harry styles masterlist â„ 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!
dirt enthusiast

blake kathryn
AnasAbdin
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
taylor price
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tannertan36
almost home
Peter Solarz
will byers stan first human second
i don't do bad sauce passes
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
tumblr dot com
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đȘŒ
DEAR READER
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@mydearesthrry
harry styles masterlist â„ 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!
HOUSE TOUR Sabrina Carpenter, 2026
I just want you
clark kent x f!reader
summary: youâre only in the early stages of your relationship with clark, but during your first sleepover, clark comes to a conclusion: youâre the one he wants. for life. based on this request
cw: tooth-rotting fluff
wc: 900ish
a/n: iâm feeling romantic today. maybe itâs because valentineâs 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:Â Wi$h Li$t â Taylor Swift (Acoustic Version)
The bed smells like you.Â
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.Â
angst w frat!peter n trouble is all i can think abt đ
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 doesnât he look nervous? why doesnât he seem unsure? why did he do it so easily? did he expect this and already get rid of any evidence?
âwhat are you looking for?â
youâre not sure. it makes you even more upset how nice and understanding heâs being. you stare at his home screen, you have unbridled access but you donât even know what to look for. you hadnât expected to get this far.
âyou know what.â 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.
âi donât. does it feel like im hiding something from you?â
why does him trying to help make you so mad? âiâm leaving.â peter blocks you and speaks softer than you deserve.
âwho got into your head?â
who told you you have something to worry about?
swear jar explicit 18+ mommy kink, raw, Clark being afraid to even say dick or cock while heâs getting bounced on, teaching him p0rno dirty talk, wet and messy drabble
-
The idea of Clark being afraid to curse while youâre 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 heâs inside you.
Even when itâs dirty talk about his own anatomy as youâre grinding your naked pussy lips all over his girth. Teasing him with little bunny hops while heâs 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 youâre grinding down on it. He watched your needy pussy clamp up on nothing right before youâre chasing down his tip, snatching it up in your hand to finally begin feeding the crown in your hole, splitting you open when itâs intruding. When it goes in youâre filled with his warmth and relief, getting to clench your wallâs 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 -
âMmm, make my⊠my pâmm, you make it feel so good baby. It feels so good. Leak on it, yeah, thatâs it⊠sâa pretty girl. Feels like Iâm in heaven.â
âBaby boy you know you can say itâs your cock or your dick when itâs just us,â you breathe with a heavy lidded smile. Never stopping the way youâre sliding all the way down to the hilt and wiggling around on it.
Clark almost ignores your reminder entirely, lost in it while youâre bouncing up and down on him. âOhhh - oh shoot, shoot thatâs perfect, I like that.â
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
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
âHoney, Iâm home!â 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.Â
He took in the sight of her, surrounded by a borderline overwhelming amount of various Christmas decorations in bags from the shops or boxes sheâd 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 wasnât the real reason he had said yes.Â
summary:Â 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:Â 1.2k warnings:Â None. And I am not on Charm City Cake's payroll, I just used to watched the show about them a lifetime ago. note:Â Spencer would absolutely do that in my mind.
Spencer knows about your struggles.Â
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 heâs often stuck watching baking shows with you where you get the inspiration from.Â
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.Â
âHotch, can I get an hour to take care of something?â he wonders, already putting on his coat without waiting for his bossâ answer.
earthworms â spencer reid
pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: She didnât 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 hadnât 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 didnât 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 wouldâve terrified her if it had been sudden. Love, sheâd 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 theyâd been measured with a ruler. It was the kind of thing people noticed after the fact, when cases closed faster, and paperwork didnât bounce back with red ink.
Spencer noticed immediately.
The first time they worked together, heâd paused mid-sentence while she handed him a file.
âYou tabbed this,â he said, reverent.
She blinked. âIs⊠that unusual?â
âExtremely,â he said.
She smiled, small and polite. âI also indexed the witness statements by timeline and probability of recall distortion.â
Spencer stared at her like sheâd just rewritten the laws of physics.
That shouldâve 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.
âYou his handler now?â he teased one afternoon.
She flushed. âI justâhe doesnât likeââ
âI know,â Morgan said gently. âJust messinâ 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 Hotchâs expectations. She walked with Spencer through crime scenes, trailing half a step behind him when his thoughts pulled him forward too quickly.
She didnât mind. She liked matching his pace.
She liked the way he glanced back to make sure she hadnât 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 didnât tune it out this time. She noticed how every time he did, she leaned in and asked questions. Real ones that matter.
âWhat happens after that?â âWait, but wouldnât that contradictâ?â âCan you explain that part again?â
She never noticed, but Spencer lit up every time.
âYouâre not bored?â he asked once, incredulous.
She had her eyes closed, tired from the early morning case, but she still smiled. âNot even a little. Tell me more, my genius.â
Slowly, after realizing these changes, everything started to scare her.
She knew Spencer Reidâs 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 didnât stand a chance. That whatever this wasâthis warmth, this pullâit was temporary. A projection. A mistake.
Penelope didnât buy it.
âOh, honeypie!â she said one afternoon, wheeling her chair over until she was far too close. âYou look at him like he hung the stars.â
âI do not.â
âYou tabbed and alphabetized his paperwork last night.â
âI was being helpful!â
Penelope grinned. âOh, 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. Youâre in love.â
She laughed it off. Pretended she didnât feel it when Spencer was out sick, and the bullpen felt too quiet. Pretended her head didnât feel fuzzy all day, unfocused, like sheâd 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 JJâs 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. Spencerâs head lifted, and he smiled at her.
And she didnât smile back. She didnât 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 didnât see the way Spencerâs gaze lingered for a heartbeat before looking away, rubbing his hands together as if trying to shake off the sting of her absence. She didnât 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 couldnât know that to him, that small gesture, wasnât 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.
âYou okay?â 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 hadnât stood behind him at the crime scene that day. How sheâd chosen a seat between JJ and Rossi during the briefing instead of beside him. How she hadnât absentmindedly placed a finger in his palm, tracing little circles while Penelope delivered her case brief.
He missed that.
It was strange. Disorienting.
âIâm fine,â she said quickly.
He tilted his head, brow furrowing. âYouâre⊠everything except fine.â
She exhaled. âSpencer.â
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.
âCan I ask you something,â she said softly, âsomething⊠personal?â
He nodded immediately. âYes.â
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.
âDid you ever,â she began, then stopped, swallowing hard, âstop feeling something for someone you thought youâd always care about?â
His expression softened instantly.
âYes,â he said. âEventually.â
Her shoulders dropped just a fraction. Spencer noticed that too.
âI thought I never would,â he continued gently. âBut then I realized love isnât static. It changes. Or it⊠redirects.â
âRedirects,â she echoed, barely louder than a whisper.
He studied her carefully now, gears turning, something uneasy blooming in his chest. Sheâd gone quiet again, like she was standing at the edge of something she didnât know how to step into.
âDid it ever,â she asked after a moment, her voice softer, âredirect to anyone?â waiting for an answer from him.
He didnât.
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 didnât.
The silence stretched too long.
She stood abruptly. âNever mind,â she said, forcing a small, tired smile. âIâm probably just exhausted. Iâll see you in the morning, Spence.â
She turned, already halfway down the hall, fully expecting him to let her go.
He didnât.
His hand closed gently around her wrist, not tightânever tightâjust enough to stop her. Enough to make her turn back to him.
âWait,â 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.
âDid I do something?â Spencer asked suddenly, the words spilling out before he could stop them. âWas it me?â
She laughed weakly, breathless and frustrated all at once. âYes.â
He blinked. âYes⊠what?â
She exhaled sharply, hands flying up in surrender. âYes, itâs you. Itâs you.â
His breath caught.
âYou make my head spin, Spence,â she said, voice trembling now. âYou make my heart skip. You give me butterflies, bees, heck, even earthworms in my stomach, whatever that means.â
She pressed her palms to her eyes, mortified. âI hate how Iâm 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 itâs all just in my head.â
She dropped her hands.
Spencer stood there, completely still.
His mind raced, connections forming, recalculating, rewriting every assumption heâd made in the last several months. He opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh.
âEarthworms,â he repeated, shaking his head.
You sigh, trying to stop the tear from falling. His hands
âYou used to arrive at the office at seven-thirty,â he said quickly, words tumbling out. âAnd 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 donât like not smelling good, andââ he paused, cheeks flushing, eyes looking elsewhere âI like it, because every time your shoulder brushes mine, it stays, like the feeling of you lingers.â
Her breath hitched.
âYou use a Pilot pen, black ink, point-five millimeter, because itâs 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.â
She looked up at him then, eyes bright, glassy. âWhy does any of that matter?â 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.
âBecause,â he said softly, âyou donât notice details like that about someone unless you like them.â
She swallowed hard.
âYou give me earthworms too,â 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.
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 thereâs no going back .
author's note: just wanted to write something for you! i hope you enjoy! happy reading!
Rating: Explicit. đ content. reader discretion is advised.
đ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
đ all of my work :)
đ w.c -> 7.8k
Tomâs 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 Tomâs velvet sofa.
"Youâre 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 youâre 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. Iâll 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 didnât 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.
"Youâre 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.
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, unvirginâd 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 couldnât 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 heâs been starving for it ever since he woke up. You couldnât hide your laugh at how heâd 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 heâs 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 heâs 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.
âWanna do more than just kiss you right now,â he breathes. Engulfs you with those arms still from behind, now wrapped around you like a tangled up bear hug. âYou wanna meet up on break somewhere? That storage closetâs always empty,â he raises his brows, stupid cheeky smile spreading on his face.
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 didnât even know what smoking weed was.
Now that heâs hung out with you as much as he has heâs turned into a pothead. A pothead that doesnât wanna be a virgin anymore. (6.8k)
-
Taking Clarkâs 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, heâd 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 heâd 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.
âHey. Smells weird out here,â 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. âWhatâs that?â
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.
âFuck, Iâm fine, Iâm fine. Still cough sometimes with this strain,â you clear your throat, gulping down a swallow or two with lidded eyes while Clark stares inquisitively.
âIs that a cigarette?â
âUh, itâs a type of a cigarette, sure.â
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:
âYou shouldnât touch me like this in the corridor of a palace.â
âThen marry me,â he said, utterly unflinching. âAnd Iâll be able to touch you wherever I like.â
Not a Date
Summary: Harry asks Y/N out to a fancy dinner and insists itâs 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
***
âAre you asking me out on a date?â
Y/N rolls onto her side to face Harry, the covers tangled around her naked body. They hadnât 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.
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 heâs a catch? if you need more ideas i can squeeze my brain really hard
love ur brain pls keep squeezing it <3 fem!reader
Youâre the cheesy girlfriend no one expects you to be. You change your phone contact for Spencer to âMy Sweet Boyfriendâ with a heart, you hold his hand in stupid places (though youâd done that before, sometimes), you bring him coffee, you fluster when he kisses your cheek no matter your disposition âyou're overwhelmed in the honeymoon phase, and everybodyâs surprised.Â
âThatâs not very cool of you,â Morgan says, having noticed your ducked head, your smile dripping with a private pleasure and your cheek still shining with Spencerâs quick kiss. Heâs gone to find plastic cutlery.Â
âIâm not that cool when it comes to Spencer,â you say.Â
âI canât believe what Iâm hearing.âÂ
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 isnât total calm collection.Â
âHeâs so lovely.âÂ
âYeah, I know,â Morgan says, more earnest now as he slaps a rolled sandwich down in front of you. âHeâs a catch. I asked for no mayonnaise, was I supposed to do that?âÂ
Emily tucks her seat in next to yours. âHeâs totally trapped by that secretary again, I hate to tell you.âÂ
You turn around.Â
âWhy would you tell her that?â Morgan asks.Â
âWhat?âÂ
You peer out of the office door, where Spencerâs 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. âOh, sheâs getting prettier,â you say.Â
Youâve got Spencer Reid locked in. Nothing in you doubts that heâs currently infatuated with you. You donât even care when he laughs at her joke, or when she dips her head bashfully toward him.Â
âYou better go and get your man,â Morgan says.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âSheâs flirting hard,â JJ says. Sheâs only just looked up from her phone. âHeâs gonna start blushing.âÂ
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 heâs being tickled, itâs adorable. If that pretty secretary wants to do the hard work for you, itâs her prerogative. Heâs your boyfriend.Â
âI donât need to do anything, heâs fine,â you say.Â
Youâre 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, âThanks for nothing.âÂ
You giggle at his embarrassed tone, turning your face up to his, immediately delighted by his pink-tinged cheeks and neck. âYou looked like you were having fun!âÂ
âYouâre not gonna pretend to be mad?â 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. âDid you want a drink? I canât believe you.âÂ
âSpencer, did you want me to come and get you?â you tease.Â
âIt wouldâve been nice of you. Drink?âÂ
You laugh again, tugging him down by the wrist. âNo, Spencer, I donât want a drink, just sit down. What was I supposed to do? Iâm not gonna pull her off of you.âÂ
âBut why?â he asks, nearly not quite pouting. âShe asked me if it was too hot in here for me.â He sits in the chair beside you, his hand dropping to the soft inside of your thigh as he leans in imploringly. âIf you cared about me at allââ
Everybody laughs, including yourself. Heâs 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. âI do care about you, Spencer. Sorry I wasnât jealous. Should we try again?âÂ
He turns your face away from your coworkers, eye to eye. âYouâre making fun of me.âÂ
His hand trails to your elbow. âNo,â you say, your skin tingling under his touch.Â
âI donât believe you. And I know you need a drink, they didnât send your bottle of water. I didnât manage to find those forks, either.âÂ
He gets up again. He hasnât so much as glanced at his own food, patting your back in a promise that heâll return before he edges out of the office and into the stationâs bullpen. You take a smug bite of your sandwich. You canât hide it.
âTold you,â you say once youâve swallowed. You hadnât needed to do anything, and you really arenât worried about other women. âHe likes me a lot.âÂ
âUnderstatement of the year.âÂ
You send Morgan a loving smile. When you glance over your shoulder, Spencerâs taking the long way through the office to the water cooler.
howâs stripper!reader doing ? i miss her
âOh, stop, please.âÂ
Spencer is breathless. Knees pulled up and a kindle on his chest, laughing with wetness along his lashes that hadnât quite come to tears, he wipes at his cheeks as you continue to shout your grody story at him. âLike, so much puke, more puke than Iâve ever seen!âÂ
And Spencer is making nonsense sounds so he doesnât 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. âCanât we have one night without it?â he asks, laughing, but only because youâre laughing, desperate to disgust him.Â
âNo,â you say, turning on the desk chair to really look at him.Â
He built you a desk. Bought you a computer. Youâre not sure about your hobbies âSpencer wants you to find out about them. Thereâs so much to love in the world and youâve 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 youâd found comfort a little younger, youâd like to dance as the girls do. Contemporary hip-hop, or similar. You sit at the desk because itâs yours, and you make him laugh because youâre his.Â
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. Youâre 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. Itâs white with blue font. SLEEPY GIRL. So dumb, youâd mumbled, throwing it in the basket he carried.Â
And so true, heâd said back.Â
Your eyes are tired. You yawn as you wipe the last of your happy tears away, hands out in warning. Iâm going to lay on you, youâre saying. Spencer can take it. Heâs a big boy.Â
God, your thighs are still so fucking corded from dancing, even though theyâre 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 arenât ashamed. Embarrassed, occasionally, at his expense. But you liked to dance, didnât 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 heâs 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 donât want Spencerâs money. Heâs never worried about that. You just want him, and he just wants you.Â
âTired, baby?â he asks, ghost of a laugh lingering on his lips.Â
âIâm gonna crash the second you wrap me up,â you agree.Â
âHurry up and lay down, then.âÂ
âMake me.â
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.Â
âMean girl,â he mumbles.Â
You press the tip of your nose to the side of his for the wonkiest kiss heâs ever received. âYour girl.âÂ
He tips you sideways for wrapping.Â
undone explicit 18+ helpless obsessed coworker clark + giving head
âOh.. oh god Iâm not gonna make itâthat mouth, that feels so good baby.â
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. Sheâs got the soft, heavy skin of his balls on the valley of her tastebuds, savoring everything sheâs milked out of him.
He wasnât 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 wasnât this fucking easy. But for her, heâd been bending over backwards for any speck of attention or crumb of affection. Sheâd 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. Sheâd 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 heâd ever really been successful.
She slurps on the head and gives him sex eyes, taking his breath away while she suckles like heâs her medicine. Her hands cradle the pair of hanging balls sheâd 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.