he might be joking or teasing, but she knew better than that now didn’t she? Harry never joked about things like this, let alone when it came down between the two of them alone together like this. Late night cuddles always felt different than during daylight hours spent together among friends or family gatherings. More intimate, more vulnerable in ways no one else got from either of them. 

“I’m not joking. It makes me happy to see parts of you I know other people really don’t. I love that I get to know you.”

"I like that you know me like this, too." Y/N admitted quietly, her thumb gently caressing his cheek in a way that had him holding his breath momentarily. The wine had lowered their inhibitions slightly, making honest conversations easier than usual, and touch more liberal than before. There had always been a slight barrier there despite how open they were with each other, but feeling her touch his face for the sake of just to feel him had his stomach hot.

 "No one else gets this side of me, but I don’t mind letting you see it. I know I can be difficult.” She gave him a bittersweet smile as her thumb stroked up on his cheek, going against the grain of his stubble to tickle the pad of her finger. “But you’re still so good to me. Thank you for that. I know I take the whole decorating thing a lot more seriously than people would like but knowing you indulge in it with me and you don’t complain means more to me than you know.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly, savoring the feeling of her gentle caress before opening them again to meet her beautiful eyes yet again. His hand came up to cover hers, pressing it against his face as he leaned into the touch. "You're not difficult, Y/N." He murmured. In fact, he didn’t like that she thought that at all because it meant someone else had implied it before. Maybe they didn’t understand her the way he did- in fact, he very much doubted it- but anyone who made someone feel like too much for their excitement was a dick in his opinion.  

"You're passionate and particular, and I love that about you. Your enthusiasm is infectious and your attention to detail is something I've always admired. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want, yeah? I’m always happy to give you what you need."

“Anything?” The question was hushed and slightly hesitant as she looked over his eyes, watching him as he gave her a nod, responding in a quiet, hoarse whisper. 

“Yeah. Anything you want, I think I’d find a way to give it to you.”

“Well then… If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

The moment hung heavy between them, the air thick with unspoken words and pent up emotion that surprised the hell out of him. The tension he felt had never fully been one sided but he had never once expected her to be the one to break the ice- let alone at a moment like this. 

Harry's heart was nearly in his throat as he searched her face, looking for any sign that this was just the wine talking or a joke, but he found none of that. All he saw was nerves and a hint of vulnerable curiosity that made his stomach flip. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow as he answered her question, his free hand coming up to gently cup her jaw. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, parting it slightly as he leaned in closer, feeling her take a sharp inhale as he spoke. 

“I’d say yes, because I’ve been wanting to do it for longer than you could ever imagine.”

Watching her tilt her face up towards him, she let her eyes go between his lips and back up to his eyes before uttering the sentence he had been dying to hear. 

“Kiss me, please.” 

Harry was gentle with her, pressing his lips softly against hers, letting his lips linger before applying a little more pressure as she leaned into his hand as it caressed her soft cheek, the heat of it warming his palm. Handling her with care was what he had been hoping to do when he imagined it every other time, and that was exactly what he was going to do now. His hand stayed on her jaw while the other ever so gingerly wrapped around her waist beneath the blanket they shared as he leaned into her slowly, feeling it out.

It started slow and sweet, exploratory really, their lips just pressing gently against each other like they were testing the waters before diving in completely. There was no tongue, just lips meeting softly with the occasional gentle brush of noses as they learned the shape of each other's lips. It was probably the most innocent kiss Harry had ever experienced at thirty something years old but somehow it felt more intimate than anything else he had done because it was Y/N. The woman he had been all but gone for nearly his entire life.

The little noise that came from her throat matched the hand that gently fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened slightly. It was hard to let her control the show but he knew he had to because it would be so, so easy to get carried away when the excitement buzzed through his body, finally letting himself feel her. He wanted to taste her, to know every crevice and dip of her body and he had been holding back for years, but he was only going to take what she was willing to hand over. 

His lips parted just enough to allow her access if she wanted it, but he didn’t push for more than the soft, repetitive pecks that got longer with each press. The hand on her waist slid up slightly to rest on her lower back, urging her closer until there was little space between them at all. Her leg over his thigh, his hand on her face and splayed over her back, he held her to him as she easily melted into his body and pulled herself into him to match- and fuck, the relief he felt was immense.

It wasn’t just him that felt this, and he knew it just by how she touched him. The kiss became a little more urgent but still tender as she whimpered softly against his lips- a sound that went straight to his stomach and made it flip.

A stroke of his thumb caressed her jaw, his other hand slowly sliding up her back to rest at the nape of her neck as her fingers tangled back into his necklace, giving him a bit of a tug. His own groan vibrated against her lips as he felt her pulse quicken under his fingertips, matching his own racing heartbeat. The kiss deepened slowly, their lips parting just enough to allow their breaths to mingle before Harry’s tongue gently traced her bottom lip, asking for entrance- asking for a little bit more. 

He wanted her to set the pace, to show him what she wanted, but he also had a feeling that she needed some coaxing. All of this was brand fucking new, something they’d never done before, and he wanted to get it right. 

This was everything he had been wanting for years, and he wanted to give her a reason to want more.

Harry took her silent nod as an answer, his tongue brushing against hers in a soft, curious stroke. He kept the kiss gentle, his hand at the back of her neck applying just enough pressure to hold her in place as he coaxed her tongue out to play with his. He was being careful, so fucking careful because he knew this was a big deal for both of them, pushing the boundary of their friendship to something hopefully more- but he was only human. 

Tasting her on his tongue had him breathing harder, feeling greedier as her fingers left his shirt to stroke through his hair.

She had no idea what it did to him to feel the accidental tug when she carded through the waves of his hair, making a deep groan resonate through his throat and into her mouth, the sharp inhale as he kissed her harder getting another whimper from her as she repeated the same thing. “Y/N…” He whispered, voice husky as he pulled back just for a moment to see her glazed eyes peering back at him. “What are y’doing to me, hm?”

Her response was another soft kiss, but this time she initiated it, pressing her lips fully against his own before gently sucking his bottom lip between hers. It was a statement now, not just testing the waters- they were diving into the deep end and Harry was drowning happily in her kisses. 

There was nothing he had ever wanted more than to have her kiss him and give him this part of herself, and he could have sworn he was dreaming if he couldn’t feel the pulse under his thumb and the heat in his lower stomach as her teeth grazed his bottom lip, giving it a little tug. 

“Yeah?” He chuckled under his breath, nudging his nose with hers. “Is that how y’want this to go?”

"I think so." The girl whispered back against his lips, the words muffled between kisses that grew slightly more urgent with each passing second. He knew she was feeling the shift in energy between them because it matched his perfectly- that buzz of excitement and nervousness mixing together as they explored each other's mouths like teenagers discovering kissing for the first time. Except it was abundantly clear that they weren't teenagers anymore, he wasn’t on the sidelines just yearning for her, and it was becoming clear to him now they had both wanted this for who knew how long.

"Alright then, sweetheart." He murmured against her lips before capturing them again in a deeper kiss-  finally letting himself indulge. His hands moved from her neck back down to to her waist, pulling her flush against him as he laid back on the couch, pulling her with him and manhandling her just enough so she was straddling his hips, but she seemed to like it based off of the little squeal she let out before it was followed with giggles that he mirrored. 

God, he felt fucking giddy. Feeling her pressed up against him without the restraint he usually made himself follow to not get too excited, not let himself overthink it, there was a freedom to it that had him nearly vibrating with excitement. 

Y/N was straddled on his lap, kissing him back with matched fervor, and he couldn’t ask for more. 

The blanket fell away completely as they both got lost in the moment - lost in each other. Harry's hands roamed over her body, letting the heat bleed through her pajamas and into his palms as he touched places he'd always wanted but never allowed himself to go before this moment. Gliding over her hips and down towards her thighs, giving them a squeeze as she shifted closer and held herself up on his lap, he let out another groan of her name as she took his hand and guided it to her ass. 

The lightheaded feeling was enough to make him let his head fall back into the back of the couch, following with his other hand to take the handfuls of soft ass that he had only fucking dreamed of. “You’re going t’kill me, dove. Fucks sake.”

"Is this okay?" She breathed against his mouth between kisses that seemed to go from sweet to heated in a blink of an eye, but the both of them were feeding into it. His hands on her ass and hers back in his hair as they tasted each other’s tongues, heavy breathing and soft sounds of approval leaving them and giving them both new sides of one another that they’d never been exposed to before. 

Her hips moved slightly against his own, not quite grinding down on him but definitely putting a bit pressure where they both felt it through their pajama bottoms. It was not quite as innocent as their kissing had started as anymore because Harry was getting fucking hard as nails beneath her just from this, and there was no way she couldn't feel it.

“As long as it’s okay with you, baby.” The newer pet name fell from his tongue without a second thought before he kissed down her jaw. Now that he’d had permission to kiss her, it was hard to keep his mouth off. “I’ve been wanting to be like this for ages and I’m okay with a-anything you want. Just want you.” 

Y/N smiled and he could feel it as her face shifted, sitting herself fully against his thickening cock as he let out a wheezed little grunt. “Me too. We… Fuck, you’re so big.” She gasped as her hips dragged her clothed cunt against his erection. “Oh my god, where the fuck were you hiding that? Why did you hide that from me?”

“Baby- Y/N, you can’t talk like that.” Harry all but gasped, eyes in a hazy panic as he pulled his mouth from her to look at her with a pained expression. “It's embarrassing but you’ll make this end way too fast if you talk like that.”

"Is that so?" Y/N asked with faux innocence that he could see straight through with the glint in her eyes as she shifted her hips again, dragging herself over his length. He knew she was likely to feel every inch of him through his pajama bottoms and it had his fingertips digging into the plush of her ass, biting back a grunt as he could feel the heat of her through it all. 

"Maybe I should keep talking then." She whispered, leaning down to press soft kisses to his neck. "Because we’ve both been putting this off for a long, long time it seems- and I don’t think either of us want to waste any more time without feeling exactly what we do to each other.” 

“And how do you feel about me?” Harry wanted to hear her say it. He needed the confirmation out loud that this hadn’t been a one sided yearning, but something they’d both been craving and too nervous to mess up to go for it until the pot boiled over. 

Pulling her face from his neck, she stroked the hair back off of his forehead as she gave him a shy smile, a contrast to her bravado before. The drag of her hips paused as she took in a shaky breath, leaning in to kiss his lips in a softer peck, nuzzling her nose against his own. “I feel a whole lot about you. My best friend, the only person in the whole world who thinks that I’m even somewhat sane about the decorating and chooses to do it with me… I think we’ve been dancing around how we feel for a long time because we don’t want to mess up the years of how good it’s been… but it can only get better.” She murmured.  “I want more with you. More than just being your friend. I want to be with you, H. So badly. I can’t pretend that only being best friends is something sustainable when all I want to do is crawl on your lap and kiss you just like this.”

"Shit, Y/N." Harry whispered against her lips, letting himself smile. Her words had him reeling, confirming every single thing he had felt for years but never dared to hope she felt too. "Yeah? You really want more with me?" He asked hoarsely, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt- but he didn’t find a shred of it. 

“Mhm. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, and I never want to decorate for Christmas with anyone else again. Just with you.” Tears gathered in her waterline as she let out a little wet laugh, cut off by his lips as he kissed her over and over again. The giggles were reciprocated, bubbling out of his throat as he turned them over and let her back hit the sofa. “Harry!” 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, that’s all I want.” He rasped, grinning bright as he kissed her cheeks, over her nose, her brows, wherever his lips could reach. 

“You can have me.” She squirmed slightly under him, wrapping her legs around his hips. The smile on his face rivaled his, nails dragging over the planes of his back as she caught her breath back. “You’ve always had me. I’m glad you cancelled that date to come and see me. I’m so happy, I can’t even tell you.”

"I cancelled because I wanted to be with you, baby." Harry pressed kisses over her face, down her neck, and back up again as he settled between her thighs. He could feel her wrapped around him perfectly, pressing right between her legs through their clothing- something he never thought he'd get to experience with her like this. His eyes roamed over her face in slight disbelief as he held himself above her on his elbows, looking down at her with pure adoration. "I only ever want t’be with you. I’d drop everything the moment you asked for me. I’ve belonged to you for a long time.”

“Show me.” Y/N purred, teeth digging into her bottom lip as her hands slipped under his tee shirt to feel the hot skin of his back. Skin against skin, that was what he craved. “Show me that m’yours and you’re mine. I don’t…” A shadow of shyness passed over her face as she peered back up at him after looking between their bodies. “I just want you inside me. I’m so wet and I know it’s gonna hurt a little but I want to feel the sting. I want to stretch around you. Please?” Her plea was soft as she lifted her face back up to his, pressing her pouty lips back to his. “Please, Harry, baby? It’s what I want.”

"Jesus, Y/N." Harry groaned softly, pressing his forehead to hers.  "Sweetheart, are you sure? Cause I don’t wanna fuck up the moment by rushing and hurting you." Harry’s dick wasn’t small and she knew that, but he also could admit that the idea of what she had asked him for had his head spinning. Nothing had ever sounded hotter. 

“So sure.” She nodded, fingers grabbing at the hem of his shirt. “Off. I want it all off. I want to feel every part of us together.”

“Anything for you.” He spoke the words again that he was sure he would spend the rest of his life uttering. 

Harry quickly obliged to her request, pulling his shirt off and revealing his tattooed chest to her before he threw the shirt aside, leaning back down to capture her lips again. His hands immediately went to her pajama top, pushing it up to reveal her breasts, and he felt himself stop to let himself admire a view he had been aching to have. He’d only ever caught glimpses, albeit some of them accidental and most of the other when she was in her bathing suits but fuck, they were perfect.  Better than he had imagined even when he fisted his cock and stroked off to the thought of her.

"Goddamnit, dove." He moaned, moving his mouth down until it was flush against her breast. It was hard to hold back when he had full permission to touch her body, knowing damn well that she was just as worked up as he was. His lips wrapped around one nipple, sucking gently as his tongue flicked over the sensitive point- alternating back and forth between the two as his hands worked to push her pajama bottoms down. He needed more, needed to feel her against him without any barrier. "Lift up for me. Need these off."

It was borderline overwhelming to taste the skin of her tits as he sucked at the sensitive nipple, the feel of her fingers grabbing at his hair as she let him tug her panties and pajamas down in one go before letting them crumple to a heap on the floor beside the couch. 

“Oh, shit.” Y/N hissed as his teeth grazed her nipple, hips bucking up as his hand came over her cunt to cup over it. 

She was far more wet than he had originally thought. The temptation of the view was the only thing humanly possible to get his mouth off of her as he pulled back, ignoring the string of spit connecting his bottom lip to the sensitive bud in favor of looking at her glistening cunt.

“Oh, baby… You were talking about me hiding my cock from you, but what about this, hm?” His long fingers spread her open, exposing the softness of her to him. “Hiding this pretty pussy from me… S’just not fair.”

It felt criminal to know that it was likely that she had gotten wet for him before and he just hadn’t known. If he had, he would have taken care of her. He wouldn’t have needed anything in return, either- if Y/N had asked him to get her off, he would have done it every day without her even looking at his cock- but thankfully, selfishly, he was going to get it all.

 "Look at you..." He murmured, his voice thick as he traced her folds gently. "So fucking wet for me." His thumb brushed over her clit, eliciting a soft gasp from her. He leaned down to kiss her inner thigh before moving higher, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive skin until he reached her center.

“M’sorry. I’ll give you my cock, but I need a taste. I’ve lived without it for too long, and you smell too fucking good.” Without hesitation, he licked up her slit slowly from bottom to top before sucking gently on her clit.

"Harry! Oh my god- fuck, you’re filthy." Y/N cursed out, her hands immediately going to his hair, gripping it tightly as he licked her up like he was starving for it. Which honestly? He kind of was. He had been fantasizing about this moment for years without knowing if or when it would actually happen, and he was indulging in it now that he knew he could. Her hips rolled up against his mouth and he groaned in approval against her cunt, sucking her clit harder before pulling back with a filthy, frankly lewd sound before letting his tongue explore her folds like he had always wanted to do.

“I needed this. Needed to have this pussy, needed you to be mine. Tastes so fucking good, honey. I’m going to spend so much time here. I want to make you cum on my tongue until you’re crying.” He panted, letting loose a little bit as he all but nuzzled himself into her pussy. “You’ll let me, hm? Let me lick my cum out of this pretty pussy once you’ve cum around me?”

"Fucking yes." She whimpered, the muscles of her legs tensing around his head as she pulled him from her pussy. “I can’t- I want to cum on your cock first. Please, Har- I’ll let you have me as much as you want, but get inside me. I’m not gonna last long, I need you to stretch me open and fill me up.”

Harry’s throat bobbed with his swallow as he pulled back up her body, face shiny with her. It felt wrong to waste any but he wasn’t sure how she felt about getting so messy, so he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down to capture her lips again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “Anything you want, sweetheart. I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna make sure you’re gonna feel me for days.” 

“I know I’m gonna feel it.” She grinned against his mouth, feeling his bottoms push down and hearing the slap of his cock as it hit his stomach. “I’m clean. I want it in me, I want you to finish in me, please. I don’t want anything in between us.”

Harry groaned against her mouth, his large palm finding her inner thigh and spreading her wide while the other gripped his dick, giving it a few strokes. "You’re gonna kill me. I’m clean too, baby. I get tested every few months, and I haven’t been with anyone in months. Just been… waiting." Waiting for her. He admitted it shamelessly, dragging the head of his cock through her pussy as she shuddered underneath him. 

Could he have drawn this out a bit more? Yeah, he could. One day he’d tease her until she was begging and pleading for his cock inside of her, but neither of them could handle that right now. They needed each other more than anything. 

“Hold on to me, baby. I’m going t’give you what you want. Have to go a little slow.”

Harry pressed the head of his dick against her entrance, feeling the heat of her against the tip. He pushed forward slowly, the fat head of his cock spreading her open as he watched her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. Her lips parted on a gasp as she felt herself stretch around him, nails digging into his biceps as he sank into her inch by inch. It was agonizingly slow, the drag of his thick length parting her so slowly that they could both feel every ridge as he pushed deeper and deeper inside.

"Shh, it’s alright." He murmured softly, pausing for a moment to let her adjust to his size. He was large, thick and long, and he could feel her quiver as she stretched to accommodate him. "Breathe through it, baby. I’m not gonna move until you’re ready." He leaned down to press gentle kisses to her face, his hands roaming over her face soothingly as he held himself still inside of her. "You’re doing so good taking me. Look at you, my perfect girl, spreading so perfectly for me."

"I’m good, I’m good..." She gasped out softly, wrapping her arms around his neck as she felt herself adjust to his size slowly but surely. The initial shock of pain had seemed to fade as he bottomed out inside of her slowly- filling her completely until she felt like he was touching places inside of her that he was fairly certain no one ever had before.

The possessive part of him reared its head as he kissed her again, feeling himself twitch inside of her as he let her feel him sit still inside of her. “This is what we should have been doing for years.” He murmured against her cheek. “You’ve always been mine… I’ve always been yours. You’re fucking everything to me, Y/N. No one else is ever going to feel this again. This feeling is just for us.”

“Mhm. Yes, it’s only for us.” Y/N confirmed with a nearly drunken smile, arms around his neck pulling him into her so she could lick back into his mouth. There was no possible way to get closer with her body wrapped entirely around him, but the urge was there. Nothing would ever feel close enough again, knowing how deep he could get.. “You can move. M’okay.”

Harry hummed against her lips as he began to move slowly, giving her shallow thrusts that didn’t move him inside of her much at all- just enough to have the head of his dick drag through her walls slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to have her whimper against his mouth as he kissed her. His hips moved in small, lazy circles as he held himself buried deep inside of her, feeling her stretch around him beautifully. 

She was made for him, and he was made for her. No one would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

"You feel so fucking good." He whispered, his body covering hers completely as he moved inside of her slow and deep. He pulled back slightly before sliding back in, the movement eliciting a soft moan from her that had his teeth clenching. There was no better sound than her pleasure, especially when he was the one making her feel it. 

"This is better than anything. Better than any fantasy I had about you, better than any time I’ve touched myself- I knew it would be. S’always been you." He admitted freely, knowing he could say anything with her without judgement. It had always been that way between them but with the last barrier ripped to shreds, he felt damn near delirious. "I could fuck you slow like this forever and be perfectly happy. M’so happy, dove. You’re all I want.”

“Harry.” Y/N whined, kissing him at the end of his sentence. “This is perfect. I-I’m so full. I’ve never felt so whole and happy and…” She sniffled, digging her heels into his back as she clung to him. “Love you. Love you so much.”

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he heard her the confession she had beaten him to yet again, his heart overflowing with matched love that he couldn’t contain any longer. There was no way to hold back anymore. The walls had fallen and it was flooding in, and he felt like he was dreaming. 

He buried his face in her neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he held her close, his hips moving slowly as he tried to stay deep inside of her. “I love you too. I love you so fucking much.” He whispered against her skin between kisses and soft breaths. His voice broke with emotion as he repeated the words over and over again like a prayer. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

The slower, deeper thrusts became more urgent as their emotions spilled over into their movements. Harry's hips picked up a steady rhythm, hitting a spot inside Y/N that made her gasp and claw at his back. The sweet, slow love-making was quickly turned heated in a blink of an eye, but it was only to be expected. They’d beeen holding on for so fucking long, and the restrained emotions boiled over again as they poured their years of unsaid feelings into every touch, every kiss, every thrust. 

“Oh, fuck, like that.” Y/N mewled, legs quivering around his waist. “Just like that, fuck me like that. Holy shit. Oh my god, Harry..." She panted, watching him above her. 

He was a mess and he knew it- sweat dotting his forehead, muscles straining, tattoos shifting with each movement, but he was completely focused on her. Y/N looked like a wet dream, his only dream for the near last decade, and he couldn’t look away. Especially not when he could feel her start to throb around him. "Right there, baby. Right fucking there. You’re hitting- oh, fuck-" She let her head fall back as he picked up the pace, the only thing keeping her from jolting was his arms around her  from each thrust. “Just like that, you’re gonna make me cum.”

"Yeah, I am." Harry cooed, feeling her walls tighten around him like a vice as he thrust into her harder. “You’re gonna let go for me. I can feel it, my perfect girl. You’re so beautiful, it feels so good around me. You’re a dream come true. I want it all, every bit of you.” 

He could feel her orgasm building, her pussy fluttering and gripping his dick like it never wanted to let go. It made his balls tighten and his own release started to build, but he refused to cum before her. Not tonight, not their first time. He wanted to feel her come undone around him completely before he filled her up with his cum.

“Can’t stop it, I can’t hold it back, I gotta cum.” She panted, clawing at his back as her wild eyes looked up at him. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Harry-.” There was a pause before she gasped. “M’cumming, m’cumming- oh my god.”

The first spasming pulse of her pussy felt like heaven. One instant she was tight and perfect around him, the next she started milking his cock with her orgasm, her back arching and breasts pressing against his chest as she let out a loud, beautiful cry that came from his dreams. Making her orgasm, feeling her cum around his cock, it was a sensation he knew would never lose its appeal. It took his breath as he fucked her through it, listening to the soft little sob of his name as she held onto him and her thighs trembled. 

Harry groaned deep in his chest, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he felt her gush around him, inhaling the scent of her as he felt the pulse in his balls from how good it felt.  "Good girl... just like that, let go for me. Fuck, you're so pretty when you cum for me." He slurred, thrusting sloppy as he held himself over her. “I can’t stop it. Just hold on t’me, just stay close, need you close-“

Harry's mouth fell open in a silent cry as his orgasm hit him like a fucking truck. His hips stuttered forward one last time before he bottomed out inside of her, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he filled her with rope after rope of hot cum. His head fell forward against her forehead as he breathed heavily, feeling her walls flutter around him as finally a garbled moan left his swollen mouth.

He felt like he was floating as his orgasm tore through him, his hips jerking forward as he emptied himself inside of her perfect little pussy. His arms shook with the effort of holding himself up as he filled her with his load, his balls emptying inside of her with a force he has never felt in his life. The lightheaded feeling stayed as he lowered onto his elbows, kissing the corner of Y/N’s lips as he murmured against them, keeping the both of them solid in the aftershocks.

"Fuck, baby... Fuck, I love you s’much." Harry panted against her lips, his cock jerking weakly as he filled her with his the last of his cum. "So fucking perfect... You're everything... I've never... Fuck." He broke down into incoherent babbling as he pressed soft kisses all over her face and neck, praising her through clenched teeth and swollen lips. "My girl... My perfect fucking girl... I love you so much."

"I love you too." Y/N whispered back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he stayed buried inside of her. He could feel his cum leaking out around where they were joined, making a mess between them but neither of them cared. Harry lifted his head to look at her with hazy, loving eyes as he stroked her hair back from her forehead. 

"That was... That was better than anything I've ever felt." He admitted hoarsely. "Being inside you like this, hearing you say you love me… Feeling that love for me and being so close to you? It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Y/N's eyes went a little glassy as she smiled softly up at him, her fingers gently tracing over his cheeks and into his hair. "Same here." She whispered. "I can't even describe how good that felt. Having you inside me, knowing that you love me like that... It’s like a dream come true." She sniffled a little, her nose wrinkling. “This is perfect. I was so scared of asking for more but I wish we’d done it sooner.”

"Me too, baby. Me fucking too." Harry nuzzled into her, inhaling the scent of her mingled with a little bit of him and sex, he was fairly certain nothing would top it. "I was so fucking scared of ruining everything. Of pushing too hard and making you run away. But this? This is worth every fucking second of waiting. You're worth it." He peeked up at her, his lips curling into another smile as he took in the best thing he had seen this year. "I'm glad you asked for more. I'm glad we're doin' this. I'm glad I get to love you like this. You being mine is the best gift I ever could have asked for.”

[corpogirlie-deactivated20260210]

summary: Since they are in Baltimore for a case, Spencer can't help but buy a bunch of treats for you in your favorite bakery. word count: 1.2k warnings: None. And I am not on Charm City Cake's payroll, I just used to watched the show about them a lifetime ago. note: Spencer would absolutely do that in my mind.

Spencer knows about your struggles. 

Struggles every time you pass a bakery, a candy shop, an ice cream shop, or if you just happen to have to pass through the aisle of sweets at the grocery store. You absolutely love sweets, there are some that you maybe love more than him sometimes. And you love baking too, which is why he’s often stuck watching baking shows with you where you get the inspiration from. 

Not like he minds spending time with you like that.

And, since he loves to spoil you, he always makes sure to bring you something sweet from wherever he goes, and this time they are in Baltimore, which is excellent considering your favorite bakery is right here in this city. It all began with a reality show about them, one that aired a long time ago, but you saw it as a kid at one point, and fell in love with the cakes they made. 

“Hotch, can I get an hour to take care of something?” he wonders, already putting on his coat without waiting for his boss’ answer.

Because he knows Hotch, he knows he’s going to let him leave for a while. And just as expected, he nods. “Sure. Let me guess, you’re getting her something sweet again?” he asks with a knowing smile. 

Spencer flashes an awkward smile at him. “Yeah, as usual. Her favorite bakery is here, so it would be rude to go back without something from there. I wish I could get a special cake, but they would need more than a few days to get that ready, so I’m going to buy something they already have there. Let’s hope–”

“Reid,” Hotch stops him with a kind tone. 

“Yeah, right, I’m rambling. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

# # # #

It’s past one in the morning when Hotch, who offered the young profiler a ride, parks the car at the building he lives in with you. When Spencer looks up at your windows, he can see that there’s only a faint light illuminating the living room, and he wonders if you’re still awake, or if you just fell asleep while waiting for him. Wouldn't be the first time it happens. 

He says goodnight, then gets out to take his bag and the treats out from the trunk. 

As he’s riding the elevator, he can’t help but hope you’re not awake, because he knows perfectly well you need at least eight hours of sleep to be well-rested in the morning. Unlike you, he doesn’t sleep well most of the time, because his brain doesn’t let him sleep for long. There are just way too many things to think about. 

But when he opens the door of the apartment, the first thing he sees is you smiling brightly at him from the couch, where you’re sitting with a blanket over your legs, and a book in your hand. Spencer can’t help but let out a dreamy sigh, and he honestly can’t comprehend how he managed to earn your love.

Maybe it’s his insecurity talking. Maybe he’s just frustrated that he hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Why are you awake?” he asks as he lets his bag fall to the floor, then heads to the kitchen with the box.

You get up as well to follow him. “I couldn’t fall asleep knowing you would be back tonight. But enough about this, what’s in the–” That’s when you reach the kitchen counter and take a better look at the box, which immediately makes you stop. “Charm City Cakes?”

Spencer flashes a big smile at you. “Yes.”

You squeal from happiness before hugging him tightly. “You’re the best, I hope you know that,” you tell him before moving back to open the box. “Oh, these look delicious. Thank you!”

Before he could say anything, you rush over to the drawer across the kitchen to get two small forks for yourselves, then return to hand Spencer one. 

“You want to eat now?” he asks, dumbfounded since he knows you don’t like to eat so late at night. 

At first, you just shrug, but then you flash a wicked smile at him. “I can’t resist when it comes to such delicious treats,” you inform him.

Spencer leans down to kiss your forehead, and he can’t stop smiling as he watches your expression when you take the first bite. It’s so nice to see how happy such a small thing can make you. 

This look of content is why he always brings you something, why he’s willing to spend hours watching baking and cooking shows with you, why he started to learn how to bake from you. 

“I swear to God, the next time you bring me something like this, I’ll propose on the spot,” you suddenly blurt out before shoving another forkful of cake into your mouth.

It almost makes Spencer choke on the piece of cake he has in his mouth. Was it a joke? Or are you serious? Because he’s been thinking about proposing for a while now, you just never discussed it, you never hinted at wanting it before, and so he decided to avoid bringing it up himself.

But now here you are, casually talking about proposing. 

To be honest, he could propose right now. In a box, hidden behind one of the books on the shelf, there’s an engagement ring he bought months ago, he just never had the courage to pop the question. But maybe now. Maybe now he should finally get it out from its hiding spot, and ask you while you’re still in such an elevated mood from the amount of sugar you have in your system.

And just like that, he excuses himself, and strolls over to the bookshelf, finding the novel without having to look, and taking out the box that’s still where he left it. When he turns around to return to his previous spot, he doesn’t miss the curious look on your face, especially when your eyes move to his hands that are carefully hiding the box.

When he sits back on the stool next to yours, he places the box in front of you with a smile, and you drop the fork in surprise. “Is that…?”

Spencer nods with a smile as he opens it. “It can be yours if you want it.”

“Are you trying to propose, Dr. Reid?” you wonder with a teasing smile. 

With a sigh, he picks up the ring, and holds it up to you. “I’m not just trying,” he tells you matter-of-factly. “Will you marry me? All I can promise is a lot of rambling and sweet treats from my trips around the country,” he adds with a laugh. 

Without a moment of hesitation, you nod over and over again with your hand covering your mouth, and tears already threatening to fall. But it’s all because you’re happy, Spencer knows that, and he’s not surprised when he finally hears you say, “Yes! Of course it's a yes!”

Before he could give you the ring, properly putting it on your finger, you lean forward to kiss him, and he laughs into this kiss before saying, “Baby, let me put that ring on your finger before I drop it.”

Leaning back, you clear your throat and extend your hand with a bright smile on your face. 

[irisinlovee]

earthworms — spencer reid

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: She didn’t fall in love all at once; it crept in quietly, in the small, absurd moments, and while she saw only insignificance in those gestures, to him they were everything, a silent proof of a bond she hadn’t yet realized she had already fallen into.

content warnings: nothing but absolute teeth rotting fluff! and borderline obsession with reid but who isn't

a/n: is it crazy that i'm making an account for stories just for reid? (no)

She didn’t fall in love all at once.

If she were honest with herself, something she was very good at professionally and very bad at personally, it would’ve terrified her if it had been sudden. Love, she’d learned, rarely arrived loudly. It came quietly. Methodically. It slipped into the cracks of routine and made itself indispensable.

She was new to the BAU. New enough that her name still felt strange when Hotch said it in briefings, new enough that she still triple-checked her badge before entering Quantico every morning. Six years younger than Spencer Reid, fresh off a record-breaking graduation track and a recommendation that had made Rossi arch an impressed eyebrow.

She was organized. Painfully so. Color-coded folders. Perfectly formatted reports. Footnotes that aligned like they’d been measured with a ruler. It was the kind of thing people noticed after the fact, when cases closed faster, and paperwork didn’t bounce back with red ink.

Spencer noticed immediately.

The first time they worked together, he’d paused mid-sentence while she handed him a file.

“You tabbed this,” he said, reverent.

She blinked. “Is… that unusual?”

“Extremely,” he said.

She smiled, small and polite. “I also indexed the witness statements by timeline and probability of recall distortion.”

Spencer stared at her like she’d just rewritten the laws of physics.

That should’ve been her first warning.

It started with 7:15.

Every morning, she arrived at her desk by seven. She told herself she liked being early because it gave her control over the day, but the truth is? she could use the extra 5 minutes of snooze, but if she did, she wouldn't be able to see it.

At 7:15, without fail, her eyes lifted.

The bullpen doors opened, and Spencer Reid walked in. A warm cafe latte in hand, messenger bag slung too low, vest and tie ironed so straight not even a tornado could wrinkle it. He looks at you with a gentle smile, greeting you with a good morning. His hair was doing whatever it wanted, but always seemed to look perfect. She remembered the day he walked into the room with boy-band hair, and everyone teased him. It was the first time her heart did a somersault, and it freaked her out so much she hid in the stockroom for hours.

On mornings when he was late, she felt off-balance, like a variable in an equation had gone missing. Her head buzzed as if she were having a withdrawal.

She told herself it meant nothing, because it was...right?

Then came the sanitizer.

She noticed how Spencer subtly recoiled from handshakes during briefings, how he rubbed his hands together afterward like he was trying to erase the sensation. The first time she offered him sanitizer, she did it casually, sliding it across the table without looking at him.

He froze, muttering a soft thanks, not knowing how to react.

After that, she kept one in her pocket. Always. She refilled it religiously. It became second nature.

Morgan noticed first.

“You his handler now?” he teased one afternoon.

She flushed. “I just—he doesn’t like—”

“I know,” Morgan said gently. “Just messin’ with you, pretty girl"

She winced out of embarrassment. Why would she be so defensive? It's not like it had malice. It really just was out of habit. Anyway, she told herself that having sanitizer was just a smart move, especially after the blip of the 2020 pandemic. Spencer smiled at her, shy and grateful, and something warm settled in her chest.

They were partners more often than not. It made sense, both fast, both analytical, both capable of keeping up with Hotch’s expectations. She walked with Spencer through crime scenes, trailing half a step behind him when his thoughts pulled him forward too quickly.

She didn’t mind. She liked matching his pace.

She liked the way he glanced back to make sure she hadn’t been left behind. Sometimes, she longed for the moments when he would absentmindedly hold her hand in crowded places so as not to lose her. One time, he accidentally laced his finger with hers while maundering about rare first editions after they passed down a secondhand book store, and to be quite frank, she doesn't even remember the details because her vision was spinning, focusing on how his thumb rubbed the back of her hand every now and then when he made an important comment.

On the jet, she sat beside him without thinking. She'd grab her blanket, one she packed in every flight, making herself comfortable when he rambled about obscure studies, foreign alphabets, the mathematical beauty of language; she didn’t tune it out this time. She noticed how every time he did, she leaned in and asked questions. Real ones that matter.

“What happens after that?” “Wait, but wouldn’t that contradict—?” “Can you explain that part again?”

She never noticed, but Spencer lit up every time.

“You’re not bored?” he asked once, incredulous.

She had her eyes closed, tired from the early morning case, but she still smiled. “Not even a little. Tell me more, my genius.”

Slowly, after realizing these changes, everything started to scare her.

She knew Spencer Reid’s history. Everyone did. About the way he loved deeply and quietly and sometimes painfully. With JJ. With Maeve. She didn't think she could compare to that.

No, she told herself she didn’t stand a chance. That whatever this was—this warmth, this pull—it was temporary. A projection. A mistake.

Penelope didn’t buy it.

“Oh, honeypie!” she said one afternoon, wheeling her chair over until she was far too close. “You look at him like he hung the stars.”

“I do not.”

“You tabbed and alphabetized his paperwork last night.”

“I was being helpful!”

Penelope grinned. “Oh, I know you girlywhirly, you don't just use your colored tabs. You save them for the perfect time and book. It's not even yours, and the whole pack almost ran out. You’re in love.”

She laughed it off. Pretended she didn’t feel it when Spencer was out sick, and the bullpen felt too quiet. Pretended her head didn’t feel fuzzy all day, unfocused, like she’d forgotten something essential.

Not until they were standing in a quiet hallway after a long case did it finally crack.

That day, she was paired with Morgan on patrol to make the case move faster. He needed to be the organization and brain with all the strings and boards of suspects, and she needed to be the careful, meticulous eyes on-site. After it was solved, she wanted nothing more than to hear his voice again, his endless word-vomit of information she may or may not put to good use. Her heart was already beating miles away at the thought of sitting beside him, listening.

But as soon as she hopped on the plane, JJ was already there, sitting beside Spencer, who was already rambling about anything, everything. Immediately, she notices how his hand was on the armrest, twirling JJ’s fingers. It was the same little tic or habit he used to do with her. Her stomach twisted at the sight. It was such a small thing, absurdly stupid, and yet, her chest felt tight, hot, suffocating. Am I really upset over this? Over a stupid hand gesture?

She walked past them, forcing her steps steady, but every nerve screamed at her to just look, to just say something. Spencer’s head lifted, and he smiled at her.

And she didn’t smile back. She didn’t even glance long enough to let him see her. Just a tiny, barely-there nod, and she retreated to the back, curling into a blanket beside Rossi, who was clinging to the warmth of his scotch, staring out the window.

She didn’t see the way Spencer’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat before looking away, rubbing his hands together as if trying to shake off the sting of her absence. She didn’t see the worry, the little frown flicker across his face, the way his eyes searched for hers even as she disappeared under headphones and closed eyelids.

She couldn’t know that to him, that small gesture, wasn’t just a tic. It was meaningless without her, but to her, it felt like the world had shifted, and she had been quietly erased from it.

“You okay?” he said, instinctively reaching for her hand.

She took half a step back.

The movement was small, barely there, but Spencer noticed it immediately. He noticed everything lately. How she hadn’t stood behind him at the crime scene that day. How she’d chosen a seat between JJ and Rossi during the briefing instead of beside him. How she hadn’t absentmindedly placed a finger in his palm, tracing little circles while Penelope delivered her case brief.

He missed that.

It was strange. Disorienting.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

He tilted his head, brow furrowing. “You’re… everything except fine.”

She exhaled. “Spencer.”

He stopped walking.

She hesitated, the silence stretching between them just long enough to make his chest tighten. Then she gestured toward one of the stools near the wall and sat down, shoulders drawn inward. Spencer remained standing in front of her, unsure whether he was meant to move closer or stay where he was.

“Can I ask you something,” she said softly, “something… personal?”

He nodded immediately. “Yes.”

She twisted her hands together in her lap, eyes fixed on the floor. That worried him more than anything else; she never avoided his gaze. Not with him. Not ever.

“Did you ever,” she began, then stopped, swallowing hard, “stop feeling something for someone you thought you’d always care about?”

His expression softened instantly.

“Yes,” he said. “Eventually.”

Her shoulders dropped just a fraction. Spencer noticed that too.

“I thought I never would,” he continued gently. “But then I realized love isn’t static. It changes. Or it… redirects.”

“Redirects,” she echoed, barely louder than a whisper.

He studied her carefully now, gears turning, something uneasy blooming in his chest. She’d gone quiet again, like she was standing at the edge of something she didn’t know how to step into.

“Did it ever,” she asked after a moment, her voice softer, “redirect to anyone?” waiting for an answer from him.

He didn’t.

Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the top of her head, waiting. Hoping. For her to look up. To meet his eyes. To give him something more to work with.

She didn’t.

The silence stretched too long.

She stood abruptly. “Never mind,” she said, forcing a small, tired smile. “I’m probably just exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning, Spence.”

She turned, already halfway down the hall, fully expecting him to let her go.

He didn’t.

His hand closed gently around her wrist, not tight—never tight—just enough to stop her. Enough to make her turn back to him.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

And Spencer Reid, standing there in a dim hotel hallway with his heart doing something wildly inconvenient, realized this was not a conversation he was willing to walk away from.

“Did I do something?” Spencer asked suddenly, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Was it me?”

She laughed weakly, breathless and frustrated all at once. “Yes.”

He blinked. “Yes… what?”

She exhaled sharply, hands flying up in surrender. “Yes, it’s you. It’s you.”

His breath caught.

“You make my head spin, Spence,” she said, voice trembling now. “You make my heart skip. You give me butterflies, bees, heck, even earthworms in my stomach, whatever that means.”

She pressed her palms to her eyes, mortified. “I hate how I’m like this. I hate how I get lovesick when it comes to you, and then I see you with other girls, with Em, Pen, and JJ!, and you act the same way you always do, and I tell myself it means nothing, because it has to mean nothing, right? Because maybe it’s all just in my head.”

She dropped her hands.

Spencer stood there, completely still.

His mind raced, connections forming, recalculating, rewriting every assumption he’d made in the last several months. He opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Earthworms,” he repeated, shaking his head.

You sigh, trying to stop the tear from falling. His hands

“You used to arrive at the office at seven-thirty,” he said quickly, words tumbling out. “And then one day you started getting there before me, which would have been insanely rare or even impossible, because you told me you like to lie in bed for an extra five minutes after your alarm rings at 7:00AM with the sun hitting your face because it felt like a warm towel on your face after a cold night. You drink your coffee iced because when the ice melts, it dilutes the sweetness just enough to make it tolerable. You go through approximately two bottles of perfume a month because you don’t like not smelling good, and—” he paused, cheeks flushing, eyes looking elsewhere “I like it, because every time your shoulder brushes mine, it stays, like the feeling of you lingers.”

Her breath hitched.

“You use a Pilot pen, black ink, point-five millimeter, because it’s the ideal thickness, and you write in those Target notebooks you buy in sets of three. You tab your paperwork. Hell, you tabbed my paperwork, and the moment you slid that hand sanitizer my way without missing a beat, I knew I was in trouble.”

She looked up at him then, eyes bright, glassy. “Why does any of that matter?” she whispered.

Spencer stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast.

His hands found hers, warm and steady.

“Because,” he said softly, “you don’t notice details like that about someone unless you like them.”

She swallowed hard.

“You give me earthworms too,” he added, smiling.

A laugh escaped her, shaky and relieved.

And when he leaned in, the kiss was soft and warm and sure, like something that had always been waiting to happen.

[unabashegirl]

ruined silk

A jealous argument at a club explodes into a night of rough, possessive hate sex . But the tender aftercare that follows forces you both to admit there’s no going back .

author's note: just wanted to write something for you! i hope you enjoy! happy reading!

Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.

📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

📌 all of my work :)

📌 w.c -> 7.8k

Tom’s flat in Hackney always smelled the same before a night out: a distinct, heady mixture of expensive cologne, burnt hair straightener, and the sharp tang of cheap vodka mixed with lemonade.

You checked your reflection in the hallway mirror one last time, smoothing down the front of your dress. It was shorter than what you usually wore. It was a slip of black silk that ended dangerously high on your thighs and dipped low in the back. It was armor. Tonight was about feeling good. Tonight was about getting drunk enough to tolerate the inevitable headache that was currently sitting on Tom’s velvet sofa.

"You’re going to freeze," Cassie said, emerging from the bathroom with a cloud of hairspray following her. She looked you up and down, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "But you’re going to look hot doing it. I approve."

"I have a coat," you said, grabbing your leather jacket from the hook. "And I have tequila. I’ll be fine."

"Famous last words," Jay called out from the kitchen, raising a red solo cup in a mock toast.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and walked into the living room.

The music was already thumping. It was some remix Tom had found that was rattling the windows, but the atmosphere shifted the second you stepped onto the rug.

Harry was sprawled on the sofa like he owned the building. He was wearing black trousers and a shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing a chaotic roadmap of tattoos and the glint of a gold cross. His rings clicked against the glass of whiskey he was holding as he looked up.

He didn’t smile. He never smiled at you. Instead, his green eyes narrowed slightly, tracking you from the strap of your heels up to the curve of your hip, lingering on the hem of the dress before finally meeting your eyes.

The silence between you two was loud enough to drown out the bass.

"You’re late," Harry drawled, his voice rough. He didn't sit up. He just watched you with that heavy, lidded gaze that always made you feel like you had something on your face.

"I’m fashionably on time," you corrected, walking past him to the drinks table. You made a point not to look at him, though you could feel his eyes burning a hole between your shoulder blades. "Something you wouldn’t understand, seeing as you just roll out of bed and put on whatever shirt is least wrinkled."

"This is Saint Laurent, actually," Harry shot back, taking a slow sip of his drink. "And at least I’m wearing a whole outfit. I think you forgot the rest of yours."

You froze, the bottle of vodka hovering over your cup. The room went quiet. Jay winced in the kitchen. Cassie stopped applying her lip gloss.

You turned around slowly, fixing Harry with a glare that could strip paint. "Excuse me?"

Harry gestured vaguely at your legs with his glass, a smirk playing on his lips. It wasn't a nice smirk. It was the one he used when he knew he’d gotten under your skin. "The dress. It’s... ambitious. Planning on catching a cold? Or are you just fishing for attention tonight?"

"Harry," Tom warned from the corner, looking exhausted already. "Don't."

"I'm just saying," Harry said, shrugging, his eyes dark and unreadable. "It’s a lot of skin for a Tuesday."

"It’s Friday, you idiot," you snapped, your grip tightening on your cup. "And for your information, I dress for myself. Not for you. Never for you."

Harry hummed, low and vibrating in his chest. He set his glass down on the coffee table and finally stood up. He towered over the room, broad-shouldered and imposing. He took a step toward you, invading your personal space with the casual arrogance of someone who knew you wouldn't back down.

"Good," he murmured, close enough that you could smell him. Tobacco, vanilla, and the expensive whiskey. It was infuriating how good he smelled. "Because if you dressed like that for me, I’d tell you to go put some clothes on."

"If I dressed for you," you hissed, tilting your chin up to hold his gaze, "I’d wear a muzzle so I wouldn’t have to hear your voice."

Harry’s jaw ticked. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then snapped back up to your eyes. For a second, just a split second, the air in the room felt electric. Volatile. Like someone had struck a match in a room full of gas.

"Alright! Okay!" Cassie clapped her hands loudly, physically stepping between the two of you like a referee. "Time out. Both of you. We are not doing this tonight."

"He started it," you muttered, stepping back and downing your vodka shot without a chaser. It burned, but the heat in your chest was already there.

"I don't care who started it," Cassie said, pointing a manicured finger at Harry. "You, stop being a prick." She pointed at you. "You, stop baiting him."

Harry rolled his eyes, adjusting his rings. "I'm not baiting anyone. I'm just making conversation."

"Your conversation sucks," Jay noted helpfully, throwing you a beer.

"We are going to the club," Tom announced, grabbing his keys and shepherding everyone toward the door. "We are going to drink, we are going to dance, and if I hear one argument about politics, fashion, or whose turn it is to buy a round, I am leaving you both on the curb. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," you said, grabbing your jacket.

You walked to the door, brushing past Harry. He didn't move out of the way. His shoulder knocked against yours. Hard, solid, intentional.

"After you," he whispered, his voice dropping to that mock-polite tone he used when he wanted to strangle you.

"Go to hell, Styles," you whispered back.

"Ladies first."

He held the door open, his face a mask of polite indifference, but as you walked past him, you saw his hand clench into a fist at his side, the knuckles white.

You hated him. You really, truly hated him.

The club was a sensory assault. It was vibrating, the bass heavy enough to rattle your teeth, the air thick with the smell of dry ice and sweat.

You had lost the group within five minutes. Tom and Cassie had disappeared toward the VIP booths, and Jay was somewhere near the DJ booth. You didn't care. You needed to move. You needed to shake off the irritation that had settled under your skin back at the apartment.

You were on the edge of the dance floor, letting the music dictate your movements. You weren't drunk yet, not really, but the two tequila shots were buzzing pleasantly in your blood, making everything feel loose and hazy.

Across the room, bathed in strobing purple light, was the booth.

Harry was holding court. Of course he was. He was sitting in the corner of the leather banquet, legs spread wide, looking bored out of his mind despite the two blonde girls leaning over him, laughing at something he’d said. He held a drink in one hand, his other arm draped along the back of the seat.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, he looked up.

Even through the strobe lights and the crush of bodies, his gaze locked onto yours instantly. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just watched you. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes dropping to your legs, then back up to your face. He looked... hungry. And angry about it.

You turned your back on him. Let him watch, you thought. Let him choke on it.

You pushed deeper into the crowd, closing your eyes and letting the rhythm take over. You were having fun. You were proving a point.

"Dance with me?"

The voice was hot and wet against your ear. You opened your eyes to see a guy, tall, sweaty, wearing a shirt that cost more than your rent, grinding entirely too close to your back.

"No thanks," you shouted over the music, trying to step away.

"Come on," he insisted, his hand landing heavy on your waist. His grip was clammy. "Just one song. You look lonely."

"I'm not lonely," you snapped, prying his fingers off your hip.

You turned to leave, aiming for the bar, but he moved faster. He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. The crowd was so dense that no one noticed. He crowded you, boxing you in.

"Don't be a bitch," he sneered, his charm evaporating. He reached out, grabbing your arm this time, hard enough to pinch. "I'm just trying to..."

Suddenly, the guy was gone.

He wasn't just pushed; he was removed.

A large hand had clamped onto the guy's shoulder and yanked him backward with a force that looked effortless but was clearly violent. The guy stumbled, disappearing into the thrashing crowd.

In his place stood Harry.

He looked murderous. His jaw was set so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek. He wasn't looking at the guy he’d just shoved; he was looking at you.

He stepped into your space, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the club. He loomed over you, effectively caging you against a pillar.

"Having fun?" he shouted over the bass, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm.

"I was," you yelled back, adrenaline spiking. "Until you showed up."

"Didn't look like fun," Harry said. He stepped closer. His chest brushed against yours. He smelled like smoke now, and danger. "Looked like you were getting handled."

"I can handle myself."

"Clearly," he scoffed. His hand shot out, not to grab you, but to brace against the pillar next to your head. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. The intimacy of it, the heat of his body, the way he shielded you from the room, made your knees weak, which only made you angrier.

"You’re a mess," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your neck. "Wandering around here alone. Dressed like that."

"My dress isn't the problem," you said, your voice low and sharp. You didn't shove him this time. You stood your ground, meeting his gaze with ice in your veins. "And I don't remember asking for your opinion on it."

"I'm not talking about the dress," he murmured. "I'm talking about the way you're practically begging for trouble."

"The only trouble I have right now is you breathing down my neck," you countered, staring him down. "I was handling it."

Harry caught your wrist. He didn't squeeze; he just held it, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. He looked down at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

"I know," Harry said. His gaze dropped to your mouth. For a second, you thought he was going to kiss you right there on the dance floor.

Instead, his grip on your wrist tightened. He leaned back, a cruel, mocking smirk twisting his lips.

"Come on, pet," he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a curse. "Let's get you a water. You look flushed."

The word hit you like a physical blow. Pet. It was patronizing. It was belittling. And god, the way he said it, low and gravelly, made heat pool low in your stomach.

"Don't call me that," you warned.

"Why?" Harry challenged, tugging you toward the exit. He didn't let go of your hand. "Fits, doesn't it? Small. Yappy. Need looking after."

"I didn't ask for your help," you said, your voice cold, trying to wrench your hand back. "And I certainly don't need a babysitter."

"Could have fooled me," he deadpanned, towing you through the crowd like a unruly child. "Now walk. Before I carry you, and we both know you'd hate that."

The air outside hit you like a slap in the face.

Harry didn't stop at the main entrance. He towed you around the corner, into the quieter, grittier alleyway where the smokers huddled under the overhang. It was drizzling, a miserable, fine London mist that stuck to your skin immediately.

He finally let go of your wrist, but only to turn and block your path, putting his back to the brick wall.

"You’re welcome," he said, his voice flat. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, looking infuriatingly calm for someone who had just dragged you out of a club.

"For what?" you demanded, rubbing your wrist. "For making a scene? For acting like you own the pavement I walk on?"

Harry lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He took a drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that mixed with the mist. "For saving you from having to reject a guy who wasn't listening. You looked panicked."

"I looked bored," you corrected, your voice steady. "I was handling it. I didn't need you to swoop in just to mark your territory."

Harry laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't flatter yourself, pet. I wasn't marking anything. I just didn't want to spend the rest of the night listening to Cassie whine about how you got groped by some finance bro."

"You are such a prick," you said, stepping closer. You were shivering now, the adrenaline fading and leaving you exposed to the cold in your thin dress. "You just can't stand it. You can't stand seeing me have a good time without you supervising."

Harry’s eyes snapped to yours. He flicked ash onto the ground. "Is that what you call fun? Grinding on strangers? It looked desperate."

"It looked like I was enjoying my night," you shot back. "Something you wouldn't understand because you're too busy judging everyone else from the corner."

"I don't judge," Harry said, his voice dropping. He took a step off the wall, invading your space again. The heat radiating off him was the only warm thing in the alley. "I observe. And what I observed tonight was you acting like a child."

"I am not a child."

"Then stop acting like one," Harry roared back, his composure finally cracking. "Stop wearing things that barely cover you and getting shocked when men look. Stop picking fights with me just to get a reaction."

"I don't want a reaction from you," you said, your voice raising to match his volume. "I want you to leave me alone. I want you to disappear."

Silence crashed down between you.

For a moment, the only sound was the muffled bass from the club and the distant wail of a siren. Harry stared at you, his chest heaving, his cigarette burning down to the filter in his hand. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and dangerous.

"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly. "You want me to leave?"

"Yes," you lied. Your heart was pounding in your throat.

"Fine." Harry dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'll get Tom to come get you. I'm leaving."

You crossed your arms, looking away, waiting for him to walk away. You waited for the sound of his boots on the pavement.

Instead, you heard a scoff.

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered.

"What now?" you snapped, turning back.

Harry turned his phone screen toward you. A text message from Tom was glowing on the display.

Tom (Group Chat): I said no fighting. We left 10 mins ago. Going back to mine. Don't kill each other. x

You scrambled for your own phone. Sure enough, three missed texts from Cassie. Where are you? We're leaving. You guys sort it out.

"They left us," you whispered, staring at the screen. "They actually left us."

"Looks like it," Harry said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at the sky. The drizzle was turning into actual rain now, heavy drops splashing against the puddles.

"Great," you groaned, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. "Just great."

Harry sighed, a long, suffering exhale. He unbuttoned his jacket. Before you could protest, he peeled it off and draped it over your shoulders. It was heavy, warm, and smelled overwhelmingly of him.

"I don't need your coat," you said stiffly.

"Shut up," he said, cutting you off. He wasn't looking at you; he was looking down the street, scanning for a taxi light. His white shirt was instantly damp from the rain, sticking to his shoulders. "Just wear the jacket. I'm not having you freeze to death on my watch. Tom would never let me hear the end of it."

"Fine," you muttered, pulling the jacket tighter despite yourself.

"So you've said." Harry pulled out his phone again. "Uber is 3 minutes away. Try not to speak until then."

You stood there in the rain, side by side, not touching. The anger was still there, buzzing in the air between you, but it had shifted. It wasn't the sharp, shouting anger anymore. It was something heavier. Something thicker.

You watched a drop of rain trace the line of his throat, running down to the ink on his chest. You looked away quickly before he could catch you.

Three minutes later, a black sedan pulled up to the curb.

Harry opened the back door. He didn't offer you a hand. He just jerked his head toward the dark interior.

"Get in."

You slid across the leather seat. Harry followed, closing the door and sealing you both inside.

The silence in the car was deafening. It was dark, intimate, and suffocating. You were pressed against the door, trying to keep distance, but the backseat was small. Harry’s leg brushed against yours every time the car turned.

You were trapped. And you were starting to realize, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that you didn't actually want him to disappear at all.

The rain battered the roof of the Uber, a rhythmic drumming that filled the heavy silence between you.

It was suffocating in the backseat. The heater was blasting, turning the air thick and humid. It was too hot. You shrugged the heavy leather jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap on the seat between you. It became a barrier neither of you dared to cross.

You were pressed against the door, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring out at the blurred city lights. Harry was doing the same on his side. You could see his reflection in the window: jaw clenched tight enough to snap, eyes narrowed, staring at nothing.

The night was ruined. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a chance to let loose with the group, but it had ended in disaster before the real drinking even started. Now, the anger was a physical weight in the car.

Harry shifted, letting out a sharp, frustrated sigh that sounded like a growl.

"Stop huffing," you snapped, not turning your head.

"I didn't say a word," Harry shot back, his voice rough. "Don't start."

"I’m not starting anything. You’re the one who—"

"I said drop it." He turned then, glaring at you. The streetlights flashed across his face, highlighting the fury in his eyes. "Just... drop it."

You bit your tongue, tasting blood. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to tell him to stop the car so you could get out and walk in the rain just to be away from him. But you didn't. You just sat there, fuming, letting the silence stretch until it felt like it would snap your ribs.

The car finally jerked to a halt.

"Here we are, mate," the driver said, sounding relieved to be getting rid of you both.

Harry threw the door open without waiting. "Out."

You scrambled out into the downpour, ignoring him as he paid the driver. You didn't wait for him. You marched toward the awning of his building, your heels clicking angrily on the wet pavement. Harry followed a step behind, his presence looming large and dark at your back.

You were at his building. Of course you were. Yours was another twenty minutes away and neither of you had the patience for that.

The elevator ride was the breaking point.

You stood on opposite sides of the small metal box, watching the numbers tick up. The air was charged, vibrating with everything that had gone wrong tonight.

"You're unbelievable," Harry muttered, almost to himself.

You whipped your head around. "Me? You're the one who made a scene because my dress was too short.”

"I made a scene?" Harry pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in two long strides. "You never know when to shut up, do you?"

"If you actually listened to me...”

"I am listening!" He was in your space now, crowding you into the corner. "I listen to you constantly picking fights, constantly pushing me—"

"I hate you," you spat, the words trembling with rage.

"Good." Harry’s eyes dropped to your mouth. "I hate you too."

Then, he crashed his mouth onto yours.

It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a collision. It was months of arguments and insults pouring into a kiss that tasted like violence. He bit your lower lip, hard, forcing a gasp from your throat that he immediately swallowed.

Your hands flew up, not to push him away, but to grab the front of his shirt, bunching the expensive fabric in your fists. You pulled him closer, kissing him back with the same ferocity, matching his anger, your tongue tangling with his.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair to tilt your head back further.

Ding.

The doors slid open.

You broke apart, chests heaving, lips swollen and red. The sudden lack of contact left you cold.

Harry stared at you, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged. He reached for your hand, but you stepped back.

The anger was gone, replaced by a sudden, crushing exhaustion.

"No," you whispered. You stepped out into the hallway, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Harry followed, confused. He fumbled for his keys, unlocking his apartment door. "What?"

"I can't do this, Harry," you said, your voice shaking. You looked at the open door, then back at him. "I’m going home. I'm just... I'm so tired of fighting with you. I can't keep doing this every night."

You turned away, intending to head back to the elevator. "I'm calling a car."

"The hell you are."

Harry didn't let you take another step. He reached out, his hand clamping around your wrist, and yanked you toward him.

"Harry!"

He didn't listen. He pulled you through the doorway, shoving you into the dark apartment. He followed you in, kicking the door shut behind him with a deafening slam.

"You're not leaving," he breathed, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. "We're done fighting. But you are not leaving."

The audacity of it made your blood boil. The exhaustion you had felt in the hallway evaporated, replaced by a fresh, white-hot spike of adrenaline.

"Get off me!" You shoved Harry backward, your hands slamming against his solid chest. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to shake that arrogant look off his face. He stumbled, hitting the opposite wall with a heavy thud, and before he could recover, you were on him, closing the distance. "You think you can just drag me around like a prop? You arrogant, controlling prick!"

Harry snarled, a low, animalistic sound that vibrated right through the floorboards. His hands snapped to your waist, spinning you around so fast it made the room blur. He didn't pin you against the wall this time; he scooped you up.

Your stomach dropped. It was a humiliating reflex, but your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist to keep from falling. You hated the way he handled you so easily, like you weighed nothing, like your anger was cute.

He carried you down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open. He didn't bother with the lights. He walked straight to the bed and threw you onto the mattress. Hard.

You bounced against the springs, the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You scrambled to sit up, panic and fury warring in your chest, but he was already there. He crawled over you, fully dressed, his knees caging your hips, his weight pressing you down into the duvet.

He grabbed the neckline of your silk dress. There was no fumbling for zippers, no hesitation. He yanked the fabric down with a sharp tear, the sound of ruining expensive silk echoing in the quiet room.

"Are you out of your mind?" you screamed, trying to shove his heavy shoulders off you as the cool air hit your exposed skin. "That dress cost a fortune!"

He caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with effortless strength. He loomed over you, his eyes adjusting to the dark, looking absolutely lethal.

"Red," he stated, his voice low and devoid of negotiation. "That’s your safe word."

You glared at him, your chest heaving against the ruined silk. The word hung in the air, confusing you. He was furious, he was drunk, and he was currently ruining your clothes, but he was still giving you the power to stop it. It was a twisted kind of care that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"I don't need a safe word," you hissed, thrashing your legs. "I need you to get the hell off!"

"You have it," he snapped, leaning down until his nose brushed yours. "Remember it. Use it if you want me to stop. Otherwise, shut up and take it."

He released your wrists only to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Because I’m losing my mind," he growled, holding your gaze. "I’m drunk, I’m furious, and you have been testing every last shred of restraint I have left."

He let go of your face to grab the torn bodice of your dress, ripping it the rest of the way down to your waist. He looked at your exposed skin with a mix of hunger and fury that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

"You need to be taught a lesson desperately," he murmured, his eyes snapping back to yours. "You've been acting so bratty all night. Prancing around that club. Running your mouth."

The accusation stung because it was true. You had been pushing him. You had been begging for a reaction all night, and now that you had it, you weren't sure if you were scared or thrilled.

"So teach me then," you challenged, your voice sharp, breathless. "Stop talking about it and do it."

Harry smirked, a dark, dangerous curve of his lips. "Oh, I'm going to.”

He reached down and slapped your thigh, hard. The sting was sharp, shocking a gasp out of you.

"Spread them," he ordered.

"Make me."

Harry didn't argue. He moved his hand between your legs, over your panties. He didn't touch you gently; he pressed the heel of his hand against you, grinding down slowly.

"You're a liar," he whispered, feeling the heat radiating off you. "You act tough, but you're soaking wet for the man you hate."

"I was just trying to protect you," he seethed, his voice rough with frustration. "That's all I was doing in that club. But you just want to fight. You just want to scream at me over stupid shit.”

He grabbed the lace of your panties and ripped them aside, his eyes burning into yours.

He didn't go down on you. Instead, his hand fisted tightly in your hair, yanking your head back against the mattress until your neck was bared to him. He dragged his body up, pressing his heavy torso against yours, his mouth hovering right beside your ear.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice wet and guttural. "You have no idea how many times I've imagined this. Watching you shake your ass in that dress... wondering if you were pink and wet underneath.”

He moved his hand down, parting your legs roughly. He didn't prep you; he didn't need to. He shoved two thick fingers straight inside you, burying them to the knuckles in one sharp thrust.

You gasped, your hips bucking off the bed, but he used his grip on your hair to pin you down.

"Fuck," he hissed against your neck.

He started to move his hand, twisting his wrist, curling his fingers inside you to hit that rough, sensitive spot on your front wall. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you was obscene, wet and loud in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he taunted, biting your earlobe hard enough to sting. "Torn open. Completely exposed. You look like a wreck, baby. My messy wreck.”

He pulled his hand almost all the way out, letting the cool air hit your slick entrance, before slamming his fingers back in, harder this time. You cried out, a broken sound of pleasure.

"That’s it," he praised, the anger in his voice bleeding into pure lust. "You take my fingers so well.”

He used his thumb to grind down on your clit while his fingers pumped inside you, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm.

"I can feel you throbbing around me," he groaned. "Tell me how good it feels to have my hand in your pussy. Tell me.”

"It feels so good," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the pillow.

“You're close, aren't you?”

"Yes," you choked out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. "Harry, yes.”

"Then cum for me," he ordered, his voice dark and commanding. He picked up the pace, his fingers curling aggressively inside you, hitting that spot over and over again. "Come on, baby. Be a good girl.”

The pressure was too much. Your walls clamped down on his fingers.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, holding your gaze as he brought them to his mouth to lick them clean, savoring the taste of you.

"Delicious," he hummed, his eyes dark and predatory.

He crawled down the mattress, gripping your knees and forcing them wider apart until your muscles strained. He buried his face in the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right near the crease of your hip.

He sank his teeth into the tender flesh. Hard. It was a sharp, stinging pain that made you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets. He held the bite for a second, marking you, claiming you, before soothing the spot with a wet swipe of his tongue.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, looking up at you with a wicked smirk, "when you're sore and aching, and you look down. You remember exactly whose tongue did this to you. You remember who owns you.”

"Harry, please," you whimpered, the sensitivity between your legs becoming unbearable.

"Please what? Please stop? Or please taste you?”

He didn't wait for an answer. He moved inward and buried his face between your legs.

He groaned against your slick entrance, the sound vibrating through your entire body.

Then his tongue was there, broad and flat and relentless. He didn't start slow. He knew you were already primed, your nerves exposed and raw from the first orgasm, so he showed no mercy. He licked a long, punishing stripe from your entrance up to your clit, making your hips jerk off the mattress.

"Stay still," he commanded, his hands gripping your thighs to pin you down. "Don't you run from me."

He began to feast on you, eating you out with a hunger that bordered on violence. He sucked on your clit, his tongue flickering rapidly, teasing the bundle of nerves until you were tossing your head from side to side, a mess of moans and pleas.

He pulled back suddenly, leaving you cold and needy. He rested his chin on your thigh, watching you unravel.

"Look at you," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Legs spread. Shaking. Whimpering." He reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "For a girl who claims she hates me, you sure taste like you love this."

"I hate you," you gasped, though it sounded like a lie even to your own ears.

"Liar." Harry chuckled darkly. "You love my tongue on you. You love being my good girl."

He dove back in, harder this time. He hooked your legs over his shoulders to open you up completely, granting him deeper access.

"I'm going to drain you dry," he mumbled against your skin. "I'm going to make you cum again, and again, until you forget why you were ever angry. Until the only thing you know is my name."

He didn't let you come down from the high. He didn't even let you catch your breath.

Harry pulled back from between your legs, leaving you cold and aching. He stood up, rapidly shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down his thighs until he was free. He was hard, thick, and twitching with anticipation.

He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Turn over," he commanded. "On your hands and knees. Now.”

You scrambled to obey, turning over on the mattress and pushing yourself up onto all fours. You felt exposed, vulnerable, your back arched and your soaked entrance on display for him.

Harry didn't touch you immediately. You could feel his eyes burning into you, assessing the damage, looking at the redness of your skin.

Then, his hand connected with your ass.

Smack.

The sound cracked through the room like a whip. The sting was immediate and sharp, shocking a cry from your throat.

"You were so unsafe tonight," he growled, not giving you a second to recover. "Wandering off to the bar alone. Leaving my sight.”

Smack.

He hit the other cheek, harder this time. Your skin flushed pink instantly.

"And that prick," he hissed, moving closer, his body radiating heat behind you. "That random asshole who put his hand on your waist. I saw him touch you.”

Smack.

"Do you like that?" he shouted, losing control. "Do you like having other men look at you? Do you like making me insane?"

"No," you sobbed, the mixture of pain and pleasure making you dizzy. "Harry, no."

"Shut up."

He reached down and grabbed both of your wrists, wrenching your arms behind your back. He secured them in one large hand, pinning them against the small of your back. This forced your chest down into the mattress and pushed your ass high in the air, leaving you completely helpless.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right at your ear.

"You keep saying it," he whispered, his voice cracking with a desperate sort of rage. "You keep screaming that you don't need me. That you're fine on your own."

He used his free hand to guide his cock to your entrance. He was leaking, just as wet as you were. He lined himself up, the broad head of his length teasing your opening.

"But I need you," he admitted, the words sounding like a curse. "I need this. I need to know that no one else gets to touch you but me."

He didn't give you a count. He didn't ask if you were ready. He gripped your waist with his free hand and thrust his hips forward.

He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming stroke.

You moaned into the pillow, the feeling of him stretching you so suddenly overwhelming your senses. He was so big, filling every empty space inside you, possessing you completely.

"Mine," he snarled against your neck, holding himself deep inside you, waiting for your body to adjust to his invasion. "You are fucking mine."

He held you there for a moment, letting you feel the full, intrusive weight of him. Then, he began to withdraw, inch by tantalizing inch, before snapping his hips forward and slamming back into you.

"Tell me," he grunted, the friction making his voice ragged. "Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you want me to pull out and let you go back to your 'independence'."

"No," you gasped, your head falling forward onto the mattress.

"No?" He thrust harder, the slap of his thighs against your ass echoing in the room. "I thought you didn't need me?"

You turned your head to the side, pressing your cheek into the pillow so he could hear you. The pleasure was sharpening your edges, making you bold.

"I don't need you talking," you moaned, pushing back against him to take him deeper. "That random guy couldn't handle me. He wouldn't know how to fuck me like this."

Harry paused for a split second, the words hitting him exactly where you intended. A dark, arrogant smirk curled his lips in the shadows.

"Is that right?" he murmured, sounding pleased. "He couldn't handle you?"

"No," you cried out as he hit a particularly deep spot. "Only you. I only get this wet for you, Harry. I need you to ruin me with it."

"Fuck," Harry swore, his ego stroking perfectly alongside his lust. "You hold on tight then."

He released your wrists, but only to grab your hips with bruising force. He shoved you downward, flattening your stomach against the mattress, changing the angle so he could go even deeper.

He began to piston into you, wild and unhinged. He wasn't holding back anymore. He was fucking you hard, his fingers digging into your flesh, pushing your hips down into the springs to meet his thrusts, claiming you with every violent stroke.

Time lost all meaning.

Harry was relentless. He was a machine, his stamina fueled by the whiskey and the months of pent-up aggression. He didn't just fuck you; he used you. He used your body to work out every frustration, every argument, every moment of jealousy.

He pounded into you until your thighs were shaking so hard they couldn't support you anymore. You collapsed flat against the mattress, but he didn't stop. He just followed you down, his weight covering you like a heavy blanket, his hips grinding against your buttocks as he continued to drive deep inside you.

"Fuck pet," he grunted, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your shoulder. "Take it all. Every fucking inch."

He dragged another orgasm out of you, your third? Fourth? You had lost count. This one left you crying, your walls clamping down so hard it must have been painful for him, but he just groaned and thrust through it.

You were wrecked. Your mind was a white haze of pleasure and exhaustion. You were limp beneath him, your breathing coming in shallow, ragged whimpers. You couldn't move. You couldn't speak.

Harry sensed the shift.

He slowed his rhythm, but didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep inside you, pulsing, his chest heaving against your back.

He reached up and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back gently so he could see your face in the darkness.

"Hey," he barked, shaking you slightly. "Stay with me."

You blinked, trying to focus on him, but the room was spinning.

"Red," he demanded, his voice rough and breathless. "Give me the word and I’ll stop. You're barely conscious."

"No," you wheezed, the word barely audible.

"No?" Harry chuckled, a dark, incredulous sound. "You're trembling. You can't even lift your head. Are you still there, baby? Or is your brain completely fried?"

"I'm here," you whispered, trying to push back against him, though your muscles were jelly. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

"Jesus Christ," Harry muttered, sounding equal parts impressed and horrified. "You really are a glutton for punishment."

"Fine," he growled, reaching down to spread your ass cheeks, preparing to hammer into you again. "Then you better brace yourself, because I haven't even started to cum yet."

He didn't wait. He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to anchor you, and he began to move with a desperate, frantic energy.

He wasn't pacing himself anymore. He was chasing his own release, hammering into you with short, sharp thrusts that hit that deepest spot.

You whimpered into the pillow, the friction becoming overwhelming. It wasn't pain; it was pure, blinding intensity. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, needing him just as much as he needed you.

"Christ," he encouraged, his voice breaking.

He leaned down, his heavy chest pressing against your back, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of your neck. He bit down, not to hurt, but to ground himself.

"I’m close," he warned, his hips stuttering as he drove into you harder. "I’m gonna... fuck!"

Harry shouted your name, a raw, guttural roar that filled the room. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt and holding you there, crushed beneath his weight.

You felt him pulse inside you, hot and heavy. He poured himself into you, his body jerking with every spasm, emptying months of frustration and anger and desire straight into your core.

He held you through the aftershocks, refusing to pull out, needing to stay connected to you for as long as possible. Finally, with a long, shuddering exhale, he collapsed on top of you, his face burying in the crook of your neck, his heart hammering against your back like a trapped bird.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the rain still beating against the window, the only witnesses to the storm that had just passed.

Eventually, the heaviness of the moment shifted.

Harry pulled away slowly, a groan vibrating in his chest as he withdrew from you. The loss of him was a physical ache, followed immediately by the rush of cool air hitting your damp, overheated skin.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, head in his hands, recovering. Then, he stood up.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. Illuminated by the faint light spilling in from the street, he was breathtaking. Broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, the strong columns of his legs. But it was the evidence of what you had done to him that kept your gaze fixed.

His back was a canvas of your desperation. Angry red welts were raked down his shoulder blades where your nails had dug in.

Harry didn't seem to notice your staring. He walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards.

A moment later, you heard the rushing sound of water from the en-suite bathroom. The faint scent of his expensive body wash, sandalwood and amber, wafted into the bedroom, mixing with the scent of sex.

He returned a minute later, holding a tall glass of ice water. He walked to your side of the bed and knelt down, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"Here," he murmured, his voice still raspy from shouting.

He helped you sit up, holding the glass to your lips. The water was freezing, shocking your system in the best way. You drank greedily, some of it spilling down your chin, but Harry just caught the droplet with his thumb, wiping it away gently.

He set the glass down on the nightstand and turned back to you. His expression was unreadable, softer now, the rage completely spent.

"You're a mess," he whispered, though there was no bite in it.

He reached out, his large hands cupping your face. He used his fingers to gently comb your hair back from your forehead, untangling the sweaty strands that were plastered to your cheeks. He tucked the hair behind your ears, studying your face with a quiet, intense focus, as if making sure you were still all there.

"Come on," he said softly.

He didn't wait for you to move. He slid his arms under you, one beneath your knees, the other supporting your back, and lifted you effortlessly.

You let your head fall against his bare shoulder, your skin brushing against the scratches you had left there. He carried you into the bathroom, where the room was already filling with steam.

"I ran a bath," he said, walking toward the large tub. "You're going to soak. And I'm going to take care of you."

He lowered you slowly into the tub, the steaming water rising to engulf your aching muscles. It stung slightly against the bite mark on your thigh and the scratches on your back, but it was a soothing, grounding heat.

Harry didn't step away. He knelt beside the tub, ignoring the water soaking into his knees. He reached for a washcloth, dipping it into the water and wringing it out before bringing it to your shoulder, gently wiping away the sweat and the memories of the last hour.

You watched him, this man who had been a demon in the bedroom ten minutes ago, now touching you with the reverence of a saint. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, his expression concentrated and calm.

It was confusing. It was terrifying.

"You went from ripping my clothes off to playing nurse," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You tilted your head, catching his gaze. "Have you gone soft on me, Harry?"

Harry paused, the washcloth hovering over your collarbone. A surprise ripple of amusement crossed his face, breaking the serious mask. He let out a low, soft laugh, a sound that vibrated with a terrifying amount of affection.

"Don't push your luck, Pet," he whispered, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I just need you in one piece so I can do it all again tomorrow."

He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your wet forehead, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite every warning bell ringing in your head. You thought about the fighting in the car, the violence in the elevator, the sex that felt like war, and now this tender quiet in the bathroom.

You let out a shaky breath, opening your eyes to look at him.

"We are so fucked," you whispered.

Harry didn't deny it. He just smirked, tracing the line of your jaw.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Completely."

[velvetground-6]

corrupted, unclean follow up part to corrupted green, can be read stand alone but my masterlist link is in bio

warning(s): explicit 18+, weed, smut, unvirgin’d sub!clark, co-workers to friends to lovers, he starves for p*ssy

Newly deflowered Clark is hornier than a rabbit. (6.4k)

-

The Monday at the office after getting high and riding Clark on your couch was tense.

You hoped no one else could feel it. How the air between the both of you was palpable now, shifting into something suspicious. Something undeniable. He couldn’t stop sneaking nosy looks at you. First thing he did after attempting to act natural with his benign good morning in front of all your co-workers was send you an email with a giddy, energetic hey. you up for tonight?

In the break room he affirms that the coast is clear before practically lunging at you, kissing like he’s been starving for it ever since he woke up. You couldn’t hide your laugh at how he’d been acting, how he rushed just to have a kiss. His lips peck down to your neck, little smacking lip noises that do make you melt even more for him. In the corner of your eye you see someone passing by in the hall and you gently pat his shoulder to signal he’s about to get you both caught.

Like a fumbling boy that almost got caught with his hand down his pants, Clark pulls away and clears his throat, backing up to create more reasonable space. Co-worker level space.

Another figure passes by, this time coming in to wash their coffee mug at the sink, minding their own business. The outside presence and the sound alone of the faucet going off startles him like a skiddish puppy. He whistles some random tune, pretending to look in the fridge at absolutely nothing before the outsider finally exits, leaving you two alone again.

Clark is on you again like he’s been put under a spell, nearly slamming the refrigerator door shut and coming up behind you. Mouthing on your neck and whispering in your ear.

“Wanna do more than just kiss you right now,” he breathes. Engulfs you with those arms still from behind, now wrapped around you like a tangled up bear hug. “You wanna meet up on break somewhere? That storage closet’s always empty,” he raises his brows, stupid cheeky smile spreading on his face.

You laugh at his proposition, still leaning back into him while snorting at his boyish impatience. “You’re insane, are you twelve years old?”

“Mm, looking for a yes or a no but I still haven’t found one yet,” he teases back. Nose buried in your hair before he pulls it back behind your ear. “You know why I’m acting insane.”

“I’m insane too! But I know how to behave,” you turn around so you’re face to face, reaching up on your tippy toes to kiss his cheekbone.

“Make me behave for you then,” he tries to reason with a swallow. Looks into your eyes with cheeks that seem to just get redder and redder. “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good. Can’t help it when I just wanna feel you again… I need it.”

You wanna curse when you feel yourself getting more and more turned on the way he starts to beg. “You went your whole life without pussy, now you get some and you don’t know how to act,” you whisper through another laugh. Shaking your head and looking back to scope if it’s clear before leaning right back in for another sneaky kiss.

“Didn’t know what it was like then. Now I know what I’ve been missing and it’s all I’m thinking about,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re all I think about.”

“Naughty naughty boy,” you pull back after having one more. Chastising him with a playful cup of his jaw, leaving him high and dry.

“So s’that a yes for when our break starts?”

You just look back at him and throw another grin, leaving him to wonder.

And around an hour later, Clark finds out that it was indeed a yes.

The storage closet is filled with cleaning products in spray bottles stacked along the shelves, a dirty soaking mop hanging above. It wasn’t a place you’d call stimulating or romantic, and you’d certainly be a little afraid to bump into or knock anything over. Clark senses that this wasn’t exactly near the most comfortable spot to meet and makeout like a couple of eager children, but he finds an empty corner in the little space and presses you up against it with rigor. He even finds that the door locks from the inside, testing it with a white knuckled fist on the doorknob to find that it works. No one was capable of coming in.

His palms spread out and run up and down your back at first, heaving into your mouth not even bothering to catch his breath as he goes in for more.

“Wanna fuck you again tonight,” he mutters. “Take some lessons on eating your pussy first too f’you’re up for it.”

“God, Clark how am I supposed to go back to work like this?” you pout. He’s riling you up more with his talk and he knows it, cheeky dimples out on display while he starts to reach down to ghost a hand to cup and rub you so smooth through the front of your jeans.

“Now you know what it’s like for me,” he retorts. Condescension dripping off him, almost getting cocky as he takes two of his pointer fingers and slides them up and down where it made you moan the most last night. “I can’t stop thinking about how wet I made you,” Clark whispers. Hand now tip toeing all the way and committing to touch and grope the front crotch of your jeans, gently rubbing on your front.

You tilt your head back when he attacks your neck with more kisses, trying to keep the volume at a minimum from where you both had ran off to hide after getting so pent up.

“Shit… baby if you do that I can’t stop until I—“

“So don’t stop, do it then, cum on my hand like this. S’what I dragged you here for. Needed to remember what you look like when you’re getting wet ‘cause of me.” Not that he’s even begun to forget what that’s like.

You hum out of lust and frustration, trying to contain your whine while you grind into his touch, closing your eyes and getting lost in it. Almost forgetting where you are.

“Yeah, that’s my girl,” Clark whispers. “Love the way your hips move. It’s so beautiful.”

He feels you start humping even harder, keeping a steady pace and holding onto his broad shoulders as you lose yourself.

“Can’t stop replaying last night, ‘specially how you swallowed when I was cumming down your throat.”

Clark knows he’s feeding you more of his torture, transferring all his restless thoughts onto you while he tickles your slit. Still through your denim. Only with the right amount of pressure.

“And when you came all over me… god there’s nothing like it, nothing in the world,” he rasps. Holds onto the minuscule thread of control he has left in him while he talks and rubs you through it. “Wanna feel you cum on my tongue tonight.”

“Mmm, oh—oh god Clark, Clark you can’t say that—“

“Shhh. I have to taste it. I’ll drink you up right baby, I promise,” he coos.

His whole palm flattens out to rub you side to side, fingers gently sprawling out.

You have this worried look stuck on your face, and he thinks he’s about to hit the jackpot.

“Are you gonna let me eat you out tonight? Wanna learn so bad, I can’t think… I’ll—I’ll be your student baby, you can teach me. Wanna be the best—“

“Baby I’m cumming,” you spew out in a rush, white knuckles clawing at his shoulder now while your hips guide themselves to him and ride out the beginning of your buzzing high. His horny bickering was too much. It drove you further off the cliff in quick succession, plunging you down to your finish sooner than you were readily equipped for. Break time was only 20 minutes at max, so of course if Clark wanted to accomplish anything without getting too naked or too dirty, he had to drive you crazy with his touches and his words together too.

“Yeah, cum for me please, please let me feel it,” Clark begs. His pace doesn’t falter, doesn’t switch a beat as he keeps cupping you in his palm.

“Wanna be the best you’ve ever had,” he finishes his last brain melting thought, everything drooping to the background as he watches you crumble from the orgasm. He drinks in your facial expressions, your quiet whimpers while holding onto him so tight. Clark doesn’t think he’ll ever see anything else like it — how you cum, how you curl in on him and inadvertently keep bucking up to chase his palm and fingers.

Once you catch your breath as best you can, grabbing his forearm to halt the way his palm rolls, you helplessly go up for a thankful kiss. Lips already parting, tongues already melding.

Clark reciprocates it all, matching your neediness as he pants right into your mouth like a dog left out in the heat. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“Ooo, bad boy even curses now,” you laugh at him. Earning a playful swat to your shoulder before he goes back in to makeout yet again. You can’t even muster up any more playful jabs to say when you feel his hand drift back down, this time through both layers and curling a finger through your slit to gather some of your slippery cum.

Wordlessly, Clark takes his finger back out as quick as it went in, shiny and drenched in evidence. He sticks his digit into his mouth and sucks it clean all in one swoop, maintaining eye contact that has you wanting to shrivel up and cum even harder. Your mouth is open like you could catch flies and even start drooling at his cocky new attitude.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he teased. “We’ll get high and I’ll have more fun with you later. I live up to my promises.”

You still can’t figure out if corrupting him was the best decision ever, or maybe the absolute worst. It almost pains you to watch him walk away, surely grabbing another stack of newspapers on the way back to his desk to cover the little leak he’s probably let out in his lap.

Once you’re back at your desk there’s a warm cup of coffee made just how you like it waiting for you, sticky note stuck right on the bottom saying drink up - you’ll probably need it.

Curiously taking a peek at the state of Clark at his desk, you lift your hips off your chair an inch to get a subtle glance over your computer. Finding him looking busier than he had today, typing away while taking sips of his own cup of coffee he had to have made after yours.

A devilish voice inside you wonders if he’s even washed his hands after having them touch you, one of his fingers scooping up inside you. It was like nothing had happened for him, the telltale sign only you could seek out was that he had taken off his jacket and thrown it over his lap, using it as a shield for his tent.

You smirk to yourself at the thought, the thought that he really needed more than a newspaper to cover himself up. Needed to bunch his jacket up and cover everything. His poor newly deflowered cock probably weeping and ready to burst from the neglect.

-

Tonight, Clark was apprehensive of the edibles you’d introduced him to this time around. You complained about the skunk smell in your apartment, telling him you wanted to air it out and do something different to get high for a change.

Eager as he was to be on board to be involved with any activity you have planned for him, he still had his cute worried brows furrowed in while he stared at the torn open packet of 25 milligram edibles you bought from the store.

“So this gets us high? Like, just as high as if we smoke?”

“Uh, yeah doofus. This stuff’s probably gonna fuck you up even more than what we usually smoke. Just takes an hour to kick in,” you answer. Your legs were crossed and sat in his lap while he caressed your ankles in what looked like deep concentration. Still trying to figure out what the hell he was looking at, thinking that if he read and studied the entire back that it would give him more clarity, but that only seemed to fuel more questions.

“Should we.. should we split one? What if it doesn’t work on me?” Clark wonders, pouting while he adjusts his glasses to re-read the same THC percentage all over again.

“We can split one if you aren’t comfortable baby, but I think these will work just fine. You eat it, wait half an hour maybe an hour tops, I see how you’re feeling and I can give you more or you can sleep it off. If you want that is. Don’t have to do this. We can just smoke whatever’s left out back,” you offer.

Clark weighs out the options for a minute before taking two innocent looking gummies out into the giant palm of his hand, inspecting them. He almost looked like an old man discovering the internet for the very first time.

“Let’s… let’s try it. I’ll try it,” he concludes, sighing out before giving you one of the edibles from his hand, still staring at them in contemplation as the gears turn in his brain a little too hard.

You raise a brow with a playful smile. “Yeah? You sure? It’s not different from smoking, seriously. It just takes longer to kick in. But I don’t wanna force you to do anything—“

Clark leans in and mouths at your neck to calm himself down, pulling you further into his lap and not reacting to any of your giggles while he continues his kisses until they aim back up at your lips. After one long, thoroughly wet and intimate kiss later, he drags his nose across the tip of yours and breathes out, staring into your eyes.

“You’re not forcing. I want to. Always wanna do new things with you,” he murmurs. Ducks back in to kiss at your chin and along your jaw. “Just nervous is all. But you know more about this than I do.”

“It’s okay to be nervous, and it’s okay to say you don’t want to,” you remind him, emphasizing it again so he doesn’t feel like he needs to take a weed gummy to impress you, or give in to some imaginary peer pressure that you don’t want to come across as giving.

“I just want you to be here with me when I do it, and you’ll be doing it too. So what’s the harm y’know? I have you,” he replies. Goes in for more kisses that he can’t get enough of, shaking off any nerves of swallowing something that won’t come into affect until much later.

“Alright, only if you say so, mister.”

Clark holds out his palm next to yours, both of you checking the time on the microwave to remember when you’re taking them. You bite down on your upper then your bottom lip while eyeing Clark, looking for any telltale signs that he isn’t into what he’s about to be doing, and you can’t find any.

Now he looks genuinely giddy and excited, nervous like a schoolboy behind the bleachers doing something that he’s not supposed to be doing. He blows out another breath, laughing with you as you make fun of him and check in again as you chew and swallow yours down first. Clark only takes another second, nodding to himself before doing the same.

He chews thoroughly and swallows it down, surely more thoughts crowding his overworked brain as he contemplates the taste.

“Tastes pretty regular to me,” he shrugs.

“Let’s wait it out an hour then we’ll see.”

-

You and Clark turn on some movie that only turns into background noise twenty minutes in before he forgets paying attention to any plot build up or characters. You’ve propped your legs up and have them splayed straight out, one folded up on the other to relax. And your legs have successfully distracted him. From waiting for the edible to get him high, from the pointless film blaring on the screen he couldn’t give a fuck about. All’s he wanted were those legs.

Clark tries being subtle at first, running a casual hand up and down your ankle all the way up to your knee. Giving little squeezes like a massage. Once your legs unfold for him and he has better access to both, he stops pretending like he’s paying any attention to the screen and starts laying kisses up and down those gorgeous fucking legs in front of him.

Even planting a little kiss on the heel of your feet, he stares you down before making the boldest move to pull you into him holding on to you by the calves. You let out an unexpected laugh, easily spreading them for him when he dips his head down to kiss further and further up those thighs.

Clark feels himself start to slowly relax and unwind like he’d just shared a smoke with you. His cock was beating hard, pressed up to his leg through his sweatpants as he giggled and hummed while he sucked more kisses up and down your legs.

“You’re gonna leave hickies all over me if you keep doing that, baby.”

Yeah — Clark’s cock is pulsing. “I think it’s kicking in,” he murmurs, chin laid down on your thigh. Pretty face and half lidded eyes lazily beaming up at you.

“Oh yeah? So, you liking it?”

“Mmhm, think I’d like it if you’d let me take your panties off,” he mumbles. Still eyeing you while he’s grinning through more little kisses all over the marks he’s already left on you. “please?”

You curse under your breath from how stupid hot he is without even trying, already feeling how your pussy’s responded to his needy touches. “You wanna take off these panties and eat this pussy?”

“Please, yes please, wanna lick her up and down. Make her feel good. Teach me now, please,” Clark hurries, always using his manners to stay a good boy.

“You know how to beg just right,” you sigh. Already lifting yourself up to rip the layers off that would get in the way of that mouth, seeing Clark’s nostrils flare while he struggles to normally breathe when he sees your pussy all splayed out on a platter for him. He feels high just from staring at her, her puffy lips that felt so good around his cock. He’s masturbated dozens of times to the memory already. Cumming ridiculously in long embarrassing splatters that had even landed up to the lenses of his glasses at least twice.

His cock is fully alive, springing up to peak out of his waistband as it twitches in enchantment. Your pussy looks ethereal. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“She’s—She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he scoffs in awe. Licking his lips, he goes in to get face to face with her, watching as you take two fingers and slowly spread your lips open to his delight. Like you’ve parted the soaking wet petals to the most intoxicating rose Clark will ever be near and see.

Drool gathers up in his mouth that he nearly chokes on from forgetting to swallow he feels so flustered. Watches you with those eyes that progressively get redder and heavier while you took the pad of your middle finger and rubbed up your slit, humming to yourself when you go further up to rub circles around your hood.

“That’s my clit,” you tell him softly. Taking one of his big digits and replacing where yours sat with his own, rubbing it for him exactly how you want it. “This is the magic spot. You wanna kiss it, lick it, suck it or rub it, but whatever you do, start out slow.” Clark nods his head quietly, taking the most thorough mental notes he could before his dick goes to his brain. Where the edible already is.

He leans against your knee as he dreamily awaits for another lesson. When you take another finger of his and slowly guide him inside up to the knuckle, you both gasp in unison at the feeling. Clark’s never known anything to be so warm. Warm, soft. Enticing. His cock leaks a bead while you guide the pace with your hand on his wrist the way you want his finger to move.

“You have perfect fingers for this,” you breathe. Feeling already how he’s filling up the space just from his one finger, something you can only achieve with two of your own. The compliment makes Clark blush and kiss your knee.

“You like it like this? Want me to move a certain way?” he asks.

“Mmm, I like pulling it out almost all the way then curling it a little once it’s all back in. Go at an angle to get it deep. Don’t just jam it either.”

Clark eagerly nods, trying it out for himself as instructed. Feels his mouth start to wanna froth when your walls contract and tighten in on him like you didn’t wanna let his finger go. It’s so shiny and wet when he finally gets to pulling it back out. Clark is so amazed that he doesn’t wanna ever stop looking at it. Watch his finger disappear over and over. Watch your pussy make it messier and messier on every pull out. Earlier he’d tasted your cum off his finger in the storage closet and wanted nothing more than to get another good scoop full and lube his entire cock with it. Stroke himself with your cum.

Watching you orgasm was enough fuel for him to pull himself together the rest of the day, looking forward to the moment he could be right here, right between your thighs. Having to camouflage the ongoing erection under his jacket bunched up on his lap at his desk was a painful fucking experience, but Clark had no other choice and somehow managed to get his work done.

“M’gonna just kiss it first, just taste it a little,” he murmurs. Scooting up so he gets even closer to your pussy. Takes a deep breath and delves in to plant a shy kiss right on the button of your clit, right on the spot you pointed to him. Watching for any reaction you give when he slowly pokes his tongue out and experimentally swirls it around that bud.

”Ah, yes baby, right there. Good boy, good boy, you found it.”

Clark sighs into your pussy, goosebumps littering his skin as he keeps on kitten licking it up. Flattens his tongue out to drool over your entire slit before going right back to your clit and dancing his tongue all over it. He hums inadvertently, not realizing how good it felt for you while his vibrating mouth was pressed right up against you. He moves his head from side to side, wiggling his tongue and gathering up the pooling arousal that gathered up between your lips. Slurps it like a good fucking boy.

“Mmmm, yeahthat’sit—you already know how to use that mouth, only needed some beginner tips,” you praise. You hump your hips up to gently meet his mouth in the middle, grinding shamelessly from his nose down to his chin. “Go with the rhythm of my hips, slow, slow but hard, oh god yes—”

“You’re getting so wet,” he heaves, taking a break to nibble on the side of one lip and pressing a wet kiss to the hood of your clit.

“And keep getting your spit on me too, make it messy on me. Don’t be clean. Now’s not the time to be clean.”

Clark nods and immediately got to work. Allows more of his drool to start seeping down his tongue, open mouthed and right up against your entire slit, having it slosh around with the wetness. All your whimpering little noises singing in his ears proved to him that he had to be doing something right. He wanted to follow your instructions to a T without being too mechanical, instead allowing himself to feel you up and measure out all your pussy’s little jumps and reactions.

“You’re doing so good. That’s it, that’s it. Eat that pussy baby,” you praise, closing your eyes to lean your head back. Lifting your hips to rock against his face. Clark snakes a finger in and wiggles it back and forth before curling it so right, making you clench and wet up his face even slicker.

As Clark is eating, now fucking you gently with a finger, he thinks your pussy in all her glory was gonna be the thing that kills him. How responsive your walls are to pleasure. How you clench and drench him after he does something that particularly itches an overwhelming scratch.

He wanted to suffocate himself between these legs. Maybe he can find a way how.

While he’s licking, he weighs out his options on positions. Thinks about some porn he’s watched, what ways getting eaten out made them scream and shake. It doesn’t take longer than another minute of deciding before he’s eagerly swiping his tongue left and right and pulling off with a sloppy kiss, occupying you with smooth rubs of his fingers. Clenches his jaw and drearily looks up to ask:

“Would you wanna… can you um, can you get on top of me and ride my face?”

He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit while he waits, and then he feels it. Your hard clench right around his finger telling him everything he needed to know.

In a heartbeat, you’re shoving him backwards so fast he almost gets whiplash. His cock head is still pressing up against his naval, leaking every so often. You shove him further back again so he’s the one laying down now, crawling up his humongous body like he’s a jungle gym before finding your spot right above his face and hovering.

“Jesus, you’re learning fast. Alright, tap me if you need—“

“Shh, don’t worry about it. Won’t need to. Just use me,” he hurries. Knows that your poor pussy really needs it right now. Opens his mouth up wide again almost like he’s at the dentist before you plant your hips down and feel the sanctuary of his mouth once again.

He stuck his tongue out perfectly like a surface for you to grind on, recklessly rolling your hips against his hot tastebuds on your clit. You’re whining louder now, rushing as you hold onto his hair and bob your hips up and down just right. Your clit subtly moves up to find the hook of his nose, grinding on that while his tongue takes to fucking you instead. He tries curling his tongue up just like he did his fingers, closing his eyes in bliss and concentration while you growl his name and stutter your hips helplessly.

“Fuck, fuck that’s it, you know what the fuck you’re doing, you know how to work this pussy.”

Clark hums against you long and loud at the praise again. Raises one of his shaking hands and shoves both his waistbands down to free his cock from the imprisonment of the confines. He strokes his cock messily, pulling at the skin rough enough to please himself. His tongue never stops going to work, taking turns licking up your clit then plunging into your opening. You feel him wrap his lips around your button and suck hard, almost making you lean over so far you could’ve fell if it weren’t for him catching you and gripping you so you stayed steady and upright.

“Stay up baby, gotta stay up, keep going,” he urges. Slick hand still fondling his girth while you clench around him.

“Oh, mmm, mmmm baby—”

“Are… are you gonna—“

“Almost, almost there, just keep licking me there.”

Your sweat is all caked up over your body and his, still moving your hips to chase this everlasting pleasure. Clark ignores the ache in his tongue as he toughs it out and doesn’t let himself slow it down. Still getting drool and your pussy juices spilling all over his face while he hums and licks like he’s already perfected the technique.

“Yeahhh, that’s it Clark, that’s it,” you whine again. He licks diligently, slurping up whatever seeps out and smiles against you while he watches you lose yourself over and over with every stroke. You feel his grin below you when you peer down at him with your pussy still sat on his face.

You groan aloud, gradually getting more bratty and pent up than you could normally handle. Not stopping your hip movement for even a second to chastise him while his tongue slowed down. “Are you smiling? G-God… stop, no smiling, just keep licking—I got so close—“

That only makes Clark smile even wider, nearly turning into a laugh before he pulls himself together just to kiss and suck on your clit. Pulling off your pussy with a messy smacking sound to raise you only an inch off of his face.

“This is gonna be the best part—“

“Clark, what are you doing, fucking stick your tongue back out,” you whine after letting out a growl. Taking his head by the hair to tug it back to where he needed to be, and he obediently gets right back to drinking you up. Holding in his high, giddy giggles while your legs start to shake.

You’re back on your wavelength again, little to no help left needed when he swipes his tongue in those perfect zig zags and groans some more against your pussy. Your toes start to squeeze when behind you feel him rigorously fisting his cock, your toes barely grazing his length with the way you’re pretzeled up on him. Clark is moaning loud through his throat, straining his breath and still humming against you before finally letting his orgasm flow and melt free. Gets his cumshots spilling up your back and his stomach, emptying his balls out while you squeal and clench against his tongue, feeling yourself start to succumb to your own messy high. He graciously licks everything you finish, everything that drips out of you and blesses his tongue while he breathes hard out of his nose. Still stroking on his chubby cock through his strong aftershocks.

Clark hasn’t stopped wiggling his tongue up and down your slit, feeling how you quake and shudder above him as he’s slurping up the remnants. You cry out and finally raise your hips off of his face, thighs still caging his head. Though you looked worn out and your pussy did too, he can’t help himself but raise his head to lick you up again some more, softer to appease you and to indulge himself in your taste.

“C…Clark, mmm be patient with me baby boy, be patient a second.”

He stubbornly takes one last lick and licks his own lips, not making another move to even try wiping his face. He wanted to wear your slick proudly.

After he’d taken that hand off his cock, he gently rubs your thighs, your hips, your back all up and down. Winces when he feels the evidence of his own load coating your spine.

“Think I got your back all sticky,” he murmurs.

“Mm. Think I got your entire face all sticky.”

“Touché,” he laughs. Keeps giving your hips and your thighs little comforting squeezes, helping wring out your tired muscles. Clark’s tongue felt the same, but he doesn’t find that that’s anything to complain about. It makes him feel like he did a good job, seeing you so woozy, still sat on top of his shoulders and his chest. You barely muster up the energy to snatch up a tissue or two for the nearly dried up mess still coating his lower abdomen and your back. A task that he immediately takes on, shooing your hand away from doing any of the work, gently wiping himself and some spots down your back until he deems you clean enough for comfort.

Once he thinks you’re due for laying down, he reached up and effortlessly lifts you off to place you on the opposite side of the couch, going in to lay right behind you. He grabs a spare blanket folded up on the side and spreads it out so you’re both covered, kissing your shoulder while you easily start drifting off on him.

He thinks you’re sleeping when you murmur aloud to him, “how’d you like the movie?”

Clark laughs and lightly brushes some fingers through your hair.

“Oh yeah, that. Totally. Five star movie.”

Your smile is lazy, turning around to face him and stretching your arms all the way out to be the bigger spoon around his frame.

“So how’d you uh, how’d you like riding my face?”

“Five star face.”

Clark can’t stop the snort that happens when he laughs, ears turning a blushing shade of red. He leans in to give you a long, breathy kiss, still moving his tongue around with yours even if his tongue had just gotten done doing that nonstop. Humming as he pulls away, he softly reminds you that your alarm needed to be set for work tomorrow. The words work and alarm alone were enough to make you groan, knowing he’s looking out for you but still shooing away the very thought of another eight hour day right next to Clark without being able to touch him.

He sees your heavy lids fall shut and your breathing slows down, so he reaches over to his own phone on the side table to set an alarm for the both of you.

In the morning as you wake only a mere twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off, you feel the unmistakable shape of his morning wood against your hip. Once you’ve kissed him awake, he hissed when you started grinding right up against the strained erection that was just begging to be freed from his boxers.

Clark whimpers please but you didn’t need to be told twice. You got up and slapped his length along your ready and open slit before you turned around and rode him hard and fast. Feeling him reach all your favorite spots again, this time in reverse cowgirl. Clark has the view of a lifetime of your back while you hop up and down, watching with all encompassing lust while his fat cock plunges in and out of you over and over again. He didn’t think a thing like him could fit into a beauty like you, but he’s reminded of how wrong he is when you wet up his lap and moan like his cock was sent from God.

When the twenty minutes to spare is up and Clark’s phone alarm goes off, he shivers while you remain unchanged. Still riding away.

“F-Fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop pretty girl, just a few more minutes,” he whimpers. Smashes the snooze button and spreads his thighs to fuck up into you.

“Not stopping, not even close.”

“But we… we have work,” he stutters weakly. “Gonna need to shower or we’ll smell like sex.”

“Yeah, exactly. Can show off how you’re not the innocent boy you once were anymore, baby,” you pant. Leaning forward with him still fully inside you as you’re rolling your hips around in circles to feel how his cock helplessly withers around your walls. “You curse, you fuck, and you smoke.“

Clark’s face gets hot, heart thumping out of his ears and his cock at the same time.

You clench and roll your hips around him in a way that’s far from delicate or clean, forcing him to whimper and stutter and grab a strong hold of your hips.

“Woahwoahwoah, baby, baby I’m gonna fucking cum,” he warns.

His newfound vulgarity only fuels you to keep going. Tightening around him and looking back over your shoulder to watch him get tense and fall apart.

“Want everyone to know the dirty boy that you’ve become or what?” you tease.

Clark runs a hand down your back and holds on, not letting you move anymore when he unloads.

You’re pierced down on his cock, leaking all of his cum out while he clenches his jaw with his eyes rolling back.

“What… ah, god— what’d you say to me last night huh,” he heaves. “Didn’t you say now’s not the time to be clean?”

“Got that right,” you breathe out.

“You’re really taking that to heart, aren’t you?”

Clark reaches over to your front to feel for the bud you’d taught him how to touch. When you start to spiral right on cue for him he drinks up the pretty picture as you cum around him, still seated right where he needs you most.

It dawns on him how much he yearned for moments of intimacy like these. How he’d been all alone with only his hand for his entire life. Wondering when he’d get the chance to make a woman like you cum. Now he’s felt you, tasted you, fallen asleep next to you.

The words seem to rattle around his brain. Motivating him to be a little messier, to rid himself of the pressure of being so innocent and perfect all the time. Don’t be clean. Now’s not the time to be clean.

“Yeah, you know, I think I might.”

-

ohhhh my god still obsessed with subby stoney clark so let me know if you want more blurbs or things with this pair. they’re so cute he’s an attentive boy who just wants to learn :D

(asked to be tagged) : @literallydo3eyed

[velvetground-6]

corrupted green

warning(s): explicit 18+, weed, virgin!clark, losing innocence, friends to lovers, p in v, bareback creampie, porn with feelings

When you met Clark he was a virgin that didn’t even know what smoking weed was.

Now that he’s hung out with you as much as he has he’s turned into a pothead. A pothead that doesn’t wanna be a virgin anymore. (6.8k)

-

Taking Clark’s innocence was one of the better, more exuberant highlights of your entire year. This all had first started with turning him into a simple pothead.

Before you, he’d never even tried smoking weed before. Never even considered what it was about smoking the plant that had people so up in arms about it. Strong opinions either negative or positive, and Clark was more naive than he tended to lead on.

The first time he caught you smoking he’d come over on a whim with only a text to warn you. A text you had blissfully ignored, sitting on your back porch taking tokes here and there without your phone in sight. You felt all your anxious worries melt away with a airy light headedness while you coughed and reached for your juice, choking on another cough in your throat when Clark slid your sliding glass back door open and appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hey. Smells weird out here,” he notes, sniffing the air before scoping up the state of you, looking up and down and pausing at the lit joint still between two of your fingers. “What’s that?”

You answer with more rushed coughs which only makes him worry, coming over to pat your back and grab your juice to bring it to your grasp before genuinely looking at you so worried and so pure you wondered if he even knew what was going on.

“Fuck, I’m fine, I’m fine. Still cough sometimes with this strain,” you clear your throat, gulping down a swallow or two with lidded eyes while Clark stares inquisitively.

“Is that a cigarette?”

“Uh, it’s a type of a cigarette, sure.”

“What does that mean? Like a different brand?”

You chuckle and pet his hair, going to ash it before Clark stops you with a hesitant little wait.

“Can I… can I try some?”

You can’t hold back your grin at him any longer, almost snorting through an uncontrollable fit of laughs before shrugging and handing him the smoke, red still burning at the tip.

“How do you do it? Just… suck on it, or—“

“Yeah genius, you suck then you breathe in. Not too hard though, s’what makes you start to cough,” you answer, having your drink in hand ready to give him in case it overwhelmed his throat.

With amusement buzzing behind your red eyes, you watch as he furrows his brows like this is the most he’s ever been focused in his life, pouting those cute lips to wrap around the end before pulling in a decent hit and immediately coughing harder than he thinks he ever has before.

“O-Oh, oh my god,” he stutters. Pats his chest and gets red in the face while you hand him your drink, to which he snaps up out of your hand and desperately guzzles it down.

“Feel alright, Kent?”

Clark’s whole vision seems to zone out, everything moving at a slower speed as he nods slowly, a grin pulling at his face while he takes another sip.

“You’ve never even known anybody who’s done this before, have you?”

“Except you? No.”

“Thought so,” you laughed.

-

You learned through your (more or less reckless) journey of shedding Clark’s innocence, specifically the parts that don’t know much about sex or drugs, that especially when he’s high as a kite he is always looking to explore and experiment with new things. With his adorable, naive sense of both honesty and curiosity.

Now he always aims to make time to come over on the weekends and smoke with you just to finally feel the weight of his world lighten off of his shoulders for a little bit. He even offers to pay you for all of it, not that he even knew how much any of it would cost.

The second time he smoked with you he took more than four lungfuls of hits, making him float to an easy breezy cloud nine of carefree living. Smile plastered on his face, speaking his mind more freely with less filters and barriers of self consciousness in the way. He playfully grabbed your ankle while you both lied down on the couch passing a joint back and forth, pestering you for another toke. His tolerance had gotten a little higher, not by too much, but he’d gotten used to the feeling of his body after the first couple hits.

And after the first couple hits, Clark gets touchier when he’s high high.

While he’s usually reserved when he’s smoke-free and sober, he didn’t touch you all that much unless it was totally, strictly necessary. Grabbing your shoulder to gently move you out of the way if someone in the hall was coming behind you. Brushing off a piece of lint from your sweater if it’s not right on a place that would be too inappropriate for him to touch. He’s a softie and a gentleman, always has been.

Now, smoked out and giddy in your apartment on Friday night through Saturday morning, he finds courage to be bold with touches. Like little brushes so your hair is out of your face, always complaining in a petulant, playful tone that he can’t see you when your hair’s in your face. Or if you tell him a corny joke that goes along with a stupid story, he’s throwing his head back and slapping your knee instead of his own like your story was the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

It’s a new side of Clark you’ve experienced this past few weeks. You never thought in a million years that your clean cut, nerdy and innocent buddy slash co-worker would ever put anything like this in his lungs, and would never laugh and touch you the way he has.

The blush he normally hides behind his hand at work is now on full display, spreading to his ears and even his neck and he loosens the tie of his collar and raises two fingers in a come hither motion to signify he wants it to be his turn to smoke. You blow out your last hit before passing it over, getting the remnants of the cloud in his face. Not that he seems to mind — in fact he starts to breathe it in deeply, eyeing you with a whole world behind his gaze that you couldn’t begin to decode or comprehend.

He sticks the joint between his lips and inhales slow, still keeping his eye on you as he blows it out, going for your shared drink as always to help soothe his throat.

“I haven’t told you I’m a virgin before, have I?”

The second the words are out of his mouth you can’t help but let out a delayed choke, trying to blame it on the weed but it was truly only his surprising confession.

“Uh, no. No you haven’t,” you answer with as much casualty as you can muster. “Hasn’t come up before.”

“Mm,” Clark hums to himself. He’s high high, you can see it in the glazed over eyes, the boneless way his limbs rest. He’s more relaxed, more comfortable than ever before. Comfortable enough to even give you a random personal fact about the state of his sex life (or lack there of?).

“I get really pent up, you know? It gets like that when you haven’t been touched before. It’s… it’s different when people get to think about the experiences they’ve already had, but I mostly just like, like jerk off to… I dunno, imagining what all of it’s like.”

It’s your turn to get red now, slowly licking your lips in deep thought even in your haze of smoke still fluttering around your brain, making you dumber in these types of social situations. Maybe it’s done the exact same thing to Clark. Maybe when he wakes up tomorrow he won’t even remember what he’s opening up about to you.

“Why are you… a…”

“A virgin? Inexperienced?”

“Y-Yeah. I mean you’re… you’re so good looking, Clark. You’re sweet and a gentleman, and I can’t imagine no one having their hands on you yet.”

Clark looks down at his lap to try to keep his smile from blooming on his face, dimples still showing as he scratches the back of his neck and takes another sip of your drink.

“I’m just shy I guess. Maybe picky, but I get pretty flustered about the idea of getting — getting naked in front of somebody. I feel self conscious,” he confesses. Glasses slipping about a centimeter down his nose, to which he pushes them back up with his pointer finger and fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.

“You don’t sound shy now,” you point out, cheeky while licking your lips and sucking another hit in and blowing it out above you. When you hand Clark the joint back, he blushes even more tasting the subtle hint of saliva you left around the butt end of the smoke, gladly pulling his lips around it to taste what you’d leftover.

“Cause I’m… you know. I’m just high.”

“Are you high enough? I can put this out.”

“No! No I want—I want more.”

Clark eagerly leans back in to fetch it from you, ignoring your surprised laugh while he sucks in another long hit. He holds it in longer than you’ve ever seen before, almost ten whole seconds passing by with your eyes widening at him. Of course it ends in a delirious fit of coughs, him covering his mouth as if it’ll muffle anything, fanning himself out with the neck of his shirt and going in for another drink.

“I just wanted to, you know. Tell you. You’re so easy to talk to. I might still get nervous sometimes, but I know I can trust you.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah. You’re not like anyone else. It’s a relief.”

Clark’s words ring in your ears over and over again the following day at work when he leaves a bagel with a sticky note attached that says thank you. You’re not entirely sure what he could be thanking you for when he started paying for most of the weed, you just roll it up for him. You want to be the one to thank him for trusting you with such tender information, personal details like his libido and his lack of experience with women. If he came in with a camera and yelled that you’d been pranked and that you’re being recorded live on MTV, you would’ve bought that more than his virginity still being in tact.

Clark even comes over to your desk and massages your shoulders for ten whole minutes, asking how you’re doing, if you need any help, if your work load has been manageable. Of course you have everything taken care of and under control, but his sentiment still tickles you. And his big, careful, diligent hands that cradle your shoulders and worked out your tense muscles were so hard to forget they could’ve made you lose your focus the whole rest of the day.

When the weekend rolls around again and your routine with Clark is settled in, he swings by with some weed in some gray sweatpants and a hoodie, looking comfier than usual. Glasses still atop his nose, hood pulled up over his head while he looks to be a more zombie-like version of himself. Bags under his eyes, a bit of a pale complexion. He looked like he wanted to smoke for some relief and zone out from the world that burdens him.

“You doing okay?”

“Hm? Oh I’m fine. I’m good, just. You know.”

You raise a brow at him while you’re licking the paper up so it stays wrapped up and closed, eyeing him up and down as he avoids looking at your face all together.

“Wouldn’t be asking if I knew, Clark. You can talk to me.”

He sighs and shakes his head, quietly avoiding your investigative question before gladly taking the joint from your fingers and taking the very first hit. Then two, then three. When it gets to four, you laugh out loud to him and ask if he’s ever planning on passing it over.

“I can roll my own too. That one can be all yours,” you offer, hoping something will cheer his spirits up to his more regular self again.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Here,” he passes it over, giving you that million dollar smile you’ve been missing. “I like sharing with you.”

“You don’t have to though,” you remind him. He shoos your proposition of rolling up another joint away and pulls his lips in tight. A long arm of his reaches over the back of the couch to rest before his hand comes up to pull some hair falling down your face.

“You’re the prettiest girl that I think I’ve ever seen,” he breathes. Getting so serious all the sudden. “ever will see,” he corrects himself.

You could try and make some fantasy up that he’s joking, that his sense of humor has somehow morphed into calling you pretty even if he doesn’t mean it from how high he’s smoked his brains out this time. Already reeking of the weed on his breath, and his eyes less wide open than normal.

“I still can’t believe I get to spend this time with you,” he goes on. Scoots closer. Then the next thing you feel is his nose ducking down into your shoulder, sniffing you like you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever gotten to smell and experience.

“What’s up with you tonight, huh? What, I’m beautiful all the sudden?” You try to laugh off.

“Not all the sudden. All the time,” he corrects. Doesn’t lift himself off of you to answer, muffling it into your upper arm while he rests his face there. “Is this okay? Am I too close right now?”

“You’re perfect, don’t worry about that.” you assure. Sweet Clark couldn’t make you genuinely uncomfortable even if he tried to.

“Mmm. You’re perfect too,” he says dreamily. Digs his chin up and into you some more. You hear him breathing you in even deeper as you take your last hit, blowing it out with a shy bitten lip at how lovey dovey Clark had started acting.

“You’re so perfect. I just never wanna be away from you.”

“Is this strain like, fucking you up or something?” You tease, grabbing his jaw to tilt his head up only to see him sheepishly dive his head right back down. “You’re not usually this much of a lover boy.”

“I wanna, I wanna ask you something. And I wan…wanna tell you it’s okay to say no to me, you should if it’s not—“

“Just ask me, dork.”

Clark sighs long and hard, licking and nibbling on his lower lip before taking a long hit of course, leaving you in a bubble of anticipation as to what he could possibly be asking you.

“Would you wanna t-take my—my virginity?”

It stumbles out. He isn’t sure how he could muster the courage without at least an entire joint to buzz inside him first, anxiously looking off in the corner and occasionally searching for some kind of readable expression on your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Forget I said anything, I can go and I can just—gosh, I don’t know, I don’t have to bother you at work or here anymore—“

“Hey, hey. Shhh, settle down, simmer down. Come here,” you take the back of his head and bring it into your neck, a little reassuring hug only to find that he’s started shaking.

“Don’t be scared. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you in this world, Clark. You hear me? Nothing,” you hush in his ear. Rocking his head back and forth in small sways that seems to soothe him, feeling him calm as he leans in and scoots even closer. Thighs crowding yours as he herds you with his head bowed like a dog.

“I was surprised you even told me you’re a virgin in the first place. But I can show you, I can show you baby, just relax. For us, for me.”

Clark nods his head and wraps his gigantic arms around you to nuzzle in, suddenly a helpless puppy that looks like he just wants to find his way home. He doesn’t try to show it when it does, but he melts just at the sound of you calling him that. Baby. Baby, just relax. For us. For me.

He’d do anything if it was asked of him in that same voice, that distinctive sweet tone of yours.

“I feel so lonely, and I—I wanna know what it’s like,” he stutters. “But don’t say yes if you don’t want me like that. You can tell me to… to piss off and just leave you be, and I will, honey. I’ll never bother you with it again.”

“Shh, I know. I know, you’re a gentleman, Clark. You’re the sweetest thing.”

The way you coo in his ear, the gentle praise, the rubs on the back of his head. He’s a goner.

His dick is already begging for mercy, and it’s not being hidden very well in those gray, thin sweatpants. He would normally run away to the bathroom or just run off home if his erection got to be too much for him to bare.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Clark, you’re not gonna need to worry about a thing.”

Clark shudders like the very words alone had seeped in and satisfied him somewhere deep.

“You’re too sweet to be this nervous, Clark,” you smile at him playfully. Combing four of your fingers through his unkempt curls. “And way too pretty yourself, too.”

Clark whips his head up and still looks high as a kite, in the same state as you, as he dips his head in to yours to meet your lips in a hurried kiss that feels like he’s been waiting patiently to do this entire time. He has his head tilted to the side, humming into your mouth and tasting more shared breath and spit consisting of what you’ve just smoked together. Clark doesn’t seem to mind at all, licking down on your bottom lip and breathing you in through his nose while he pulls you in. One hand on your back, the other on your waist. Getting effortlessly yanked up onto his lap in seconds.

It’s exhilarating to see him take charge, to feel his lap and how he can’t hide how apparent it is that he’s excited for you all the way down to his crotch.

Even with the simple way he’s handled you, with gentle force that shows he knows where the healthy line sits between being careful while still maintaining this strong sense of want that clouds his vision. However shy or inexperienced he may be, he’s the most eager you’ve ever seen to prove himself.

A subtle grind starts to form involuntarily between both of your hips, slowly creeping in to meet each other in the middle. Clark can’t help but whimper and sigh into your kisses as he feels it.

“Your lips taste even better than I pictured, still can’t believe it,” Clark’s voice cracks.

“Thought about this a lot?”

Clark breathes while he comprehends your question, the gears in his brain moving slower than usual.

“All—All the time,” he finally musters. “I get high then I just can’t hide it.”

“Take off your sweatshirt.”

Clark obeys quick like he’s in the navy, ripping it off over his head and throwing it carelessly off to the floor before pulling you back in so deep your noses almost ram together before he swiftly tilts his head to the side and snatches your lips up in a possessive kiss.

“I’ll take off anything you want.”

Clark is so obedient. So willing to bend over backwards at your word, and fuck, you’d guess if you asked him to stop and do fifty push ups right now with you on his back he’d still get down and follow your command to please you.

Running your hands over the taut muscles that flex and bulge on their own through his tank top is a glorious experience. Clark hums and closes his eyes, mouth a little bit open while he relishes in the attention you’re giving him still softly grinding in his lap. He runs his palms over your shoulders and down your back to your hips, squeezing you when a place you’ve touched feels extra good.

“Time to take off these sweatpants sweetheart,” you whisper down his eardrum. Marveling in the shiver and the goosebumps that his body naturally reacts with at your command.

You swing a leg off to give him room to fiddle with them to get them off, not expecting him to whine and hurry even faster once you do. Lack of physical contact seemed to be a big motivator for him, dangling over his head with need. Clark’s shoved his sweats down to his ankles now, bashfully keeping his tented boxers on while they’re so clearly straining up against him.

“You’re gorgeous, Clark. One of a kind.”

He seems to duck his head and smile at your praise, shaking his head with playful denial before leaning in to kiss and nibble on your jaw.

“S’pposed to say that to you, angel,” he remarks. Bunches up the fabric of your shirt in a silent plea to feel more of your skin, but still submitting enough to know it isn’t guaranteed that he’s getting his way the entire time. “Want to… touch and feel you…”

“Touch and feel me then, baby,” you encourage.

Clark makes a sound that rattles roughly through his throat, sniffing along your neck before planting a hundred kisses. His hands explore you with more fervor, smoothly tracing down to your hips and your ass. Squeezing, pressing.

“S’it still lit?” he mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“Should I light it again?” he chuckles.

You bend back to retrieve the goodies, taking it out of the ashtray and thumbing the lighter until the tip is glowing and burning again. You take a long inhale in, sucking on it good to have enough to share. Only seconds later you grab Clark by the back of the neck, tapping his jaw to get him to open up. His mouth falls open immediately, slack and nearly sticking his tongue out for you too as you began blowing the smoke out carefully into him.

He breathes it all in so deeply, eyes almost fallen closed as he lets the shared hit get lost in him from your mouth to his. Just a moment later and he’s blowing the recycled smoke out, only coughing a little before meeting your eye again and kissing on your collarbone.

Clark couldn’t find the words that could accurately describe how hot it made him, how sexy you looked on top.

He took a turn shotgunning a couple times into your mouth, lips touching and grazing as he blows it in to you and then goes in for a needy makeout right after you’ve exhaled it out.

The room has a pungent cloudy haze that would disgust any non-smoker, the clouds you’ve shared still floating about in the air. Clark licks into your mouth and squeezes your ass incessantly, never getting enough touch from you as he lets out steamy little whimpers.

“F-Feels so good…”

“You ready for more?”

“Yes,” Clark heaves.

He doesn’t know what to expect next. Certainly not the move you’re in the midst of pulling on him now.

His eyes widen with a breathy woah as you get down on the floor, ashing the smoke for now in the tray before your head is in his lap. Palms running up and down his muscular thighs. Those sweatpants of his still bunched up at his ankles now get pulled all the way off his feet by your hands, tossing those aside with the rest as you dip in to nuzzle your head near his impressive bulge. Bursting at the seams, begging for your affection.

“Mmm, what are you doing down there baby?”

“What do you think I’m gonna do down here?” you tease back. Without any other prompt warning you’re mouthing at his base right through his boxers, tasting the cotton and feeling the veins on the brick of his hard on pulsing with his heartbeat.

“Oh… oh my…”

“Mmmhm, I know. Just enjoy it. Make as much noise as you need, I wanna hear it all,” you smile. Watching him gulp and fist the arm of the couch.

You nose along his outlined package that’s left next to nothing to the imagination, boxers so tight around him you’re wondering if it physically hurts. It’s so cute the way he’s already leaking, little dollops wetting through right where his tip strains as you go in and lick it up.

“Mmmmph—oh that’s so hot—“

His words are snatched right out from his brain as you suckle right on the head, still right through those poor boxers. He whines outright, throwing his head back as you suck and hum, gripping the thick of him and sliding the palm up and down all the inches of him. Which looked like a lot. You could’ve guessed he’d be a big boy, but you weren’t prepared for this.

“You’re so big, Clarkie,” you marvel. Kissing on the base.

“Sorry, I’m really sorry, I know I’m n-not as normal—“

“That was a compliment baby, most girls really like them big. Fills us up, reaches more places,” you explain. “Ah, you’re so nice and thick too.”

Clark is so beat red it could’ve appeared like somebody smacked him right across the face.

“Girls… girls like it? So you like it too?”

You pull his waistband down just enough for the prize to come flopping out, slapping up against his stomach with a thwap. Your eyes light up like he’s got the whole universe tucked between his thighs, tugging his waistband down so his ballsack is free.

“Don’t just like it, fucking love it,” you breathe. Diving back in to get a real taste of his skin, feeling him bob up towards your mouth excitedly. Almost reaching out to your lips like it knows he has to be there.

Clark gasps and stubbornly keeps his eyes peeled open to keep looking, watching as you take the bare mushroom head right in your mouth and swirl around it with your magnificent tongue. Humming vibrations that make him leak.

“So you’ve never fucked but have you ever been blown before?”

“Bl-Blown? No, no this hasn’t happened yet, ohmygod that’s so good—“

You chuckle around him as you pull off the head to go in to the side, licking along to trace those tasty veins. It’s hard to imagine someone as sweet as Clark packing a dick this ridiculously good and never having anyone else at least play with it before.

Your cheekbones hallow as you slurp his head back up in your mouth again, little dips downward with your head, getting your saliva to drip all the way down to his balls. Of course, those balls. How could you forget to pay attention to those?

Clark’s whole body shivers as he moans right when your hands gently reach up to cup them, feel the heavy warm weight, sat so prettily in a pink pair in your hand. You can’t help but indulge yourself and him with a little dash of your tongue to glide around the globes of them, swiveling your tongue side to side and then mouthing up a whole ball into your mouth. Your hand doesn’t ever quit a steady gentle pace jacking his skin up and down, and you see his unwavering excitement start to pearl up at the pretty slit of his head.

“This feel good baby? You needed to be licked so bad, didn’t you?”

“Mmmmm, mmm—uh huh, yeah, yeah I needed it so bad,” he hurries, leaking a little more under your teasing while he spreads his thighs out a little wider for more open access.

“You’ve only had your hand this whole time.”

Clark stutters and swallows a pool of spit on his tongue. “Y-Yeah. Only had my hand to help… him,” he finished shyly. Feeling silly to even be talking about his own cock.

“Now you’ve got more to help play with him,” you hum. “My hands, my mouth, my pussy….”

Clark actually curses at that, humping up once into your touch while you chuckle at him, bemused. You hardly hear him curse in the first place, so loosening him up so much that even his own word bank is rendered fuzzy and distant in his head now.

You lick along the head like he’s a big ice cream cone, melting just for you. Humming along the fat you manage to take in and slurping on it, getting drool slathered all over his cock and his balls as he whimpers above helplessly.

“God…. God that’s…. you’re perfect at that, angel, you’re making me feel so good,” he whines, voice cracking.

You nod along to his praise and meet his eyes as you gulp him down, jacking what you just can’t fit, with your other hand also busy cradling and fiddling with those poor, aching, heavy set of balls.

“Driving me so crazy up here, baby,” he tries to chuckle, interrupted by his very own moans once again. “That’s gonna make me cum f’you keep going,” he warns with sudden seriousness that sharpens his tone.

“Wanna taste your cum.”

“But—But I wanna—“

“Shh, just relax Clarkie,” you soothe him. He’s visibly sweating.

“—I wanna save my cum for your pussy,” he retorts back, sounding genuinely concerned.

Stopping your kitten licks to answer him, your hand keeps pumping as you coo up from your place down in his lap. “You have plenty of cum for me, you don’t have to get so tense, wanna calm you down.”

Clark sighs and whimpers in defeat when you get back to sucking the life out of him, feeling how he violently throbs and moves in your mouth with every movement of your mouth and tongue. You make sure to keep both hands occupied on him, giving him all the stimulating tenderness he’s needed and craved for so long.

You have a good feeling that he is dangerously close, toeing the line between holding his orgasm in for dear life and getting ready for the ribbon inside to snap.

You assure him again once you’re pulling up off of his dick with a sloppy suck as drool strings connected to your lips. “You can cum baby, know you’re holding it in but I want you to stop that and just let it all go.”

Clark almost cried, nodding his head vigorously once he has your explicit permission, muscles tensing and balls tightening as his body gears up to let his nut flow free.

You suck once, twice, three more times with slick bobs of your head, feeling it in your palm when his balls unleash and then comes the cry that he screams.

You hum and lick up all that flows out. Every thick rope. Every slather of every cumshot, thick enough to gargle in your throat as the sheer speed and quantity of it was enough for you to hurry and get to swallowing it up. You didn’t have time to let it sit on your tongue, to flash your tongue out to him with a mouth full of milk to show him what he’d given you. That’ll have to be next time.

It was so much for Clark to drain, still curling his fists and biting down on his knuckles as he groaned and just kept on cumming so prettily down your throat.

“O-Oh gosh, you’re making me cum so hard baby girl, I can’t…”

You give up swallowing the rest of his mountainous load, pulling off of the head for a breather as another cumshot spills out and dribbles out so warm and thick. It spurts down your lips and your chin, dripping down to his still throbbing cock.

It was almost unbearable how dick whipped you’ve already been turned. Your pussy throbbed just as hard, unabashedly leaving a nice wet spot on the crotch of your panties from how hard you’ve been clenching while his cock was on your tongue.

You don’t even try to hide how your hand goes in to start touching yourself, rubbing the bud of your desperate clit with a spaced out sigh. Clark watches you with a hundred percent of his attention, not missing a second as you peel your panties and your own bottoms off all in one go to add to the pile on the floor.

“You look so pretty touching yourself like that,” he heaves. One hand of his coming up to paw at your hip, still in a glowy haze so fresh he wasn’t fully aware of what would happen next. Clark drools when he gets the first glance at your bare naked pussy, swallowing before his mouth is agape. “Are you gonna let me lick you?”

“I’ll teach you how to eat my pussy later, have to get on top of you now.”

Though Clark was anticipating his mouth on you to return the favor and taste everything he’s been dreaming about, he is more than on board with you getting so eager that you couldn’t have anything else besides his cock inside you. He braces himself with a few long breaths as you get back in his lap, stray cum marks still battered up on his body as you mount him like he’s your fuck doll. There’s nothing else Clark wants more in this world than to be just that.

He whimpers while you slide yourself, your bare pussy lips all over the pole of his length. Clark never went soft in the first place, even after cumming his brains out. You close your eyes and work yourself on him so good, so pretty while you indulge yourself on his cock. Your hand scurries down to take him and point him parallel up to where he needs to go, spreading yourself with your other hand as you sink down in one swoop.

By the sound of it, Clark could’ve been punched in the gut.

“OH, oh my, that’s—that’s so damn wet,” he whimpers.

Your pussy was more than ready to be filled, wet and open with little to no friction stopping him from entering. You hum and moan appreciatively at how well he goes in, deliciously drilling your walls as you start with little bounces up and down. Clark’s hands fly to your hips and squeeze down, mouth permanently in an O-shape as he graciously takes and enjoys everything you give him.

“Oh Clark, this cock is perfect,” you writhe. Thighs shaking as he grazes certain spots as you bounce, only going down about halfway until you felt so stuffed he could’ve been lodged in your stomach by now.

Clark weeps. He tries to hold on, never feeling sensations as overwhelming as this before. Even your mouth felt so different from your pussy, both so heavenly in separate ways that he doesn’t know what to do with himself while you fuck him. He can’t believe that right now, at this very moment, this exact second, he isn’t a virgin anymore. You’re fucking him like you own him, like he’s a dildo made specifically for your own pleasure, and it couldn’t have pleased or turned him on more.

He’ll never get this image out of his head. You, your body bouncing up and down with your head thrown back in a daze as you get just as high off his cock as you did off smoking your weed.

Clark is delirious as he pulls you down for a desperate kiss, tasting leftovers of his cum while your tongues mesh — another fact that he can’t control himself over. He hums loud in your mouth, pulling you down with some strength so you get split open by even more of him, sliding and fucking in deeper.

“Clark! Fuck!”

He can’t help but feel proud of himself for pulling such a reaction out of you, lifting his hips up off the cushion of the couch to hump into you and take over some of the pace. You gratefully let him take on the rhythm and do the work, going limp as he shoves the last remaining inches you hadn’t taken yet all the way inside. His tip kisses a part you swear goes farther than your goddamn belly button, slipping all the way out until just his head is in and then pulling you down until he’s stuffed perfectly right back in.

“Mm, I love how it feels to be deep,” he murmurs. Focused with furrowed brows as he continues fucking up into your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck you’re so deep in me, you’re fucking me so good baby,” you cry out, holding onto his broad shoulders for some semblance of balance.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you like this since I first saw you.”

“Y-You could’ve fucked me when you first saw me, would’ve pulled my panties down right then and there,” you answer, hearing his light snort of a laugh.

“Should’ve. Always knew I wanted you to be the one to teach me,” he breathes, stilling as he’s lodged all the way inside you, holding you down and playfully brushing your nose with his. He bites your bottom lip, tugs on it gently before licking it and sloppily kissing you once again, saliva being shared and exchanged as you both breathe heavily throughout.

“Show me how it feels when you cum, I wanna feel it all over me,” he mutters.

“Oh I’ll show you in about five seconds,” you grin, your hips going back to grinding up and down on him. Clark hums and looks down, watching him pushing in and out while your puffy clit throbs every time it meets his groin. He notices then visually just how wet it’s gotten, how your pussy is making a beautiful mess of him, creaming along the girth as you clench and ride it. It’s almost too much beauty for him not to bust another fucking load right then and there, but he takes deep breaths through his mouth and holds out until you have your nut first. He tries to help speed it along with more anxious thrusts of his hips lifting up again, selfishly wanting to watch as it slides all the way inside. Until his balls are pressed up against your ass.

“Please tell me you’re cumming, please angel, cum on me! Cum on me, I can’t hold it—“

“Oh baby I’m cumming right now, yes.”

Your clit throbs as he ruts right up against it, nudging immaculate spots inside you that have you tightening in beats, wet sounds now even more utterly obscene. Your cum gets down to his balls and in his trimmed pubes, marking him as much as he’s marking you.

Clark’s triggered by the very start of your orgasm. Balls dropping as he’s milking out an even heavier load just for your pretty fucking pussy. He’s crying and writhing with incoherent words that sound a lot like your name while his nut starts to seep and spill out from the rim. It’s scolding hot and wet, thick in your womb as you both buck into each other to ride out the matching highs.

You’ve both now drifted off to fairy tale land, catching up to the wild thump of your hearts. Your head is buried in his shoulder and he nuzzles the top of your head with his chin, taking all of it in, relishing in how it feels to have his own cum leaking back down on him as he stays perfectly snuggled up and buried in your walls.

Clark checks in and gently asks if you’re okay, pulling all your hair to one side with a kiss on your forehead.

You lazily nod and only lift your head up to meet his lips.

He holds you close while reaching over to grab the leftover joint that sat unattended, lighting the tip up again after sticking it in between his lips.

Here you were, cockwarming Clark Kent with his cum still leaking out of you, adding to the already filthy mess. He’s lighting up to smoke some more after having just lost his virginity right after getting his dick sucked and milked.

You’ve corrupted Clark, tarnished his boyish innocence at maximum — but judging off of that fucked out grin still plastered on his face while he offers to shotgun some more smoke into your mouth, followed by sheepishly asking if you’re too tired to start on round two — it’d be pretty foolish to think of this new version of him as being such a ‘bad’ or ‘unholy’ thing.

-

so I love high kent I just know he would be such a sweetie

thank you for reading! part two here

[unabashegirl]

Sovereign Masterlist

SUMMARY: Prince Harry falls obsessed with the one girl who refuses to swoon. Y/N must survive a cruel court and a scandal to wear his crown. It is a romance of forbidden heat, witty banter, and finding a spine of steel.

PAIRING: Prince Harry x Reader (Y/N)

RATING: Mature (for heavy making out, heavy petting/touching)

STATUS: PART I - V. -> Completed

WORD COUNT: Approx. 22.4K words

TROPE: Royal AU, Regency Era, He Falls First, Protective Harry, Clumsy Reader, Touch Starved.

THE VIBE:

Bridgerton style courtship

stolen glances across ballrooms

the pressure of "The Season,"

witty banter in rose gardens

stolen touches in candlelit corridors.

Whispers behind lace fans and scandals written in the morning papers

EXCERPT:

“You shouldn’t touch me like this in the corridor of a palace.”

“Then marry me,” he said, utterly unflinching. “And I’ll be able to touch you wherever I like.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her cheeks blooming with heat as his thumb gently brushed her cheekbone — reverent, tender, and yet charged with something far more dangerous.

Her voice was barely a whisper, but steady. “I already am.”

For a single beat, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his lips curled into something between awe and desire. He looked at her like she was the very first star to appear in the night sky — and the only one worth wishing on.

He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against hers, and let out a breath that trembled between restraint and longing.

“God help me,” he murmured, “but I think I’m already lost.”

CONTENT:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[goldengalore]

Not a Date

Summary: Harry asks Y/N out to a fancy dinner and insists it’s not a date. Then why does it feel like one?

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut, friends with benefits

A/N: Happy New Year!! I got back into writing over the holidays. This fic is from an old draft I stumbled upon. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

***

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Y/N rolls onto her side to face Harry, the covers tangled around her naked body. They hadn’t been finished for long before falling into their usual post-sex rhythm of scrolling through their phones in companionable silence. That is, until he casually mentioned dinner on Friday. At a five-star restaurant.

“It’s not a date.” He doesn’t look up from his phone.

“I dunnooo,” she sings, dragging out the word as she studies him. “Dinner at a fancy restaurant sounds like a date to me.”

“It’s not,” he repeats, firmer this time.

“Then what is it?” She props her head up on her hand. “Because we only ever hang out when we want to fuck and we’ve never been out in public together so…” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Either you’re falling for me—which I wouldn’t blame you for because I’m pretty fucking great—”

“Humble, too.”

“—or you’ve got some other plan up your sleeve.”

That finally gets his attention. He turns his head to look at her, his green eyes unreadable, expression controlled and neutral.

“I had a dinner reservation with someone. She bailed. So, do you want to go or not?”

She watches him for a moment, then flops onto her back with a dramatic sigh. “Nah. Places like that are ridiculously overpriced. I’m trying to save up for a new car, so—”

“I’ll cover the bill.”

“I’m in.”

He arches a brow. “That was quick.”

She shrugs. “Can’t say no to a free meal.”

He scoffs, shaking his head.

“Guess I should start thinking about what to wear,” she says, staring up at the ceiling.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Before she can even respond, he tosses the covers aside and swings his legs out of bed, walking straight to her closet. He pulls it open like he owns the place.

Y/N pushes up onto her elbows. “You’re going to pick my outfit?”

“My sense of style is better than you think.”

“Debatable, but…” she mutters under her breath.

Ignoring her, he rummages around in the closet a little longer before emerging with a tiny black dress—open back, plunging neckline—and a pair of black stilettos dangling from his fingers. He glances between the two items and then back at her, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

She laughs. “Of course you’d pick the skimpiest dress and highest heels I own,” she says. “I’m going to look like a hooker you picked up off the street.”

His grin widens. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I was going for.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re a menace.”

***

It turns out Harry’s sense of style really is better than she gave him credit for.

He shows up on the night of their non-date dressed in a crisp white button-up, the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled just enough to show off his forearms, paired with black trousers that fit him a little too well. A couple shiny rings adorn his large hands resting on the steering wheel. She didn’t even know he was into jewellery other than his usual cross necklace. She’s only ever seen him in hoodies, worn T-shirts, shorts, and sweatpants. Not that she expects him to wear a suit just to hook up, but this version of him is… distracting, to say the least.

“What?” he asks when he catches her staring.

“Nothing.” She tears her eyes away, staring out the windshield, then glancing down at herself. Her dress is already riding up her thighs from sitting. She tugs it down, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m having second thoughts about this dress.”

“Relax,” he says. “You look good.”

The words don’t help much, but it’s too late to change now anyway.

Friday night traffic is brutal. The city is buzzing with people spilling out of bars and restaurants, cars inching along narrow roads in a hopeless search for a parking spot. Harry circles the block twice with no luck and sighs in defeat.

“I’ll drop you off and go find a spot.”

She nods and hops out of the car when he pulls up in front of the restaurant. The place looks inviting with its cozy lighting, albeit more upscale than anywhere she’s ever eaten. Well-dressed couples walk past her and disappear through the entrance. She waits by the door, pulling out her phone to check the time.

“Hi, sweetheart,” says a voice nearby.

She doesn’t react, assuming he’s talking to someone else.

“Hi, sweetheart,” the voice repeats, louder this time.

She looks up to find a balding older man in a suit standing far too close with a disconcerting grin on his face.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“I’m here with someone,” she says flatly.

“Yeah?” His eyes rake over her body in a way that makes her stomach churn. “Figured as much. Pretty girl like you can’t be out here alone. Where’s the lucky man?”

“He’s on his way.”

“Well, why don’t I buy you a drink while you wait?” He leans in furtively. “On me.”

She stops responding, hoping he’ll get the hint while knowing that even a neon sign can’t get rid of men like him.

He glances around, then lowers his voice. “How much is he paying you? I can double it.” He reaches for his wallet, already flipping through it. “Cash okay? Of course it is. Let’s see how much I’ve got—”

“Hey, darling,” Harry’s voice cuts in smoothly. His arm slips around her waist, pulling her into his side like it’s second nature. “Ready to head inside?”

She nods, leaning into him without thinking.

As they head towards the entrance, the man calls after her, “I’ll be at the bar if you change your mind!”

She rolls her eyes. Harry keeps his arm around her until they’re safely inside the restaurant, only dropping it once they reach the hostess stand.

“Reservation for Styles,” he states calmly.

They’re lead to the upper floor, which feels less crowded and more intimate.

“Well,” Y/N says as she slides into the red velvet U-shaped booth, “you did it. You successfully made someone think I’m a hooker. I’m honestly surprised you stepped in instead of watching from afar with amusement.”

“How much of a dick do you think I am?”

She raises a brow. “A massive one?”

He scoffs.

“But,” she adds quietly, “thank you.”

“I’m the one who made you dress like…” He gestures vaguely at her. “That. The least I can do is protect you from creepy old men.”

Something inside her softens at that. She wasn’t expecting him to take responsibility.

As they settle in and open up their menus, Y/N takes in her surroundings. An ornate chandelier casts a warm glow over their table. Classical music hums softly in the background. Everyone around them looks like they belong here with their elegant dresses and suits. Even the menu looks intimidating.

She has barely made up her mind when the server returns to take their order. In a panic, she picks something random, hoping it won’t be one of those tiny, aesthetic meals that taste like nothing but cost an arm and a leg.

Once they’re alone again, she exhales. “Okay, this place is… really nice. You must’ve liked the girl you were planning to bring here.”

He leans back, shrugging. “Not really. I don’t know. She was just someone I met on an app.”

She blinks. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Sure. Why’s that shocking?”

“I just didn’t think that was your thing. Feels like you could walk into any bar and leave with whoever you want.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Well, believe it or not, I was looking for more than a casual hook-up. Something… meaningful.”

The server returns with two glasses of rosé, setting them down between them.

After a sip, Y/N asks, “So, what happened with her?”

“We went on two dates. This was supposed to be the third. She ghosted me a few days ago.” He sounds unaffected but jaded at the same time.

She offers a sympathetic smile. “Been there. That’s why I don’t use those apps anymore unless it’s for hooking up, and I’m upfront about it. Saves guys like you from wasting time looking for ‘something meaningful’ with me.”

He studies her for a moment. “And that’s enough for you, huh?”

“It’s easier,” she says, dodging the question because easier doesn’t always mean enough. “That’s why we work so well though, isn’t it? We don’t expect things from each other. No pressure. No strings.”

The silence stretches. He watches her long enough that she almost backtracks.

Finally, he lifts his glass. “Cheers to that.”

She clinks hers against his. The sound is sharper than she expects, cutting through the low hum of conversation around them.

They eat in silence for a few moments. Y/N focuses on her plate, slicing the meat into smaller pieces. She pretends not to notice Harry glancing at her every so often.

“So,” he begins, an air of curiosity in his tone, “you only use dating apps for hookups. But surely, there comes a time when you want to date for real. What do you do then?”

“I don’t date.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I haven’t been on a date in two years.”

He freezes with a spoonful of food halfway to his mouth, then slowly lowers it back to his plate, his eyes never leaving her.

“This is your first date in two years?” he asks.

She gasps, pointing at him with her fork. “I fucking knew it! This is a date!”

Instead of denying it outright, he pauses and really looks at her.

“Do you want it to be?” he asks.

“Don’t turn it around on me.”

“It’s just a question.” His voice stays even and steady, like he’s prepared for whatever the answer may be.

Heat creeps up her neck. Her eyes drop back to her plate.

“Fine,” she mutters. “Maybe I do. Can you blame me? I haven’t been on one in two years, remember?”

His lips curve into a smirk. “If you’d told me, I would’ve taken you out sooner.”

Her face burns. Damn him. She’s not used to feeling shy around him. Not while he’s sitting across from her in a candlelit restaurant, dressed like this, calm and unfazed.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she says, regaining her footing. “You only did this because that girl ghosted you.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But I’m having a good time. Aren’t you?”

She looks up at him, surprised by the honest question and even more surprised by her response.

“Yeah,” she admits.

“Good.”

***

Y/N scarfs down the last bite of her food, feeling almost uncomfortably full. Contrary to her assumptions, this restaurant did not cheap out on portions. If she could lay down on this comfy velvet seat right now, she would pass out in an instant.

“Dessert?” Harry suggests.

“No way. I’m going to explode.”

“C’mon. We’ll share. Please?”

Something about the way he looks at her makes it impossible to say no.

She sighs. “Fine. Only a few bites.”

They settle on chocolate lava cake. It doesn’t take long for the server to bring it out. He leaves it in the centre of the table, but Harry pulls the plate over to his side.

Y/N pouts. “I thought we were going to share.”

“We are. Scoot closer.”

She hesitates.

“Relax. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

It’s almost as if telling him that she doesn’t date has emboldened him to treat this even more like one. She should be annoyed, call him out for it. Instead, she just moves closer. His knee slots in between hers, his cologne hitting her all at once, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. He breaks off a piece of cake with his fork and lifts it to her mouth.

“Open.”

She waits a beat, then complies, parting her lips.

“Good girl.”

Her breath hitches. She always thought hearing that phrase outside of a sexual context would turn her off, but instead, it grounds her. The tension in her muscles dissolves. Her fists unfurl in her lap.

He uses the same fork to feed himself after feeding her, alternating back and forth. She follows his lead without being told, watching his every move, forgetting for the first time that they’re in public. He has her in the palm of his hand.

“I’m taking you back to my place after this,” he says as she wraps her lips around the fork yet again.

He waits for her to object.

She doesn’t.

***

The parking spot Harry found is a five-minute walk away. They have to stay close together as they weave their way down the bustling sidewalk. Y/N wraps a hand around his arm to avoid losing him. The crowd thins as they approach the mostly empty grocery store parking lot. She adjusts the hem of her dress as she stops by the car, waiting for him to unlock it.

“You really do look beautiful in it,” Harry says quietly.

She turns to find him gazing at her dress with genuine admiration. Arms crossed over her chest, she narrows her eyes.

“Okay, you’ve been weirdly nice all evening. What’s up?”

“Maybe I just like watching you get all flustered.”

Her chest tightens, a moment of dread crashing over her. Dinner, dessert, the compliment—has she been reading into everything? Was the whole night just a ploy for him to watch her squirm and blush and act like an infatuated idiot—

“I’m kidding, Y/N.”

She knew that. Of course she knew that.

He smiles kindly at her. “Can’t I just think you look beautiful? Without there being some ulterior motive?”

She doesn’t say anything.

He steps closer, towering over her even in heels.

“I meant it.”

His gaze drops to her lips. He leans in, giving her a slow, tentative peck, testing the waters. When she doesn’t pull away, he kisses her again, deeper this time. A hand lifts her chin, the other resting easily on her waist.

It’s hardly their first kiss, but it has all the nerves and trepidation of one. She can feel it radiating from Harry too, especially when she rests her hands on his chest and feels the unmistakable thud of his heartbeat.

There’s no haste. No hunger. No rushing to get each other’s clothes off for a quick dopamine rush. It’s the most tender kiss they’ve shared. He pulls back with a soft grin.

“Let’s go,” he says, opening the car door for her.

***

Back at Harry’s apartment, they’re truly alone for the first time that night. But instead of instantly making out with her, which is usually how this goes, he calmly takes off his shoes and sets his keys down on the entryway table. Then he turns to her and waits.

In that moment, it hits her that they’ve crossed into unfamiliar territory. Whatever boundaries previously existed as part of their arrangement are blurred beyond recognition. Before tonight, she could safely tuck any feelings for Harry away and move on with her day. Will it ever be that easy again?

Kicking off her heels, she crosses the space between them, fisting his shirt between her fingers and pulling him in for a kiss. He stills beneath her touch for the briefest moment before gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him.

He lifts her up onto the table and stands between her knees. Hands grasp the sides of her face, tongue prodding its way into her mouth. She feels around for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one at a time. He pulls away to rest his forehead against hers.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, thumbs caressing her cheekbones. “Slow? Gentle?”

She knows why he’s asking. Slow and gentle was never their thing, yet tonight is different… But she likes their sex life exactly the way it is.

“I want you to fuck me like you own me,” she whispers. And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

He kisses her all over again while reaching up to undo the knot at the base of her neck keeping her dress in place. The front of her dress falls open, leaving her torso exposed. He gropes one breast, then the other, tweaking her nipples until they’re nice and firm.

He makes her step out of the dress and her thong before getting back on the table with her back against the wall, feet resting on the edge. Grabbing her ankles, he spreads them further apart, leaving her soaking cunt on full display. One of Harry’s great talents is putting her in the most vulnerable and exposed positions imaginable. And yet, oddly enough, it still doesn’t make her blush more than him flirting with her in a restaurant.

Two fingers run up and down her slick folds, collecting some of her wetness. She exhales, mesmerized by the sight of him inspecting her most intimate parts. He licks his fingers clean.

“Taste so fucking good as always.” His lips curl into a smirk.

He slides his fingers into her opening. Her knees instinctively inch closer together, but he pushes them apart again.

“Open,” he says simply, triggering the mental image of him feeding her cake earlier.

She rolls her head back against the wall as his fingers curve upward. Right as she loses herself in the sensations, he suddenly retracts his fingers.

“No, I’m so close!” she whines.

A light slap on her clit makes her jump. “I don’t remember saying you can come yet.”

She scowls.

He grips her face with one hand, thumb and fingers pressing into her cheeks. “Wipe that look off your face.” He kisses her tenderly, a contrast to his condescending tone. “Get on your knees.”

A simple command. Said so casually. Like he knows she’ll obey without question because of the sheer satisfaction she receives from having his cock down her throat. She sinks to the floor and starts unzipping his pants.

The hard length of his cock feels heavy in her palm. She glances up at him before wrapping her lips around it, taking him into her mouth. Once his hand finds the back of her head, he starts moving in and out at his own pace. Her eyes flicker shut. This is her favourite part. Where he takes over and she can let go, focusing entirely on her breath and the taste of him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he sighs out, connecting with the back of her throat repeatedly until he decides he’s had enough. He tells her to stand and meet him in the bedroom.

She lays on his bed and waits, acutely aware of the growing wetness between her thighs. A minute later, he enters the room and fully undresses. Turning her over onto her stomach, he peppers kisses along her spine before taking her from behind.

“This okay?” he checks once he’s inside her.

“Mhm,” she responds, utterly incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

Her best orgasms are always in this position. And he knows it too. On his next thrust, he rolls his hips in small circles, driving her to insanity. She moans against the bed, sinking further into it with each thrust. His hand clutches hers fiercely as he picks up the pace.

“Jesus. Fuck.” He groans.

“Please, please—” she whines as she gets close, hoping he’ll let her finish this time.

Finally, she comes and he does too, his hips pressed firmly against her.

A few breaths later, he pulls out carefully and rolls over, his hand still loosely wrapped around hers.

“Not too bad for your first date in two years?”

She hums, a faint smile on her lips. “Could’ve used more wine.”

“Next time,” he says, “I’ll order us a bottle.”

[luveline]

if you are looking for spencer and bombshell requests, what about the first time a girl flirts with spencer after they start dating, but bombshell is fully secure because she knows her worth and understands that he’s a catch? if you need more ideas i can squeeze my brain really hard

love ur brain pls keep squeezing it <3 fem!reader

You’re the cheesy girlfriend no one expects you to be. You change your phone contact for Spencer to ‘My Sweet Boyfriend’ with a heart, you hold his hand in stupid places (though you’d done that before, sometimes), you bring him coffee, you fluster when he kisses your cheek no matter your disposition —you're overwhelmed in the honeymoon phase, and everybody’s surprised. 

“That’s not very cool of you,” Morgan says, having noticed your ducked head, your smile dripping with a private pleasure and your cheek still shining with Spencer’s quick kiss. He’s gone to find plastic cutlery. 

“I’m not that cool when it comes to Spencer,” you say. 

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” 

Morgan is as pleased for you both finally getting together as anyone, even if he finds it foreign. It is weird to suddenly be openly in love with each other, and likely stranger for the team to see you in anything that isn’t total calm collection. 

“He’s so lovely.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Morgan says, more earnest now as he slaps a rolled sandwich down in front of you. “He’s a catch. I asked for no mayonnaise, was I supposed to do that?” 

Emily tucks her seat in next to yours. “He’s totally trapped by that secretary again, I hate to tell you.” 

You turn around. 

“Why would you tell her that?” Morgan asks. 

“What?” 

You peer out of the office door, where Spencer’s being chatted to by a stunningly attractive secretary. She has dark skin and darker hair, alluring almond eyes that light her sweetheart face with a bright charm. “Oh, she’s getting prettier,” you say. 

You’ve got Spencer Reid locked in. Nothing in you doubts that he’s currently infatuated with you. You don’t even care when he laughs at her joke, or when she dips her head bashfully toward him. 

“You better go and get your man,” Morgan says. 

“What for?” 

“She’s flirting hard,” JJ says. She’s only just looked up from her phone. “He’s gonna start blushing.” 

As if. You turn back to the table, unwrapping the paper from your sandwich with a happy sigh. Spencer looks so cute when he blushes, his cheeks turn pink and he smiles like he’s being tickled, it’s adorable. If that pretty secretary wants to do the hard work for you, it’s her prerogative. He’s your boyfriend. 

“I don’t need to do anything, he’s fine,” you say. 

You’re cutting your sandwich in half when you feel a presence behind your back. A familiar hand closes around your shoulder, a voice in your ear, “Thanks for nothing.” 

You giggle at his embarrassed tone, turning your face up to his, immediately delighted by his pink-tinged cheeks and neck. “You looked like you were having fun!” 

“You’re not gonna pretend to be mad?” he asks, leaning over you to open your sandwich. He pulls out a sad looking tomato and a similarly wilted slice of lettuce and closes it again. “Did you want a drink? I can’t believe you.” 

“Spencer, did you want me to come and get you?” you tease. 

“It would’ve been nice of you. Drink?” 

You laugh again, tugging him down by the wrist. “No, Spencer, I don’t want a drink, just sit down. What was I supposed to do? I’m not gonna pull her off of you.” 

“But why?” he asks, nearly not quite pouting. “She asked me if it was too hot in here for me.” He sits in the chair beside you, his hand dropping to the soft inside of your thigh as he leans in imploringly. “If you cared about me at all–”

Everybody laughs, including yourself. He’s clearly joking, and for once nobody on the team mistakes it for ineptitude, which seems to cheer him up. He gives your leg a rather bold squeeze considering who he is and where you are, and again when you gesture for him to lift his face to plant a kiss on the ridge of his jaw. “I do care about you, Spencer. Sorry I wasn’t jealous. Should we try again?” 

He turns your face away from your coworkers, eye to eye. “You’re making fun of me.” 

His hand trails to your elbow. “No,” you say, your skin tingling under his touch. 

“I don’t believe you. And I know you need a drink, they didn’t send your bottle of water. I didn’t manage to find those forks, either.” 

He gets up again. He hasn’t so much as glanced at his own food, patting your back in a promise that he’ll return before he edges out of the office and into the station’s bullpen. You take a smug bite of your sandwich. You can’t hide it.

“Told you,” you say once you’ve swallowed. You hadn’t needed to do anything, and you really aren’t worried about other women. “He likes me a lot.” 

“Understatement of the year.” 

You send Morgan a loving smile. When you glance over your shoulder, Spencer’s taking the long way through the office to the water cooler.

[luveline]

how’s stripper!reader doing ? i miss her

“Oh, stop, please.” 

Spencer is breathless. Knees pulled up and a kindle on his chest, laughing with wetness along his lashes that hadn’t quite come to tears, he wipes at his cheeks as you continue to shout your grody story at him. “Like, so much puke, more puke than I’ve ever seen!” 

And Spencer is making nonsense sounds so he doesn’t have to hear it. He hates how disgusting the cafe is, but he loves that you work there because you like it enough, so he usually listens when you tell him about the blood or the wads of toilet paper or the ground coffee throw up out back. “Can’t we have one night without it?” he asks, laughing, but only because you’re laughing, desperate to disgust him. 

“No,” you say, turning on the desk chair to really look at him. 

He built you a desk. Bought you a computer. You’re not sure about your hobbies —Spencer wants you to find out about them. There’s so much to love in the world and you’ve never had any time to learn about things. You like watching a girl on YouTube who used to strip and plays weird romance games. You like to draw in his old sketchbook with a nub of blue pencil. You love the new reality show where they build a girl group from the inside out. Spencer thinks that, if you’d found comfort a little younger, you’d like to dance as the girls do. Contemporary hip-hop, or similar. You sit at the desk because it’s yours, and you make him laugh because you’re his. 

He laughs loud and misses the end of your story, as is designed, giggling while you click off your monitor for the night and clamber off of your chair. You’re wearing a pair of black sweatpants that are loose at the ankle with tiny white socks, and a soft t-shirt you got from the grocery story. It’s white with blue font. SLEEPY GIRL. So dumb, you’d mumbled, throwing it in the basket he carried. 

And so true, he’d said back. 

Your eyes are tired. You yawn as you wipe the last of your happy tears away, hands out in warning. I’m going to lay on you, you’re saying. Spencer can take it. He’s a big boy. 

God, your thighs are still so fucking corded from dancing, even though they’re soft, too. He lets his legs flatten and you climb over them, squeezing him gently with your own, your hands coming to rest on his chest. Your dancing will be as much of a part of you as you want. You aren’t ashamed. Embarrassed, occasionally, at his expense. But you liked to dance, didn’t love the hassle, liked spinning your tricks on the pole, liked feeling like you were the most desired thing in the room. Spencer knows there was a satisfaction in making a lot of money in a few minutes, knows you deserved it, performed for it, worked hard for it, and he’s tempted sometimes to offer you more. Jealousy. Desire of his own. You deserve a couple grand every time you stand in front of him, for sure, but you don’t want Spencer’s money. He’s never worried about that. You just want him, and he just wants you. 

“Tired, baby?” he asks, ghost of a laugh lingering on his lips. 

“I’m gonna crash the second you wrap me up,” you agree. 

“Hurry up and lay down, then.” 

“Make me.”

He grins, reaching up to pinch your nose. You flinch away from it and push at his sternum with the base of your palm. Spencer flops back willingly. 

“Mean girl,” he mumbles. 

You press the tip of your nose to the side of his for the wonkiest kiss he’s ever received. “Your girl.” 

He tips you sideways for wrapping. 

[velvetground-6]

undone explicit 18+ helpless obsessed coworker clark + giving head

“Oh.. oh god I’m not gonna make it—that mouth, that feels so good baby.”

Clark winces harder with every lick. Glasses forgotten as they fell down his face, crooked and clumsy in the midst of all that groaning. His hips buck up without him even realizing, chasing her tongue almost reluctantly. She’s got the soft, heavy skin of his balls on the valley of her tastebuds, savoring everything she’s milked out of him.

He wasn’t supposed to be falling this hard for her. Spreading his legs with his dick hanging out like a slut the very moment she winks and expresses some flirty reciprocated interest back to him. Clark normally wasn’t this fucking easy. But for her, he’d been bending over backwards for any speck of attention or crumb of affection. She’d put her palm on his thigh to rest and rubbed and he had to excuse himself to hide the rock that flung up and outlined everything out on display in his trousers. She’d whisper a joke in his ear and end up giggling at her own punchline while Clark was just trying not to choke on air and keep his dick tame and behaved. Not that he’d ever really been successful.

She slurps on the head and gives him sex eyes, taking his breath away while she suckles like he’s her medicine. Her hands cradle the pair of hanging balls she’d just drooled on, softly massaging the tension out from them as he clenched his fists at his sides and tries not to bust all over the roof of her mouth. Yet.

“You have no idea how go—gosh good you look too—it’s too much!”

“Do I make you feel good with this cock on my tongue, hm? Am I gonna make you cum?”

She’s teasing him, gripping him like sin with her red nails wrapped around the girth, hardly able to get her fingertips to touch.

“Y…Yes, I won’t be able to hold it much longer—too perfect, too pretty—“

She smiles around his dick, giving him a wet little kiss and finishing it off with a swirly lick. He gulps and fights his urges off some more. Precum steadily flows, dribbling down the tip in a clear, milky drip that she slurps up like it’s her only source of protein. Clark shakes his head, shivering with little restraint left, sweating through his button down as he spreads his legs impossibly more just for her.

“Your balls feel too heavy, feels like you need to let loose, lover boy. Let it out on me. C’mon, stop holding it.”

Clark is stunned when she gulps him down some more, bobbing her head at a steady pace. Sounds of her throat being demolished and loose spit trailing down from the corners of her mouth.

He can’t take it. He can’t watch it anymore.

“Fu…uck… sheesh, I’m coming, I’m coming, I can’t stop. Oh my—“

She hums around him delightfully, jacking his rock hard length to milk him up on her tongue. The pool of come he lets out is downright embarrassing — overflowing her mouth with it, making her gargle and swallow while he’s only halfway through. Clark tensed and shivered as his dick weeped and unloaded, spitting rope after rope and cumming so hard he feels like he might faint if he doesn’t stop soon.

“Mmm… sorry, sorry baby, you’re just so beautiful licking me like that. Made me lose it,” he whimpers as the last round of cumshots bead down from his flushed head, dripping down his own member and creating a whole pool of runny seed on his trimmed neat pubes. She licks him up like a good girl, chuckling at his need for apologizing for giving her the hottest load she’s ever seen, ever pulled out of another guy.

He runs a hand through her scalp and parts her hair off to the side to ensure it isn’t in the way of the mess he’s made, taking a thumb to her chin adoringly.

“Mm, wanna taste you next. Can’t stop thinking about it,” he pants. She leans up and gives him a wet, sticky kiss with shared tongues twirling around. He tastes himself all over her, and his dick excitedly whips back up already for more. “Thought about eating you out almost every time I looked at you. Distracted me from my work, missy.”

She hums with a smile and pecks him on the lips, grabbing one of his big, nervous hands and guiding it down to her pounding opening, having his fingertips merely brush the swollen button of her clit. He hisses like he’s just touched boiling water, but enthusiastically rubs around that magic spot some more as he pulls some of the same gasps and moans he’d been making.

“Can’t go back from this,” Clark breathes in her ear, nipping at the side gently as he swirls his finger in rhythmic ovals. “Won’t know what to do with myself at work. Can’t hide how I feel about you. Mm… not anymore.”

She’s since closed her eyes and subtly humped into his hand to meet his every touch and move, nodding in a way that he wasn’t sure signaled she was even listening or got too out of it. He decides he doesn’t care either way, as long as she’s enjoying herself — going in and sucking on her neck, kissing trails across her throat softly while she ducks her head and whines his name in his hair. Clark begins his journey down south with needy kisses down her collarbones, to her belly, then all the way to her inner thighs as he repositions her. Now she lies back, legs slowly opening up for him. He’s face to face with her pussy and nuzzles in like he wants to make a home out of her thighs.

With the first few long licks dancing zig-zags all around and directly on her clit, she grips his hair and mewls while he suckles with tenderness, with intention.

Clark can’t unsee her pussy, can’t rewind time and un-fill her mouth with the floods of his come. He repeats it again with the tip of his nose rubbing up and down her slit, breathing her in again and again. Heaving as he drools and licks her up even more.

“Can’t go back from this. Can’t act normal anymore. I can’t.”

Her voice is lazy and soft as she chuckles a little at his helplessness, as she’s reminding him —

“Mmm… Kent, you’re acting like you could actually hide how much you wanted me anyway.”

—

yeah so I’m hard for kent send any filth u might want im open for business :D

I did get sick over the weekend so I was lazy and haven’t touched my other inbox ideas apologies !