❧ needy!ellie presses her crotch against your ass in public, her arms snake around your waist pulling you closer. Her hips slightly grind against you but when you confront her about it she blames the alcohol.
❧ needy!ellie plays with the sensitive inner fat of your thigh under the dinner table with your family. she likes to see your reaction, looking at you with a smug grin. (you alr know how that night ended.)
❧ needy!ellie randomly starts kissing your neck at the back of the library. When you tell her to stop she pins you down by your waist against the book shelves, her long fingers slipping into your lace panties.
❧ needy!ellie drags you to a corner, away from the crowd just to geta few kisses out of you. If shes lucky - you let her get a few nips at your neck. “Fuck, i need you so bad...“ she groans as her hand gets pulled away from the side of your thigh.
❧ needy!ellie stares at your abdomen in your bikini at your friends pool party like a dog in heat. When she catches you alone in the pool her thumbs glide across your glass sharp nipples through your bikini top. She looks up at you and flashes a smile before looking back over at your friends.
❧ needy!ellie fingers brush against the hem of your skirt while her eyes stare down at the low cleavage showing half of your tits on the metro bus. Every bump of the bus making her slit slick. When you look up at her she doesnt even try to look away, her hand just creeps up along your thigh like no ones watching.
AHHHHHHHH first post kinda nervous :3 uhm if i did anything wrong plz tell me and give me ideas and opinions too!!
Summary: You hate Harry, and he hates you. One fight turns into hot, reckless sex, and you both swear it’s only going to happen once.
A/n: This was first posted on Patreon in April of last year. It's a 3 part mini series. I'll upload one part each Monday. -- This is rewritten from the original (for any Patreon subscribers who want to reread it, it's the same idea, but reworked slightly). I hope y'all enjoy it! xoxo
Word Count: 5.6k
Warning: smut, size kink, degradation, a palm slap to the face, hurt and angry feelings, accidental exhibitionism, size kink, college au, mentions of marijuana and alcohol use
★★★
Of all the people in the world, it had to be Harry Styles that you were paired up with for the class project. A team of two. Who’d ever heard of two-person team anyway? Maybe if you had another person to be your buffer it wouldn’t have been so bad. So much easier to deal with his menacing eyes and that annoying, cocky attitude.
You hated him but he hated you just the same.
Harry, your ex’s best friend. The bastard who’d helped tear everything apart. Stan had dumped you almost a year ago, but the wound was still fresh because of how it had happened. You’d been blamed for cheating, which was obviously not true. They said you’d been sneaking around with Tommy. Harry was the one who handed Stan the “proof.” Screenshots, clipped and out-of-context texts, a neat little package tied up to make you look bad.
The truth? Tommy had been the one buzzing around you like an annoying fly that wouldn’t stop. It was a constant drip of sleazy jokes, suggestive messages that vanished after a day because he knew how to cover his tracks, cornering you when no one was around just to see if he could push you into giving in to him. He wasn’t even Stan’s close friend. He was just some hanger-on in their circle, but you’d never fed into his bullshit, never gave him what he wanted.
Toward the end, when you caught on to what Tommy was doing, you left the texts unanswered, scrolled past them, pretended they didn’t exist, thinking silence was safer than stirring up drama. But at first? You did respond to a few of his texts. You didn’t know that those responses would somehow be damning proof of anything because you thought you were just being nice.
Your mistake. You hadn’t saved the messages, hadn’t warned Stan, hadn’t done anything but hope Tommy would finally get bored and move on. Instead, Harry twisted the whole story. By the time you realized what was happening, you weren’t the victim, you were the villain. The liar. The cheater. And Stan, hurt and furious, believed every word Harry put in front of him.
Harry raised his long, tattooed arm and sighed in annoyance as Mrs. Caldwell called him, “Yes, Harry.”
“Yeah. Sorry, but I’m not working with her. Switch me out. I’d rather tank this project than be forced to talk to her.”
You rolled your eyes as the teacher balked. “Mr. Styles, with all due respect, this is not negotiable. Teams are set. You will not be switching. If you choose to not work on this project, you’ll fail the class. This isn’t just a grade for a project. This is your capstone, your final. I suggest you swallow your pride and act like the adult you claim to be. You’re about to graduate from university, not kindergarten.”
Something that felt like vindication spread warm in your chest as you ducked your head, stifling a laugh. Served him right. The arrogant prick finally got put in his place.
★★★
Harry’s number was already in your phone, a leftover relic from the Stan days. Every time you pulled it up, thumb hovering over the message box, your stomach turned. He wasn’t going to reach out first, of course he wasn’t. He’d just sit there, smug, waiting for you to cave. Which you hated.
And you did cave. Because you weren’t the type to coast. You liked being ahead of the curve, projects drafted, a direction, something on paper... Harry was the opposite. He was the kind of student who thought “last minute”, as long as it got done, was just fine.
We need to figure out a topic so we have some idea of direction. Thoughts?
Delivered. Read. Ignored. All day. Then the next.
By the time you realized he wasn’t going to bother, you were already outlining the project yourself, typing notes, sketching a framework. Fine. If he wanted to rot, let him. After his tantrum in class, Mrs. Caldwell would believe you over him without a second thought.
A week crawled by and his silence was loud. No texts, no eye contact, nothing but a wall of deliberate indifference. So you sent him one last message. A final olive branch (because you were nice) before you washed your hands of him and let him choke on the consequences. Summer classes, delayed graduation, all of it. Fuck him.
And it came as no surprise when he left you on read. Once again. But it was no sweat off your back. You gave him a couple of chances and you were more than capable of doing the work on your own. So you buckled down, carved hours out of your free time, and built the whole damn project yourself piece by piece, determined that if anyone was failing, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.
.
Saturday night you found yourself relaxed on a couch at Ro’s off-campus house, the place that had become your unofficial second home. Her place was always buzzing with something going on. It was a hangout spot and a “halfway house” for lost students. It was warm, a little cluttered, and of course, weed and beer were always within reach. Exactly what you needed after a week of grinding and, more importantly, celebrating the fact that the project was done.
There were usually some faces you didn’t recognize, drifting in and out of the kitchen, sprawled on the floor, laughing too loud. That was normal because Ro and her roommates treated their house like a soft-landing spot for anyone who wanted to crash, smoke, and just chill.
You had just taken a long drag, the joint burning hot in your lungs, when it vanished. One blink and it was gone, plucked clean from your fingers. You straightened, startled, and followed the thief with your eyes.
And there he was.
Harry fucking Styles. Sliding into the sofa across from where you sat, like he owned the place, inked arm draped lazy across the backrest, joint poised between his fingers as if it had always belonged to him. He inhaled slow, lips wrapping around the paper, green eyes fixed on you.
Why the hell was he at Ro’s house?
“What the fuck?” You looked around the living room and back to Harry. No one seemed to notice what had just happened.
“S’my weed. I brought it to share with everyone. But for you? That’ll be $20.”
Now heads turned and conversations quieted. The people who sat watching had no idea there was bad blood between you two. Only Ro knew to some extent, and of course she was nowhere to be found.
You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest as you settled your angry gaze on Harry. “Fine. Keep it. I don’t want your weed anyway. I’ll grab a beer.” You pushed up from the couch, ready to disappear into the kitchen.
But Harry wasn’t done. “No. I meant you owe me twenty. You’ve already smoked half this joint.” He brought it to his lips again, eyes glinting as he took another long drag.
Heat flared through you. “Fuck you.” Your finger stabbed the air toward him like a knife. “You know what? Enjoy that high, because you’re about to fail Caldwell’s class. I finished the project last night, every word of it, and tomorrow she’s going to hear exactly how much you did. Which is nothing. Zero. Which means you don’t graduate.”
A ripple of whispers rose up from your nosy audience now. You couldn’t believe you were arguing with Harry in front of half a dozen near-strangers, airing your dirty laundry like it was printed in a scandal magazine. But so be it.
Harry laughed, a low, mocking sound of disbelief as he shook his head. He leaned forward to stub out the joint in the ashtray, tattoos flexing as he moved. “You wouldn’t. Assignment’s not due for another two and a half weeks. That’s not fair.”
You shrugged and walked away toward the kitchen to grab a beer but Harry was right behind you, slamming the refrigerator door closed just as you’d pulled it open an inch. You turned, Harry’s chest inches from yours, green eyes burning down at you. “You’re not gonna really try and fuck me over me like that, are you?”
You tilted your chin up, lips pulling up in a smirk. “Oh, you fucked yourself over. I’m turning it in Monday. I gave you two chances, Harry. Two. That was more than you deserved.”
Something dark flashed behind his eyes and his mouth tipped in an annoying smirk. “You’re such a fucking brat. Good thing Stan figured you out before he got in too deep. His new girl? So much nicer.” He leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost your ear. “Definitely not like you.”
The jab sliced through you just like he intended it too. But you didn’t flinch, instead, you leaned in closer to him, eyes not wavering from him. “You were jealous. You didn’t like how close Stan and I were. And you know damn well I didn’t cheat. You were probably in on the whole scheme to get us to break up. You couldn’t stand that I had what you wanted.”
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, then dipped for a fraction of a second to your mouth. “What I wanted? Jealous?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “You’re delusional.”
You yanked the door open, the force of it making him step back and you grabbed a cold can, cracking it open without breaking eye contact. “You always wanted to believe I cheated. Because hating me is easier than admitting how much I get under your skin.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move as you brushed past him. His stare burned into your back as you walked away, shoulders tight, mouth bitter. When you dropped back onto the couch beside Ro, who wordlessly handed you a fresh joint, your pulse was still hammering.
“It’s not Harry’s weed is it?” You asked her just as he walked back toward his spot on the couch, his eyes shooting daggers at you.
“No. This is from last week. The stuff Jerry brought over.”
You smiled smugly and took the joint between your pointer and middle finger and inhaled as you stared at him. You liked that he was so angry because of you.
“Why is Harry here anyway?” You asked her quietly after you passed the joint to someone else.
“I don’t know. Maybe Karl invited him? He’s been hanging out with Harry a bit.” Ro didn’t know the whole story about how much you hated Harry. She only knew you just didn’t like him after you’d broken up with Stan. She heard bits and pieces. Enough to know you two didn’t get along.
When Harry shifted, the couch groaned under his weight as he stood and strode out of the living room wordlessly. You weren’t sure where he’d gone off to but you hoped that maybe he’d finally left. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky because not long after, when you and Ro went to the basement there he was with a dart in one hand, and a beer in the other. He wore a kind of tipsy confidence that left his eyes bloodshot, hazy, and stoned… maybe a mirror of your own. Then he glanced in your direction and cursed under his breath, jaw tightening.
“You know you could just leave if it’s that bad seeing me,” you called out to him, everyone’s attention suddenly on you.
Eyes shot between you and Harry. A modern day duel was about to take place and no one wanted to miss a thing. You hadn’t meant to draw the room into it, but Harry had been grinding at your nerves all night and the words slipped free before you could stop them.
“Or you could just pay me the twenty you owe me and leave yourself.”
You put your hands on your hips and walked up to him, everyone watching you both, “And if I don’t pay you?”
Harry’s jaw clenched as he stared down at you, “Then it wouldn’t shock me. You’ve always had a way of twisting things to suit yourself.” His voice dropped lower, sharp and rough-edged. “Now get out of my space. I don’t wanna even look at you.”
“Then stop staring.” you scoffed, chin tilted up in defiance.
“Hey… you two?” Karl spoke up, “Can you chill out? Kinda fucking up the vibe here.”
You softened your stance and moved away toward a stool next to Ro. The last thing you wanted was to make anyone else uncomfortable. You didn’t care if Harry fumed, he deserved it, but the others didn’t.
Harry pointed at you as he took a dart in hand when it was his turn, “She doesn’t get any of my weed. Make sure she keeps her hands off my shit.”
When he aimed at the board you cackled loudly and he missed the target, dart thunking wide on the board. He turned, eyes sharp on you. As if his bad aim was your fault.
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch your weed asshole.”
His nostrils flared as he stepped toward you, every muscle tight. “For fuck’s sake, will you just shut up?”
You stood, meeting his advance with a scowl, nearly chest to chest now, the air between you practically buzzing. “What? You gonna hit me?”
Karl wedged himself between you two, palms on Harry’s chest as he pushed him back. “Enough. Either take this upstairs and sort it out, or leave. Both of you. No one here signed up for World War Three. Jesus, you’re both insufferable.”
Harry didn’t drag his angry gaze from you as he grabbed his stash of weed and stomped away upstairs. You followed behind him silently as you tried to remember where you’d put your purse. You figured you’d just go. There was no point in staying around any longer. You and Harry weren’t built to exist in the same space.
“The fuck is wrong with you? You really think I'd actually hit you?” he barked as you passed. You ignored him and kept walking. Engaging felt pointless.
“What? You can’t hear me now?” His voice grew louder.
You rolled your eyes as you yanked your purse over your shoulder and then dug around for your keys but before you could find them Harry had his hand closed around your upper arm and he pulled you to the small laundry room at the front of the house. The door clicked behind you.
“You’re gonna talk to me now.” He shoved you against the cold metal of the washing machine, his breath close enough that you could feel it on your skin. ”I don’t like you acting like you didn't do anything wrong. All innocent when you know you're not.”
You wrenched your arm free, your purse thudding to the floor as you leaned back, planting both palms on the machine and sneered up at him. “You're a dick who made up a lie about me. You’ll get what’s coming to you when you can’t graduate this semester.”
Harry’s nostrils flared and he stood over you, a palm on the cold surface of the metal washing machine behind you “Fuck. You. You cheated. You lied. I’m glad Stan isn’t with you anymore.”
Something snapped in you. You slapped him, flat palm, hard… and he staggered back, a surprised, involuntary groan ripping from his throat as he pressed a hand to his cheek. For half a beat he stared at you like you were insane. Maybe you were.
“Did that hurt, pretty boy?” you said, grinning viciously as his hand still hovered where you’d hit him. “I hope it bruises and you have to walk around with a mark on your stupid face knowing that it was me who did it.”
“You put another fucking finger on me and I’ll make you regret it.”
A short laugh escaped you, breath hot, pulse thrumming against your throat. You sized him up… the way his shirt clung, the set of his jaw, and the reckless heat in his gaze. “Then back the fuck off,” you shot back. “Why are you standing over me like you’re gonna fight? I’m half your size, you moron.”
He didn’t move for a second, just watched you as his chest rose and fell. Then he removed his palm from his cheek and caged you in fully, your bottom pressed into the washing machine. Outside of the laundry room you could hear muffled music and laughter. But there was nothing funny about whatever was happening in that room between you and Harry right then. It seared, had your heart racing.
His gaze coasted down your frame and back up to your eyes. “You are half my size. So, if I were you, I’d be careful.”
“Why, cause you’re gonna hurt me? Gonna show me who’s boss?” You called him on his bluff.
“I fucking should. You’re acting like a child.”
“Well, you’ve got me cornered.” You spat, shoving at his chest. Hard muscle resisted under your palms, solid and immovable. “I have no choice but to defend myself. And I’ll do it again if I have to.” You shoved harder this time, both hands braced against him, but before you could get momentum, his hand shot up.
His fingers locked around your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His other hand clamped over your wrists, trapping them against the hard bulk of his chest. The warmth of his skin burned through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Last warning. Don’t touch me again.”
“But your hands are all over me,” your words were smushed from your mouth as he kept his fingers pressed into your face.
That earned you a short laugh, hot breath spilling over your cheek. “All over you? Please. In your fucking dreams.”
“Oh fuck you…” you spat. His face was so close to yours that you could smell the beer on his breath and see the specks of gold in his pretty green eyes. Stupid pretty green eyes.
His gaze dropped to your mouth and lingered. “No. Fuck you.” His voice came out deep, guttural, pulsing with something that wasn’t just rage anymore. It was molten, dangerous, red-hot.
“Fuck you, Harry.”
You didn’t know what had shifted but something happened and the tension between you two in that dark laundry room crackled and sparked until everything around you was aflame. His mouth crashed into yours, teeth clashing, lips bruising. He hauled you up onto the washer, metal groaning beneath your weight. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling, as his hips wedged between your thighs.
You bit his lip, hard, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. His hands roamed, one sliding up, wrapping around the front of your throat, holding you there like you belonged to him.
Everything was fury and molten lava. You grabbed his belt and yanked at it, unfastening, hungry as you felt him slide a hand under your dress and roughly push your thighs further apart.
“What would Stan think,” you gasped against his mouth, “about his best friend doing this to his ex?”
Harry’s laugh came out rough, low in his throat, as he shoved his jeans down just enough to free briefs. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. No one does.” His words burned, but his body told a different story.
Your eyes dropped, throat tightening when you caught the sizeable lump straining under his briefs. “No one?” you shot back, voice sharp though your pulse was fluttering. “That hard-on says otherwise. Looks pretty damn happy to see me.”
His jaw clenched, but you saw the edge of a smirk on his face, betraying him. He pressed his palm to your mouth, eyes hot. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
You ran your tongue against his palm, smirking under his hand, words muffled nonsense as his fingers slid under the lace of your panties where he learned you were wet. A wicked, menacing grin pulled at his mouth as he stuffed two fingers through your opening.
“Look at you… Hate me all you want, but you're soaked for me.”
A sharp breath shuddered through you as your walls clenched around his thrusting fingers. His touch was rough, invasive, but every drag of his fingers had your hips shifting helplessly.
And then he shoved his briefs down past his hips, cock springing free, thick and heavy, making your eyes widen before you could stop yourself. You’d wanted something to mock, something to cut him down with, but there was nothing laughable about him.
He caught your stare, smirk quirking up. Pulling his hand from your mouth, he gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Doesn’t mean you know what the fuck you’re doing. Bet you don't know how to get a woman off.”
There was a flash of wicked satisfaction across his face as he pulled his fingers free, snagging your panties to the side. “Oh yeah?” he snarled a laugh, rough in his throat. “I’ll make you come, and you’ll have to live with it. That the guy you hate most made you lose it harder than anyone else ever has. So you better enjoy it ‘cause this is all you’ll ever get.”
You reached down, fingers wrapping tight around the root of him, giving him a slow, taunting pull. “Enjoy it? You sure talk a big game for someone with such a tiny brain.”
His gaze dropped, dark and hungry, to where your hand gripped his shaft. He let you guide him, fingers tight around him, sliding the tip against your pussy, painting it through your folds before angling him back against your hole.
You bit down on your lip hard the moment he pressed his cockhead through your wet opening, your muscle stretching and straining wide for him. It was a lot.
He hissed through his teeth as he watched your pussy struggle to swallow him. “You can’t even take me. Figures you act all tough but now here you are whining because it’s too much.”
You grit your teeth, rolling your eyes, defiant even as your body trembled around him. Planting your feet on the washer’s edge, you forced yourself down onto him, inch by inch, jaw tight. “Idiot. You’re not that big.”
But it was a lie, and you both knew it. Every push was a struggle, your cunt clenching, spreading to fit him, sweat dampening your hairline. Harry stood still, smirk painted across his face, drinking in the sight of you fucking yourself down on him.
“Desperate, too,” he groaned, voice a low rasp. “Can hardly get it in, but you’re so needy you’ll wreck yourself trying. If you’d just let me do it we could already be nearly done here.”
“You’re such a dick.” You reached a hand up to his shoulder for leverage, fingernails digging crescents into his skin.
His lips twitched, amused as his tongue swept over them slow. “I am. Big one, too.”
It almost made you laugh. Almost. But you kept a look of disdain on your face as you worked yourself over him. Until he had had enough of your antics and dug his fingers into your hips to hold you still and drove himself in until he was buried inside you, hips flush with yours.
The strangled cry that ripped from you, betrayed your tough act, high and guttural, your nails scraping down his arm.
“That’s more like it. Now let’s finish what you started.”
Your mouth was wide open as you set your eyes on his and he began to fuck into you. At first, he was doing you a favor by slowly stretching you open. His length split you apart with every inch he pressed in until he reared back to his tip, only to fuck himself back into the hilt making you inhale sharply through your teeth.
The sound was slick and wet as he grunted with every thrust, your own gasps breathy and involuntarily pitched up a notch too high. He kept his eyes pinned to yours and you tried your hardest not to show any sign of pleasure on your face but it was impossible when you kept parting your lips to let out a moan. You clung to his arms, muscle and ink under your grip, desperate not to topple backward as each stroke rocked through you.
But his composure was just as thin. He tried to play it cool, jaw set, but the urgent guttural noises he made, and his aching hard cock twitching deep inside you, gave him away.
“Jesus that’s weak. Is that all you got?” You taunted.
Harry swallowed thickly, stilling his hips with his cock seated deep inside you. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He shoved at your shoulder until you leaned back, propping on your elbows, body bared open for him. Grabbing your left leg, he pressed your foot against his chest, his palm locking around your thigh. Then, without hesitation, he drove into you in one brutal thrust, his cockhead slamming against your cervix.
The gasp that ripped from your lungs was raw, punched out of you before you could bite it back.
He did it again and again until he’d gotten momentum and he was pounding into you, his cock coated thick in your arousal. His hips snapped against yours, cock sliding slick and heavy through your walls, each stroke wetter, filthier, your body betraying how much you wanted it.
Your face scrunched, torn between pleasure and pain, every nerve alight. He wasn’t gentle, not with his fat shaft splitting you apart, not with the way his tip bullied past resistance over and over.
With the way he was gripping your right hip and keeping hold of your left thigh you weren’t able to wiggle much as he drilled into you. He was panting, pink lips falling open, gaze dropping to where his cock disappeared inside you, glistening with your arousal.
“Fuck…” he grunted and shot his gaze up to your eyes and then back down to the dirty scene where his bare cock was destroying the pretty pussy of the girl he hated more than anyone.
The truth was that he’d always thought you were way hotter than you deserved to be. A brat. A liar. He’d convinced himself you were trash. Snobby, fake, guilty of screwing around on his best friend. He’d believed the screenshots because he wanted to believe them. Wanted an excuse to hate the way your laugh pulled attention, the way your lashes batted when Tommy leaned too close at parties.
And now, with you clenched tight around him, the lie and the hate blurred until all that was left was raw, consuming lust.
Harry snapped his hips harder, faster, making the washer slam against the wall with every thrust. His heavy balls slapped against you, the sound dirty and brutal, and the cry that tore out of your throat was nothing like disdain, rather, it was desperate, broken, aching.
“Oh my god… oh fuck...” you tried to swallow the sounds, biting them back, but Harry’s cock drove through you mercilessly, punishing, deep, every thrust stealing another ragged moan. His muscles were tight and he kept going, unrelenting, until his own groan cracked loose from his throat.
You drew your fingers down, slid them over your clit, and circled fast, your head tipping back. The rush of it was dizzying. Letting him split you open in the laundry room of your friend’s house, of all places. You hated him for this. Hated him for ruining Stan, for turning friends against you, for branding you a liar. For humiliating you. And now here you were, whimpering for him, body betraying the truth you’d never give him out loud.
“That’s it,” he rasped, eyes locked on you as his hips slammed forward. “Knew you’d like it. Gonna hate yourself after this for how much you love this cock.” His words came out shaky, something between tight and breathy. The man was enjoying it too.
His words vibrated through you, and you snapped back, breath catching between thrusts. “Just like you’re gonna hate… yourself for fucking me. For…” a moan tore free, “…your dick getting hard because you couldn’t resist… fuck!” You moaned and continued as you brought your gaze back up to his, “Dragged me in here… so you could finally feel me… bet you’ve been… gagging for it all this time.”
His precise, brutal pounding turned into sloppy, deep thrusts as he dropped his head down and kept his eyes on yours, pupils blown out, pink lips parted, “Fuck you, Y/n.”
“Fuck you, Harry.”
You felt that slippery tingle wind over your limbs, over your thighs, and through your belly as you circled your clit, your fingertips grazing his thick cock as he dragged in and out, strings of slick sticking to his base and your cunt every time he parted his hips from yours just before plunging back in.
He let go of your hip, hand coming up to grab your jaw, and forced your mouth open as his cock drove deeper. His stare burned into yours, before he spit straight into your mouth.
You groaned, shocked, instinct screaming to spit it back, but his lips crashed into yours, tongue shoving in, sealing it. You had no choice but to swallow as he kissed you like a man starved, and the humiliation twisted into pure heat. And that was it for you. Your orgasm hit hard, tearing through you, your cunt clenching around him in desperate, pulsing waves.
Your moans poured into his mouth as he kissed you hard, fucking you through it, hips never slowing, cock dragging every tremor from your body. His own voice broke, moaning into you, raw and guttural, as he felt you clamp down around him.
Harry fucked you through every second of it, long messy strokes, leaving you wrecked, branded, exactly like he promised. He was making sure you’d have something to remember him by.
The minute your body stopped fluttering around him and your tremors eased, Harry dragged himself out of you, fist clamping around his slick cock. Before you could even register the loss he pulled you off the washer and guided you down onto your knees. He grabbed the back of your head, fist furiously pumping himself, cockhead slipping against your lips, and then, held you still, and pressed himself past your lips. The heavy weight of him filled your throat as hot spurts of release hit your tongue.
You sputtered, swallowing around him as he groaned above you, a sound that was all relief and ruin, cock throbbing against the back of your mouth while his heartbeat thundered under his skin.
Harry drew away from you silently when he’d emptied himself down your throat and put himself back into his underwear, fixing his pants up. But you could see that his chest was heaving, his face was flushed, his eyes glistening.
You used the washer to pull yourself upright on shaky legs, wiping your mouth and tugging your ruined panties back into place. One shoe was gone, maybe he’d pulled it off, or maybe it had just fallen, you couldn’t even remember.
He gave you a quick once over before he spoke. “That was worth about twenty bucks,” he said hoarsely. “No need to pay me for the weed. Call it even.” And just like that he opened the laundry room door and walked out.
You scoffed but your throat was too scratchy to talk back.
A few deep breaths later you hobbled to grab your purse and you saw Ro standing at the door with her arms over her chest, “Really? Was that necessary?”
“What? Could you… did you guys…” Your stomach dropped.
“Yes. We heard everything. Every word, every noise. The laundry room has a big open vent that leads down to the basement. Jesus, Y/n.”
You were stunned as you covered your face and blinked down toward the floor, “I’m so sorry…”
“Well, at least this means you don’t hate each other anymore.”
If only. She hadn’t heard everything. Not the spit, not the way his words still cut, or the things you'd said back to him. You still hated him. Hated him more, in a way, because now you knew you’d be thinking about him long after tonight… about his hands at your throat, his body against yours, his cock splitting you open. A man you’d tried to forget now burned into your memory.
But at least you knew that it was probably the same for him. He was probably kicking himself for letting it get that far. Probably wishing his cock hadn’t gotten so hard at the sight of you, wishing he hadn’t shown you that you were a weakness he couldn’t control.
You could walk away from it knowing you were both on the same page. That it had been unforgettable but that you’d rather gouge your eyes out than breathe the same air as one another ever again.
And at least you had one final blow, something that gave you the upper hand in the end. That he’d fail the class when you turned in the final project. That he’d be unable to graduate with you and that felt like the kind of vengeance that was justified for someone like him.
With that in mind, you removed your hands from your face to look at Ro, “No. I still hate him. Fuck Harry Styles.”
part 2 >>
★★★
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Like so many other people, Beyond Repair by @manofthepipis has been stuck in my brain for the last couple of weeks. THEREFORE I’d like to share my contribution to this amazing fic!
Series Summary: Y/N and Harry had a one-night stand that went horribly wrong. Now, they’re starring in a romance film together—and the studio wants them to fake date for PR. Between past regrets, scripted passion, and way too much unresolved tension, pretending gets a little too real.
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
Rewrite The Stars Chapter 1 | Teaser
Summary: Y/N and Harry had a one-night stand that ended in disaster, and now they’re forced to play soulmates on screen—and fake date off-screen. Between scripted kisses, red carpets, and unresolved sexual tension, things spiral fast. Cue the angst, smut, and emotionally constipated idiots.
A/N: Look, I love a good “ex-lovers forced to fake date” trope almost as much as I love making Harry suffer with feelings. This is messy, steamy, and full of bad decisions. Enjoy watching these two idiots pretend they’re not in love. 😌
Word Count: 3,7k
Warnings:
Angst (like, so much angst)
Fake dating shenanigans
Smut (desperate, messy, emotionally charged)
Swearing & sexual tension at unhealthy levels
Poor communication (they are DUMB)
Flashbacks to bad decisions
Mentions of alcohol (drunken one-night stand)
Tabloid gossip & PR manipulation
Harry looking stupidly good in a suit (a warning in itself)
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
The studio conference room is buzzing with quiet conversations, papers rustling, and the occasional scrape of a chair against polished hardwood. Y/N steps inside, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her pulse thrumming in her ears. It’s nothing. Just another table read. Just another job.
And then she sees him.
Harry Styles is leaning against the far end of the long mahogany table, deep in conversation with Sofia Laurent. His profile is sharp in the golden morning light streaming through the windows, his expression unreadable. He laughs at something the director says, and it sends an uncomfortable heat crawling up Y/N’s spine.
She hasn’t seen him in over a year.
Not since that night.
The memories slam into her without warning—a wrap party, too much champagne, his voice low and teasing in her ear, his hands finding her waist as they stumbled into the dimly lit corridor of their hotel. The way he kissed her like he had been waiting for it forever. The way she let him. Tangled sheets, desperate touches, whispered names in the dark. And then the morning after—him sitting on the edge of the bed, already pulling his jeans back on, raking a hand through his messy curls. The silence that stretched between them like a chasm.
His cold, distant text hours later: Last night was a mistake. Let’s not make this a thing.
Y/N had responded with nothing but a thumbs-up emoji. Then she’d blocked his number.
Now, he’s right in front of her, and there’s no blocking, no ignoring. Just a long, inevitable collision waiting to happen.
She forces a smile, smoothing a hand down her sweater as she moves toward an empty seat. Someone’s already put name placards at each spot. Of course, hers is directly across from Harry’s.
He looks up as she slides into her chair. Their eyes meet.
Something flickers in his gaze—recognition, hesitation, something she refuses to name. Then it’s gone, and he nods in greeting, cool and professional.
“Morning,” he says. Like he’s speaking to a colleague. Like he doesn’t remember every inch of her skin under his hands.
Y/N swallows down the bitterness rising in her throat. “Morning.”
Sofia claps her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get started! We’re diving in with the final scene today. I want to establish the emotional stakes right away.”
A production assistant starts handing out script copies. Y/N flips hers open, her fingers tightening around the pages when she sees what’s in front of her.
EMILIA: “It’s always been you.”
LUCA: “Then stay.”
(They kiss. It’s desperate, raw. Years of longing unravel in one final embrace.)
Y/N can feel Harry’s gaze on her before she even looks up. When she does, his expression is unreadable, but his grip on the script is just a little too tight.
Everyone is watching. Waiting.
Sofia leans forward, smiling. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Y/N exhales slowly. They have no choice but to dive in.
Except she already has—just not here, not in this room full of watchful eyes and murmured instructions. No, she’s already drowning, slipping under waves of memory that pull her back to that night.
It had been inevitable. The tension had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. It lingered in stolen glances on set, in the way their banter teetered on the edge of something sharper, something that made her pulse race.
But that night? That was when it finally snapped.
The wrap party had been a blur of flashing lights, clinking glasses, and too much champagne. She remembered the way Harry had watched her from across the room, half-smirking, half-serious. She’d pretended not to notice, even as her body betrayed her, drawn to him like some gravitational pull she couldn’t fight.
They’d danced. Not together, not at first. But close enough that when she turned, she could feel the heat of him at her back, the ghost of his breath against her skin.
And then the teasing started.
"Didn’t know you could move like that," he'd murmured against the shell of her ear, his voice thick with something that made her toes curl in her heels.
She’d turned to face him, lifting a brow. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me."
His eyes had darkened at that. "Yeah?"
One more drink. One more shared smirk. One more second of letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until neither of them could stand it anymore.
They’d barely made it out of the venue before it exploded.
A rushed exit. A slammed hotel door.
Clothes peeling away between frantic, breathless kisses.
Harry had been different that night—possessive, desperate. His hands mapped her body like he was trying to memorize her, his lips tracing a path down her throat, her collarbone, lower. She could still hear his voice, raspy and wrecked against her skin.
"You feel so good."
"Been wanting this for so long."
She’d been lost in him, in the way he made her feel like the center of the universe. But when morning came, the warmth was gone.
She’d woken up to sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains, stretching out across sheets that were already cooling beside her.
Harry had been sitting at the edge of the bed, half-dressed, running a hand through his curls.
Something in his posture had been different. Stiff. Guarded.
She’d wanted to reach for him, to trace her fingers along his spine, to whisper something to break the silence.
But before she could, he’d spoken.
"Let’s not make this a thing."
Just like that. No hesitation. No second thought.
Then he’d stood, buttoned his jeans, and walked out the door.
Y/N had stared at the empty space he left behind, the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin. She’d told herself it didn’t matter. That it had just been a mistake. That it hadn’t meant anything.
But then, three days later, she’d seen the pictures.
Harry Styles, arm draped around some model, grinning for the cameras like that night had never happened.
And now, sitting across from him, script clutched in her hands, she wonders how the hell she’s supposed to pretend it still doesn’t hurt.
She doesn’t have long to dwell on it.
The read-through begins, and like clockwork, she and Harry slip into their roles. The dialogue flows, their voices weaving together effortlessly, but it’s the way they look at each other—the tension thick, electric—that makes everyone in the room take notice.
It shouldn’t surprise her. Their chemistry has always been undeniable, even before that night. It was why they were cast together in the first place. But now, it feels different. More loaded.
He delivers his lines with the same careful precision he always does, but his eyes linger too long, his throat bobs when she leans too close. Her pulse quickens, betraying her.
When they reach the final scene—the kiss—Sofia watches them closely, tapping her fingers against the armrest of her chair.
Afterward, as the room empties out for a break, a couple of the studio execs murmur to each other before motioning for her and Harry to stay behind.
The door closes.
“We need to talk,” Sofia says, exchanging a look with the executives.
Y/N folds her arms, already bracing herself. “That’s never a good start.”
One of the execs, a tall man in an expensive suit, steps forward. “We need buzz around this movie. There’s already speculation about you two. We want to lean into that.”
Y/N frowns. “What kind of speculation?”
Another exec, a woman in a sleek black dress, smirks. “Oh, come on. The tension? The history? The way you two look at each other?” She tilts her head. “People think there’s something real there. We think it’s good for the film.”
Y/N scoffs, crossing her arms. “You want us to fake date?”
“Not just fake date,” the man clarifies. “We want the world to believe you’re soulmates. We want red carpets, Instagram posts, candid moments. Full package.”
Y/N shakes her head, the absurdity of it all making her chest tighten. “Are you serious? That’s—”
“Fine.”
Her head snaps toward Harry so fast she almost gives herself whiplash.
He’s standing next to her, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unaffected.
Y/N blinks. “What?”
“We’ll do it.” His voice is steady, final.
She stares at him, stunned. He won’t even look at her.
The deal is made before she can even process it. The studio execs beam, Sofia claps her hands together, and within minutes, their PR team is already setting the plan in motion. By the time Y/N steps outside the meeting room, her phone is buzzing with an email outlining their first official appearance as Hollywood’s hottest new couple.
The Venice Film Festival.
Three weeks later, she stands in front of her hotel mirror, smoothing down the silky fabric of her dress. The deep emerald slip hugs her in all the right places, skimming over curves in a way that should make her feel powerful. Instead, her stomach is twisted in knots.
A sharp knock at the door makes her jump.
She exhales, then opens it.
Harry stands in the hallway, devastatingly gorgeous in a perfectly tailored black suit. The crisp lines, the slightly unbuttoned shirt, the rings that catch in the soft light—unfair.
His gaze drags over her, slow and unreadable.
"You ready?" His voice is even, detached.
"Do I have a choice?" she mutters, grabbing her clutch.
He doesn’t answer.
The red carpet is a blur of flashing lights, shouted questions, and the ever-present hum of cameras capturing their every move.
Y/N can feel the heat of Harry’s hand on the small of her back as they step into the crowd, can hear the low murmurs of speculation from reporters lined along the velvet ropes. She lifts her chin, slipping into the role expected of her—one half of Hollywood’s most talked-about on-screen lovers, now supposedly together in real life.
Harry leans in slightly, voice just above a whisper.
“Smile, love.”
The way he says it—low, smooth, his accent curling around the words—sends a shiver down her spine.
She forces one. It looks real.
The cameras love them, and the world is eating it up. The flicker of their fingers brushing together, the easy way he laughs at something she pretends to say, the way his eyes drop to her lips like they’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.
And then, the questions start.
“Harry, Y/N—are you two dating?”
“You look very comfortable together.”
Y/N opens her mouth to respond, but Harry beats her to it.
“We’re lucky to have found each other.”
The words roll off his tongue smoothly, like he actually believes them.
Y/N swallows, gripping the fabric of her dress.
By the time they’re back in the car, her phone is already blowing up. Twitter is in flames. The headlines are everywhere.
HARRY STYLES AND Y/N CONFIRM THEIR ROMANCE AT VENICE FILM FESTIVAL.
LUCA AND EMILIA, BUT MAKE IT REAL.
The internet explodes.
Her notifications are a wildfire, consuming every corner of her phone. Harry Styles and Y/N CONFIRM their romance at Venice Film Festival. The chemistry is REAL. Fan edits, speculation, analysis of every touch, every glance.
But none of it is real.
And she’s seething.
That night, Y/N storms through the dimly lit hallway of Harry’s hotel floor, fists clenched at her sides. She barely takes a breath before pounding on his door.
It swings open almost immediately.
Harry stands there, now stripped of his red-carpet polish. His suit jacket is gone, shirt half-unbuttoned, tattoos peeking through the undone fabric. His curls are messier than they were hours ago, like he’s been running his hands through them.
“Y/N,” he sighs, already sounding exasperated.
She pushes past him, stepping into the spacious hotel suite. “What the hell was that?”
He exhales heavily, shutting the door behind them. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
She spins to face him. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the way you told the entire world we’re together without even discussing it with me first?”
He shrugs, undoing the cuffs of his sleeves. “You want this movie to succeed, don’t you?”
Her jaw clenches. “Don’t act like you’re doing this for the movie.” She takes a step closer, glaring up at him. “You’re doing it because it’s convenient.”
Harry’s expression shifts, something flickering behind his eyes—something dark. He mirrors her step forward, closing the distance between them.
“And you’re not?”
Her breath catches. The air between them thickens, electric. His voice is lower now, rougher, and his gaze flickers between her eyes and her mouth.
“You don’t get to act like you care now,” she forces out, but it sounds weaker than she intends.
Silence.
His jaw clenches, and something snaps in his expression.
“You think I don’t care?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something dangerous in it, something raw.
She doesn’t get the chance to answer.
Because suddenly, Harry is on her.
His hands find her face, his mouth crashes into hers, and whatever fight they were having burns away instantly.
It’s all heat, all frustration—pent-up anger bleeding into something dangerous, something intoxicating.
Harry backs her up until she collides with the dresser, the sharp edge pressing into her lower back. His hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silk of her dress, and he lifts her onto the cool wood like she weighs nothing.
Y/N gasps, gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his half-unbuttoned shirt.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispers, even though she knows it’s a lie.
Harry exhales a sharp laugh, lips ghosting along her jaw before he nips at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.
“Say that again.” His voice is low, thick, dripping with something smug—something dangerous.
She doesn’t. Because she can’t.
Not when his hands are already pushing her dress up, fabric bunching around her thighs. Not when his fingers are dragging up the bare skin of her legs, slow, purposeful, teasing.
Not when she’s already aching for more.
Her breath stutters as he palms the inside of her thigh, pushing her legs wider. He’s watching her now, eyes dark, hungry, waiting for her to stop him.
She doesn’t.
His fingers skim higher, over the lace of her underwear, pressing against the damp heat there.
“You hate me, don’t you?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s something else layered beneath it. Something vulnerable.
She should say yes.
But then he pushes the lace aside and slides a single finger through her slick folds, teasing at her entrance before dipping inside, and her only answer is a sharp gasp.
His lips curl against her skin.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along the line of her throat. “That’s what I thought.”
She clenches her jaw, refusing to give him anything more, but it’s impossible when he moves his fingers so deliberately, so expertly. Curling, twisting, stroking that spot inside her that makes her thighs shake.
Her head falls back against the mirror behind her, exposing more of her throat to his lips, his teeth. He takes advantage of it, sucking a mark into her skin as he works her open, one finger turning into two, his thumb circling her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.
“Harry,” she chokes out.
He hums, pleased.
She doesn’t realize she’s gripping his arm until his muscles flex beneath her fingertips, his bicep taut as he keeps her steady. Her entire body is trembling, the coil inside her winding so tight, pleasure mounting too quickly for her to stop it.
And he knows.
He knows exactly how close she is, how desperate she’s becoming, how much she needs him.
But he doesn’t let her have it yet.
Instead, he withdraws his fingers, slow and deliberate, watching her reaction like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
Her lips part in protest, but before she can speak, he’s undoing his belt with one hand, shoving his trousers down just enough.
His cock is already hard, flushed and leaking, and when he grips himself, stroking slowly, she nearly whimpers at the sight.
“This what you want?” His voice is rough, teasing, but there’s something else behind it—something just as desperate.
She doesn’t answer.
She just grabs his face and kisses him again, hard, as she hooks her legs around his waist, dragging him in.
Harry groans into her mouth, lining himself up, and then—
He thrusts forward, filling her in one slow, deep stroke.
Y/N gasps, fingers digging into his back.
He stills for a moment, forehead pressing to hers, breathing heavy.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “So tight.”
She swallows hard, barely able to think, barely able to breathe as he pulls back and thrusts in again.
And then again.
And again.
His grip on her tightens, hands curling around her thighs as he sets a steady rhythm, each roll of his hips perfectly precise, perfectly deep, like he needs her to feel every inch of him.
Like he wants to ruin her.
The dresser rocks beneath them, the sound of skin against skin filling the hotel room.
It’s fast, desperate, filthy.
And yet—
It’s also slow. Lingering. Drawn out in a way that makes her chest ache.
He leans in, pressing his lips to her shoulder, her throat, breathing her in like he doesn’t want to let go.
And that’s what makes this different.
Not the way he fucks her, but the way he holds her.
The way his hand comes up to cup her jaw, tilting her head to look at him as he thrusts deep one final time, the coil inside her snapping, her body shattering apart around him.
The way he follows right after, groaning her name into her skin as he spills inside her.
Afterward, the room is quiet, save for the heavy rise and fall of their breaths.
Y/N lies tangled in the sheets, barely able to process what just happened.
She waits for him to leave.
Because that’s what he did last time.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he stays.
Y/N barely sleeps.
She should, after the way he wrecked her—after the way they wrecked each other. But her body won’t let her, still thrumming with adrenaline, oversensitive and restless even as exhaustion weighs her limbs down.
It’s not just the sex.
It’s the way he’s still here.
The way his arm is heavy around her waist, pinning her to the mattress. The way his slow, steady breaths tickle the back of her neck. The way his fingers, even in sleep, twitch against her skin, as if his body refuses to stop touching her.
The last time this happened, he left before she could even open her eyes.
Now, she’s the one who wants to leave first.
Déjà vu.
She stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours before she finally moves. Careful, slow, untangling herself from his grasp as gently as she can. His arm is heavy, muscles flexing even in sleep, and she has to hold her breath as she lifts it off of her.
When she’s finally free, she exhales. Swings her legs over the edge of the bed.
Her dress is still on the floor, a heap of silk puddled near the dresser. She moves toward it, keeping her steps light, mindful of every shift in the sheets behind her.
Almost there.
She bends down, fingers just brushing the fabric—
“Don’t.”
Her heart stops.
His voice is hoarse, thick with sleep, a quiet rasp in the dimly lit hotel room.
She freezes.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, but she doesn’t lift it. Doesn’t turn around.
“Y/N,” he says again, softer this time.
Her breath comes shallow, uneven. She forces herself to stand upright, forces herself to steady her voice.
“I should go.”
Silence.
Then, the rustling of sheets, the mattress shifting.
She doesn’t have to look to know he’s sitting up.
“I don’t want you to.”
It’s barely above a whisper. Like he doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want to give it power.
Her throat tightens.
Last time, he didn’t say anything at all.
Last time, she woke up to cold sheets and an unreadable text hours later.
Now, he’s asking her to stay.
And she doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that.
Slowly, she turns around.
Harry is watching her, propped up on one arm, hair a mess of curls, lips still swollen from kissing her. His eyes—greener in the dim light—stay locked onto hers, searching.
She grips the dress tighter.
“I don’t know what this is,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper.
Harry exhales, running a hand over his face. “Me neither.”
She nods once, lips pressing together. The moment stretches, tense and fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it completely.
He shifts again, swings his legs over the side of the bed. “But I know I don’t want it to be like last time.”
Her chest tightens.
And for the first time since that night over a year ago, she lets herself wonder—
If maybe… just maybe…
He doesn’t either.
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
If you love angst, tension-filled romance, and two idiots pretending they’re not in love, Rewrite the Stars is for you!
author's note: I was at the dentist and I was sleepy asf, but then this fineass doctor came in and absolutely PENATRATED my mouth with his hands and that got me thinking about bangchan, since earlier i was watching thirst traps before entering the appointment lol. Im ovulating so i jus wanna get straight to the smut... pls spare me, this is my first fic. Ill write better ones, not just pure smut. TmT Anygays, enjoy!!
word count: 5.3k
warnings: (NOT PROOF RED) p in v (unprotected, NAURRR) vaginal creampie, multiple orgasms, fem overstimulation, nipple pinching/biting, biting overall, vaginal fingering, eating out (both fxm), dirty talk, slight sadism, spanking, squirting, possible impregnation, dry humping, a bit of piss, clitplay.. Too lazy to list anymore. Lmk if sumn catches your eye, but overall this is just a really filthy one.🤷♀️
A cold, chilling woosh of air hits you, the automatic doors swinging open, the gentle cool breeze of the AC brushing against your skin, causing a slight grow of goosebumps against you. You clocked in at the entrance for your first dentist appointment after 3 months of being abroad, so the difference between the humid air of palm springs and the cool contrasting air of Canada really didn’t sit well with you. You were still jetlagged too, so maybe you could shut your eyes during your appointment, I don’t think the doctor would mind. You don’t think you could keep your eyes open for any longer, anyways.
You gently sat down on a coach in the distance. You had booked an appointment down near the south, suburb corner of town. The places lounge was small, crowded, but managed to still have a nice cozy essence to it, a tv table at front, small beige couches stacked all around, plants and trees hanging off from the wooden plated walls and light spruce floors, the scent of minty Colgate mixed with a fresh smell of coffee filling the lounge. You nuzzled into the pale couch, scrolling away on your phone to some k-pop thirst traps on your free time, adjusting the bra strap that hung out of your off shouldered white sweater, clinging around your curves slightly, your body slumped down lazily, legs spread out shamelessly, until a doctor had called out for you, startling you. You stood up straight, brushing off yourself before bowing down apologetically, following the lady down a long hall, until you had arrived to the room.
As usual, the room was white like an asylum, a long chair centered in the middle of the chaos, a large light gazing over it as well as a tv attached to the ceiling. There was a crack of golden sunlight peeking through the room, giving a nice crisp color to it. You laid down onto the seat as the doctor told you to, and did the average things like plucking and tapping at your teeth with a bunch of pointy gadgets, blah blah, the usual. She then nodded and went outside the room, assumingly calling your new doctor.
Ever since you had switched to the southern side of town, and doing things, there seemed to be a lot of Koreans working in the area, not that you were complaining, and you had a suspicion for your new doctor. He went by Chris, or Christopher, but you did a little digging to catch a glimpse of the name ‘Bang Chan’ and that unleashed a fantasy in you, so you’d hope that you would get a nice Korean doctor. You were single and in your mid-twenties anyways, it’s time you’d find a partner.
You heard some shuffling in the halls, and they approached closer before a black heeled shoe entered the room, then another, and then he popped into the room. A man who looked a year or two older then you, his hair a crisp black and middle parted, going down to his neck, slightly shaggy and curly, his eyes wide and kind, but also so seducing in a way, his nose larger than usual and a diamond piercing on one side, as well as small hoops in his ears and a chain around his thick slender neck, and oh my gosh, he had his coat off, and had this BODY CLENCHING black shirt on, revealing the massive tits and curved abs he had. His lips were large and plump, nothing like you’ve seen before, his tongue slightly out as his eyes slowly crept their way towards your gaze, his mouth crinkling into a jaw dropping smile, dimples forming on both sides of his cheeks, his aegyo Sal puffing up and his eyes wrinkling on the sides as he did. His eyes formed to small crescents as he smiled, a kind twinkle in them. HOLY FUCK.
Your jaw was dropped. You sat there on the long chair, your body hunched over as you stared at him with wide eyes, you looked like an idiot, honestly. He let out a breathless chuckle as he walked over to you, spinning the scaler perfectly in between his gloved, veiny hands. “So how’ya doing today?”
He spoke in a deep, but kind voice, with a rich Australian accent. You let out a stuttered, shy response as he pumped the seat downwards until you were lying flat, his face towering over yours, only his eyes visible now, the mask covering the rest. “U-uh yeah, I’m good.. How about you..?”
He smiled back down at you, his chest heaving over your head as he moved the strands of messy hair off of your face, sending heat through your abdomen through your stomach. It felt like there were butterflies—no, birds flying in your stomach. You bit on your lower lip, as he set a gentle thumb on your chin. “Hmm, pretty good, thanks. How ‘bout you open wide for me, yeah?”
and you almost immediately followed his command, widening your jaw, a line of spit against your tongue and tooth. Two of his fingers entered your jaw, coated in your spit as he pressed down on your tongue lightly. You were ovulating too, so this didn’t make it any better at all. You held back a whimper, fighting demons against yourself. You fidgeted with your hands below your lap, curling your feet upwards, and he could sense your nervousness, letting out small breathy laughs. “Good girl, relax. I’m not gonna eat’chya.”
and again, immediately, your body loosened--almost a little too much—going limp and melting under his words. There was a calm jazz playing over the radio, the crisp golden sunlight hitting his blazing eyes, and ever so lightly brushing against his black, curled locks.
All through his work, he didn’t seem to be paying attention to your mouth, not at all, honestly. He just kept staring into your eyes, his eyes crinkled up ever so slightly, meaning that he must still have a smile under his face. He just wouldn’t stop smiling, it staying, his intense gaze remaining on you as he tapped on each of your teeth, his fingers tracing around your mouth, exploring it. His eyes just got heavier and heavier on you, narrowing slightly down subtly before he stood up and grabbed those mini mirror things up from a shelf, unwrapping it from its shell and discarding of the flimsy plastic before he shone that damn light from above onto you, blinding you. You squinted at the light before looking back at him. He provided some sort of shadow from the light, so you relied on staring at him back, since you didn't really have any other choice.
The wind outside started to densen up, the once sunny outside sending a dark shadow through the room, the dim lamp now being your only support of light. You hated the light at first, but now you were holding onto your dear life with it. You don’t think you could survive farther then 5 more minutes, or you would go wild. You clenched your thighs shut tight, which he immediately and shamelessly switched his attention to. His eyes narrowed further at your legs, his seducing gaze running up and down them. Theres no way that your dentist is doing this. No way hes checking you out, but no matter how much you denied it, he totally was. He looked back up at you, now only one of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrow cocked up. “Something bothering you?”
he spoke in a low, more breathy tone now, taking his hands out of your mouth and sliding his gloves off, his veiny hands now clear to you. You breathe caught in your throat as you let out a shakey response.
“You.” you whispered; you don’t know why you said that. You slapped a hand over your mouth, your eyes slightly wide, cheeks turning red, and almost immediately, Chan smiled deviously, removing his mask and closing the door behind him, sitting back on the wheelie chair, spinning back to you, his hands now levitating over your chest. “Hm? What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.”
You let out a hitched breath, your eyes fluttering shut halfway as your back arched towards his hands until you were now sitting up, lodged up against the chair in a restrained position, both his veiny slender forearms propped up in the crevasses of your waist. “Gettin’ comfy, hm? If you want it, say it.”
“P-please Bang Chan.”
he let out that deep, incredibly sexy chuckle, smooth as butter, and almost instantly did your panties fill with a gush of arousal. With that, his final strings of restraint tore apart, his mouth drifting over to yours, his lips lush against your thirsted tongue. He fought a rough battle with your mouth, his tongue darting delving deeper into you, exploring every inch of your wet throat, his fingers now grazing over and under your thick sweater, pulling your shirt up with a swipe as he unclipped your bra with one veiny hand, still working at your mouth. His rough thumbs drifting over your plump bottom lip, extending your jaw for deeper access. His lips parted away from yours, his breath growly and panting before he looked up at you with that damned, deep dimpled grin, his mouth leaving a wet trail down your chin and neck, to your collarbone and straight to the cleavage of your breasts, the tips of his fingers slowly making its way to your tits, curling around the velvety, thick material.
You let out a high-pitched whine—near a yelp as you bucked your breasts up toward his hands, another quick gush of arousal filling your already soaked panties. “F-fuck Chris--.. what if.. We get caught...?”
he looked up at you, his mouth still latched at you like a leech, with wide eyes, almost innocent looking despite the situation, but quickly they narrowed to those same teasing eyes as he hooked off you, a string of spit on his tongue that dribbled down the cleavage of your boobs. He silently brought a finger to his mouth, shushing you before he slowly led his soft puckered mouth to your tit, his breathe hot against your hardened, perked up brown patch. He agonizingly brought his tongue around it, his lips curling around the tip of it as he suckled on your soft breast. You couldn’t help but let out small squeals as he licked and slurped at you, his free hand sliding down the side of your waist and to your small pretty jeaned up pussy, clenching the fat top layer before a finger slid slick into your folds, the outline of your throbbing clit palpable through the thick fabric. Your hips buckled towards his fingers in a desperate attempt for some sort of friction, his slender calloused hands curling up into your aching core through the fabric, his plump lips latching off your nipples with a soft moan. He soothed the aching sensation on your nips with a few gentle kisses as he pulled off your shirt, you were bare and had those porn star like tits. Not too big, but perky and rounded for sure. He led his hungered gaze over them. “So pretty.”
he breathed out. The soon admiring gaze snapped back to in between your legs, you were clamping them shut against his hands, needily grinding and humping against him. He popped his hand from between your heat and with one swift motion, picked you up from the chair and SAT in it HIMSELF. You were about to scoff before he pulled you onto his lap, in the type of position where your perfect little ass was laid above his muscular thighs, your legs straddling him from both sides, his dick standing straight up right before your camel toed pussy, your cheeks tinting a bright rosey red. “Move those hips pretty girl. Need your clit rubbing ‘gainst me, yeah?”
you are NOT his strongest solider because holy shit, the way this man has spells over you.. You start to transfer your heavy hips atop his and grinding downwards to his cock, but he lets out a ‘tch’ and holds your love handles to stop you from moving. “This won’t do. Need you in those pretty pink panties.”
now how the hell did he know what color it was? Whatever, and with a huff you start to unzip those tight jeans from off your legs until your pants were on the floor. His own slacks met yours on the floor in a crumpled mess, and God was it huge, full of girth and length, it was dying to be released from the boxers, like a huge water bottle in his garments.
You were so turned on, you knew exactly the feeling, you needed him now. You were a hot mess, you wanted and needed him so quickly and without much thought, you sat back on his lap, trying to put your embarrassment aside, you sat down facing him, with your legs in the air on either side of the chair, Chan was surprised and felt so delightful your weight on his erection, he didn’t think you were going to position yourself like that but you left him absolutely charmed. You were dealing with the bulge between his pants pressing against your pussy. He was so hard, you could feel it if only through the slightly thick, rough cotton of his black garments. Just the thought of seeing his cock made your skin bristle with excitement. And suddenly, a wave of confidence hit you, a little too strong like a slap in the face, and now you were gliding your flaps perfectly through his shaft, apparent through boxers. You could feel the way the hard girth pulsated and pushed into your wet entrance even through the fabric, the mix of his precum in his shorts and your slick making it intoxicating and barely bare able. As the grinding of yours against him got more intense, small pants left his parted lips, hips bucking up often with every push of your pussy down against him.
Chan moaned, letting out soft, melodic “A-aah, mmnh..” and then he raised his gaze, staring into your eyes, causing you to shiver at his lustful stare. “Fuck, look at you moving for me like that, keep doing what ‘your doing, just like that.. So good, love.” he licked his lips, leveling his face with yours, talking to you in such a sultry tone that it made your cheeks hot. You were so pathetically horny and starved that you were enjoying to the fullest-- bouncing on Chan’s cock under the hard cotton, pressing all over your pussy, your labia, moving them nimbly that it made you blur your vision.
“God yeah-- you’re doing so good, beautiful.” His voice aroused you more and more bringing you so close to your orgasm, you were so concentrated in the sensation of your movements on his cock, you couldn’t stop, you moved your hips and Chan helped you with his hands squeezing your waist, guiding your every hump; you felt so hot and trapped, so desperate to get your clothes off but you didn’t want to stop, you weren’t going to stop until you were tired, it was as if you had no choice but to climax right now, just like this, and under his gaze it was physically impossible, flushed and sweaty, eager, watching you with keen, firey eyes. Chan was sighing and straining to make you feel good at the same time you were making him feel that effect on him, squeezing his cock so hard, expelling precum and not so far from his ejaculation.
Chris bit his lower lip and caught your mouth again, touching your restless and desperate body, he was about to cum. You were starting to get tired but it was a tiredness so inexplicably pleasurable, your chest was burning from the constant strong heartbeat. You were at your limit and you were doing almost nothing, but both of you were a mess of heaving breaths, Chan didn’t want to change anything about you either at that moment, he just squeezed you tightly enjoying every movement until he cum inside his underwear, in a gasp, throwing his head back, feeling one pressure release pleasantly but another coming so abruptly and quickly not wanting to finish yet with you. You held onto his shoulders tightly, pressed your legs into his body, Chan knew you were close so he encouraged you, with a kiss on your mouth half open and words that warmed even your ears. “Go on, cum, princess, let yourself go… Cum for me.”
You gasped in despair and a little high-pitched moan, you cum all over your panties, leaving you flushed, breathless and with your pussy sticky. Seconds later you wanted to catch your breath, you still felt immobile before his big hands squeezing your body, you were at levels of agitation you didn’t think you’d reach in the near future with another guy. He was so the one, no matter a side chick from a new dentist you just met, you’d be booking appointments weekly with the daily pathetic excuse of tooth aches. That's one way to go.
One orgasm down, so many more to go, left a sloppy panting mess atop him, he gently carries you until you're sitting at the side of the chair, on the edge, legs spread wide, head in a daze, not a care in your eyes until the sensation of his cold hands hits your underwear – a loss of warmth but a new sensation. Only when you look down is when you catch the concentrated man on his knees for you, peeling off your pink panties and licking the slick off of it so none went to waste, letting out an approving hum.
“You taste so fucking good.”
Chan said it, in such a thick voice so lost in the image of your pussy. You were a hot trembling mess, letting out a shuddered moan as you felt his warm, full lips on the skin of your plump mons pubis, giving you kisses and leaving little hickeys down his way until his mouth took your clit, making you squeal; you were beginning to relax and let yourself be carried away by the tingling of the tip of his index finger caressing your soft, moist vulva, playing with your wetness, until two of his fingers teased your entrance until he inserted his fingers, while his mouth never let go of your sensitive spot, licking and sucking it gently, causing you pleasure and the beginning of trembling in your legs.
Chan fucked you gently and deeply for a few moments, teasing you and reaching sweet places inside your tight pussy, but he withdrew his fingers from you, positioned both his hands on your thighs, squeezing them gently and began to move his mouth all the way down your vulva, licking the right places, sucking delightfully on your labia and filling himself with you, from his chin to his nose, so focused working on you. You felt so hot, and he looked so good eating you out while you were a panting mess, arching your back and being pleasured. Your slick dripped its way down his chin, covering his faces with your whipped up, once clear but now creamy and sweet juices. “Fuck," He groaned out, lapping up and sucking at your clit, then going back down to collect your juices.
You were close, again, your hips stuttering against his plump lips as he alternated from eating your pussy to sucking at your clit. He could feel the way your hips bucked up, the way your needy pussy clenched around his tongue, before with one last suck of your vagina, he slid up and started going savage onto your clit, opening his mouth with a wide grin, flicking his tongue against you as he plunged two fingers, slick with spit inside of your already seeping pussy, thrusting in and out and curling his fingers up in a way that was sure to drive you over the edge, and so it did, a mix of juices and release spewing all over his fingers, up to the muscles of his forearms, squealing out his name in a desperate moan.
“Chris- chrischris—c-christopher!! Cumming!!”
He stared at you in awe and immense pleasure, cock twitching in his boxers as he witnessed your climax, shaking and trembling, heartbeat pounding, sweat dripping, hot and messy flushed face, hips bucking up so high he could have sworn he was seeing stars, and before you knew it the sound of fabric sliding down filled your sensitive, worn-out ears, and a deep sensation hit your overstimulated pussy.
Within seconds, as you came down from your haze, you were immediately sent back to that trance but so much deeper as his girthed cock unmercifully pounded its way deep into your pussy, kissing your cervix with every deep thrust. His hips slam against yours as he slides back in, you're so warm and wet around him that he's losing his mind. He's like a rabbit in heat as he moves his hips, harder and harder, his balls hitting your ass and the sounds that leaves your lips encourages him more. One minute you have your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him deeper and the next your legs are against your chest as Chan's large hands are on the back of your thighs as he slams his hips against yours again. He's hypnotized. Your pussy sucking in dick so well, and you're taking it like a good girl too. Tears falling from your eyes and words leave your lips but he doesn't really understand what you're saying. The word daddy leaves your lips, and you chant it over and over.
You felt so full, his dick filling you up so nicely and you honestly believe that you could cum just like this. And the way the tip of his head hits your sweet spot it makes you feel on cloud nine. Thrusting into you with a sharp hit of his hips, and you internally cringe at yourself for hiccupping at the force. “G-god-!!” is all you manage to say as he continues slamming his hips into you at a painfully slow pace, looking you dead in the eye as you crumble beneath his intense gaze.
gripping at his biceps and biting your lip as an attempt to keep your moans in, but the little whimpers and whines end up spilling out anyway. You can feel Chan's cock twitch inside you every time you say yes for him, especially with the way your walls are throbbing around his length as he groans the words “good girl” in the midst of it all.
“So so good for me,” he continues, grinding his hips in a way that makes his pelvis graze your clit rhythmically, and you’re sure you’re seeing stars once his hand finds your neck, just resting it there to get your attention. “W-want you to fill me up so bad,” you whimper, and he lets a groan out right after you… one that makes your stomach flutter with emotions given how beautiful it sounded.
“Channie--” you blabber out pathetically, your own mouth filling with saliva at how amazing he’s making you feel right now. “P-please-!!” you cry out, and it’s a weak cry. He finally lets his lips find yours in a needy kiss, and a string of spit keeps y’all together as he breaks away to let out a moan of his own, but you’re pulling him back into you, wanting him to be as close as possible to you in this moment.
“Feels so fucking good inside you, sooo fucking good,” he grunts, and you know he’s almost close just from the way his eyebrows are screwing into adorable little crinkles, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier by the second.
“F-fuck-” you mewl against his lips, feeling the knot in your own stomach tighten as his cock hit mesmerizing places inside you. He keeps his hand snug around your neck while looking into your eyes, and his hips can’t bare to piston into your cunt any longer once your walls clench around him, making him feel dizzy in the head. At that point, hes too far in to care about anything, gripping your ass cheek with an intense need as his hands lands a hard slap against it, leaving a red stain of his handprint on your cheek, the stinging pain of his hands and soothing rubs making you go insane.
With each 3-4 hard thrusts, he adds in a hard WACK, marking both cheeks with a rosey red that looked like it was blushing, and soon enough he was lifting one leg straight up like a candle, toes curled as he fucked deep into you, with a new refreshment that was only yours to claim, luckily enough. He fucked into you with a matched fervor that can only be described as wild, and with that, chan finally lets himself go, barely getting any extra thrusts in before painting your walls with his hot release, groaning shamelessly like a porn star. “Oh my God,” he grunts with a strained voice, using his last bit of strength to prevent himself from collapsing on top of you given how spent he is now. He pops out of you soon enough, after having his soft cock warmed up by your wet walls, his cum seeping out of your used pussy, but his cock doesn’t look... normal. Its soft yet still kind of up, like maybe his balls were too big and propping it up? No, it was infact still semi-hard, his eyes meeting yours with a mutual agreement, a challenge, as if asking to help him out, and so you did, backing up into the marbled countertops containing of those small sinks and that random hole filled with garbage.
His hand slides to the back of your neck, firm but gentle, and pulls you closer. “Good girl,” he praises, voice laced with an almost indistinguishable amount of contempt, and it has you reeling. You lick a bit along his tip, slowly and gently kissing along the sensitive skin, and you can already feel it start to rise along your lips. His fingers weave through your hair with a slow sigh. You press another kiss to the side of his cock, soft at first, as if tasting the moment before plunging in. His body shudders. The saltiness lingers on your tongue as you part your lips wider, slowly taking him into your mouth. “Fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible, more an exhale than speech.
His hand slightly tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. You hollow your cheeks, sliding further forward, and the groan that rumbles in his chest sends a thrill through you. The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, and you let yourself sink into a languid pace, drawing him in, inch by inch, savoring the way his body reacts. His hips jerk, just a little, involuntarily, and you can’t help the slight moan that leaves your throat. The sound and vibration seem to undo him.
“You’re so fucking good at this,” Chan grunts, his voice rough around the edges, raw with need. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you—not forcing, but encouraging—as you take him deeper, working with a mix of tongue, lips, and a shit ton of spit.
You glance up, catching his gaze. A carnal glint is in his stare, and he smiles. Fuck. The sight of him nearly takes your breath away. His jaw falls slack, his lips part, and his eyes lock on you—heavy-lidded and burning with something primal. The tension in his thighs grow as you continue, a gradual acceleration in the way you take him in. The soft, wet sounds fill the air, mingling with his labored breaths and low groans. His thumb brushes your cheek, a ticklish touch that feels oddly tender amidst the heat. “Just like that,” Chan murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t stop. You’re—perfect.” You give an hum, letting it thrum in your mouth. Chan whimpers and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to hear. You hum again, louder this time. Your chest heaves at the limited breathing but Chan is slowly losing his sense of control and it arouses you, motivates you to keep going. “God, your skilled. I work in oral care, yet you seem to be better at it.” Chan laughs to himself, head thrown back, words spiked with unmistakable lust. His hands move to your shoulders, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. “I won’t last if you keep going like that.” His voice cracks, betraying the thin line of self-control he’s holding onto. You pull back slightly, just enough to take a breath, then bob your head back into his girth, but this time you take him deep and you swear you can catch glimpse of his soul leaving his body, eyes rolling back and brows furrowed in a pornographic way. You choke and gag slightly on his cock, but being the sadistic girl you are, you take pleasure in the way he thrusts less carelessly into your mouth, fucking into you as he tugs on your hair as a guide, the only pillar of support besides the cold counter behind him, his other hand holding onto the edge so he wouldn’t slip, but the moment you hollow your cheeks again and gaze up at him with that stare is when he looses it. Before he could mutter any more words, he just lets out a series of swears. “F-fucking hell-! O-oh my god cumming--”
And a hot liquid fills your throat, forcing its way inside until your throat is sore, raw and hot from his salty liquids. It’s murky and a bit penny-like in a way, but your addicted to the taste that would normally seem gross. As you pull back with a mix of spit and cum on your tongue, he ruffles up your hair and helps stand you up, kissing an awkward kiss onto your messy forehead as he sets you back down onto the chair, scooping out the remains of his liquid out of your spent pussy and dabbing it up with a tissue, the light fabric teasing your overstimulated clit, drawing a whine out of you. He gently hushes you and continues to clean you up and pack up his stuff.
“Until next time, yeah? And wear those pink panties again, they look good on you.” He waves out with a charming wink, despite his current state.
God, this man. Guess your next appointment won’t just be one type of oral...
