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rip ukytblr 2025-2026

hi friends,

you may have noticed that we've fallen off of reblogging our members' works in the last few weeks. we've been feeling a bit detached from the community lately and have made the decision to shut down our ukyt server.

this blog won't be going anywhere. it won't be updated anymore, but the existing archive of fics will stay here for ease of access!

thank you for nine months of love 💘

x g + mitchie

[sdmnpact]

⋆˚࿔ Snowy Cabin Fun. 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harry Lewis x Reader x Alfie Buttle ~ smut 

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ c/w: p in v, fingering, porn with no plot, dom alfie, idk what harry is in this

“I’m fucking freezing my tits off.” You said with a light laugh, shaking off the snow in your hair as you made your way towards the fireplace in the main room. 

You were currently on a skiing trip with a couple of friends. As the only single trio on the trip, you, Harry, and Alfie decided on sharing a cabin. Mostly because you were afraid of being a third wheel but also feared being alone in a giant cabin.

“Let me light this for you girl.” Alfie said brushing past you, lighting the fireplace. You watched as he turned the knob that turned on the fireplace. 

“Wow, thank you.” You said sarcastically, since it was as easy as turning a knob.

He scoffed playfully at you and pushed your shoulder lightly. You furrowed your brows as a response but he just smirked.

All three of you plopped down on the couch trying to warm yourselves in front of the fireplace. “It’s still so cold in here, I feel like I’m gonna freeze to death.” You said trying to sink deeper into the couch.

Harry exchanged glances with Alfie. 

“I think I know a way we can get warm really fast.” Harry grinned. You looked up at him and then looked at Alfie with a matching grin showing his fang-like teeth. Alfie placed a hand on your knee, slowly inching it up your thigh. 

Your breath hitched as you watched his hand reach the top of your furry leggings. “Can I?” He asked, looking up at your face for your reaction. His eyes were dark and lustful. Your cheeks grew hot as you nodded your head slowly, you watched as he put two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them and coating them in his saliva. He put them back to the hem of your pants, slowly inserting his fingers underneath and pushing past your underwear. 

You gasped at his cold, wet touch as your eyes watched him intensely. His eyes were focused on your heat, his tongue sticking out slightly, and his cheeks a light shade of red.

The pads of his fingertips brushed on your folds, rubbing your pussy lightly. You opened your mouth in pleasure, throwing your head back when you felt Harry’s fingers under your chin pulling your face to look at him.

He smashed his lips to yours hungrily. It took you a second but you moved your lips in rhythm with his. In a swift motion Alfie inserted his fingers into your pussy making you yelp at the sudden pressure allowing Harry to slide his tongue into your mouth.

Alfie pumped his fingers in and out slowly as you rocked your hips desperately wanting more of him, deeper and harder.

“Damn girl, you’re already fuckin’ soaked.” Alfie said, his voice deep and husky only making you want him more. Harry pulled away, pulling off your top, every single layer of fabric on you stripped away by Harry, one by one, exposing your breast to them. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Harry murmured, staring at your chest. He grabbed one of your tits in his hand and began massaging it with his thumb, while he bent down and took the other in his mouth, sucking your nipple slowly pulling away and leaving a wet trail of his saliva run from his mouth to your nipple then placed his lips back of your mouth.

You felt Alfie pull his fingers out of you, making you miss the feeling of his touch. He pulled down your pants exposing your glistening heat to them. Your juices already leaking onto your underwear. Alfie chuckled at how wet you were for them. 

“Do want me to fuck you?” Alfie teased, you felt Harry smile into the kiss. “Or you want him?” Alfie asked, Harry pulled away letting you answer. Your cheeks were a deep shade of red. You felt overwhelmed but excited. You didn’t know how to answer, you just stared up at him with fuck me eyes.

He laughed and began pulling down his trousers. You watched in anticipation as he finally freed his member. “Here.” He said passing you a condom. You looked up at him then at Harry. Harry looked at you as if to say ‘go on then’.

You sat forward, opening the condom and rolling it onto Alfie’s cock. Your heat ached at the way that made him shudder as he released a small groan of pleasure. You teased him by giving his cock a small squeeze.

“Oh? Is that how we’re gonna play it then?” Alfie responded. Alfie hovered over you, lining his cock up to your entrance. Without giving you any time to adjust, he shoved his cock into you. You let out a loud yelp at the feeling. His thick cock squeezed into your hole, as he began thrusting slowly at first. His hips bucked forward, he pulled you closer, placing your legs over his shoulders. 

Your body grew hot and flustered as Alfie fucked you, hard.

He pumped in and out of you, pushing himself deeper each time, his balls slapping against your ass each time. He held your waist tight as he railed your tight pussy stretching your walls, turning your brain to a fog as the feeling of euphoria overcame you.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see as Harry was pleasing himself to the sight of you getting fucked by Alfie. Seeing him hot and bothered over you, made your cunt throb even harder. You looked at him so he could clearly see your reaction, only getting him more flustered.

You felt Alfie’s cock twitch as he was coming close. “Fuck.” He spewed out as his movements grew sloppy. Seconds later, his warm hot liquid filled the condom making him pull out. 

“Fuck girl, Harry, your turn.” Alfie winced as he rode out his high. You whined at the missing feeling of his cock in your cunt but that was soon replaced by Harry’s own thick member. 

Harry, the ever so strong man, picked you up, grabbing your ass for support as he pushed you against the wall for support. 

With your legs wrapped around his waist, he pumped in and out of you, using your hole like his personal fleshlight as he thrusted you into the wall. “Oh fuuck Harry-y.” You stuttered as he fucked you insanely harder than Alfie. His strong arms keeping you up against the wall as his cock rammed into your tight hole even harder. 

Your finger nails dug into his shoulders making him wince at the pain but moan at the pleasure. “You’re still so fucking tight.” he breathed out, burying his head into your neck as he pushed even harder.

You felt a knot in your stomach as you grew closer to your high. You could tell Harry was tired but he kept trying to give it his all.

“Cou-ch.” You stammered out in between breaths. He listened and brought you to the couch, where you straddled him. This time, you did the work. You rode his cock like you knew exactly what you were doing, like you knew exactly how he liked it. 

He looked up at you like you were a goddess. You bounced up and down on him, making sure to buck your hips slowly grinding on him. He moaned at your movements, moving his hands to your tits as a sort of way to ground him. 

“Please keep doing that.” He said, squeezing his eyes closed and throwing his head back. You smirked as you continued grinding on him, increasing your pace. You felt his cock twitch and knew he was about to release. You felt your own release nearing.

You rode him harder as you felt his hot liquid fill the condom and your juices drench him. You sat with him still inside you unable to move from your intense orgasm. Your legs were shaking violently as you rode out your high staring into Harry’s tired blue eyes.

You saw Alfie come back into the room with nothing on but a towel around his neck as he tossed two towels to you both.

“Are you warm enough now?” Alfie asked teasingly.

“I’m hot as shit now.” You replied carefully pulling yourself off of Harry.

“Good, let us know if you’re ever too cold again.”

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19, @lovinqbella, @sundarksposts, @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @jakevwebber @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @writer-jamie @shiftngdiaries @bambilenny @paynquees @obaltineobyss @lxzzxebunny @needf0rspeed @triplefrontierbabe @toomuchaintenough

[sdmnpact]

Off the Runway.

Wroetoshaw x Model!Reader ~ smut & a bit of fluff

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ c/w: unprotected sex (nonono), p in v

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ i don’t watch criminal minds but i saw a compilation of morgan and garcia? yesterday and i was like, yes yes yes… pls dont get mad at me, i know they are platonic soulmates but in my fic world its, this…

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ also I imagine harry to be as obsessed/in love with his s/o as Dylan Sprouse is with Barbara [Sprouse], like everytime i see a vid of them, i think of harry and how obsessed he’d be with you

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ lastly, ‘after party’ was originally this idea’s title, instead of being best friends though, he was your boyfie and it was car sex. I think this way is much softer but if we want car sex, i mean ;) 

ੈ✩‧₊˚ You were nervous the entire night. Your heart was almost beating out of your chest, your knees felt wobbly like you were going to pass out, and you feared that you ruined your makeup from all the sweat that accumulated on your forehead. 

All those nerves washed away when you saw him cheering for you, right in the front row. Harry Lewis. Your best friend and biggest fan.

It was your first Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show and you felt like you weren’t prepared or even fit for such a big event. Harry knew how nervous you were and made sure to cheer you on loudly, loud enough for you to hear on stage and loud enough for him to receive dirty looks from those sitting around him.

His shouts of support gave you the confidence boost you needed to dominate on stage as you strut with a fierce energy dropping every jaw in sight.

You felt amazing, the attention, the praise, the screams all felt surreal. You never thought you’d achieve this and all with Harry by your side.

He never failed to show you support in whatever you wanted to do as you always did the same for him. Neither of you could have survived anything without each other. Now, you were on one of the biggest stages, modeling for one of the biggest fashion shows and you couldn’t be happier.

After the show, you made your way back to your dressing room. Every angel got their own dressing room so you were glad you didn’t have to share with anyone else. You put on your pink statin robe and sat in front of the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror, just letting everything sink in for a moment. 

You were radiating, your skin glowing and you had a bright sparkle in your eye, sure, maybe it was the vanity lights but regardless, you looked amazing.

You heard a light knock on the door and quickly stood up to see who it was. You weren’t surprised when you saw your boy, Harry standing there with a giant bouquet of roses and a cute pink bear with your name and ‘V.S. 2025’ embroidered on a little heart. You smiled widely as you reached up to hug him. 

“Stop Haz, this is so fucking cute! You didn’t have to!” You squealed as you took the gifts, setting them down on the vanity as Harry shut the door. “Of course I didn’t have to but you deserve only the best baby girl.” He said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

You and Harry were known to act like a couple, ever since sixth form it’s been this way. Everyone would assume you two were dating but it’s just the way you two act with each other. 

There is a side of you that has always fancied him though. A side deep, deep down, that you fought to keep at bay. You love Harry, too much to let your feelings be the reason that you two never speak again. You each had your lovers and partners but always ended up back together, two single best friends, hopeless romantics. 

What you didn’t know was that Harry has always fancied you. That’s the main reason he went to speak to you back in school. You were the cute new girl that everyone wanted to get to know. Harry quickly made his first impression and instead of hit on you, he fell for you. 

He didn’t want a quick fuck, he wanted to put you on a pedestal, make you someone who remains a constant in his life. So, he got to know you, the real you, which made him fall even harder. You two instantly bonded and have been stuck together ever since.

Tonight was different.

He found you ethereal, enchanting, the most stunning human being that he has ever laid eyes on. You were a goddess in his eyes. He wanted to be as lucky as to kiss the ground you walk on. 

“I saw you cheering, you looked like a maniac.” You chuckled, taking off your earrings.

“A maniac? I was the only person alive in that audience, people are so lifeless at fashion shows!” He defended, plopping down on the couch behind you. 

“Yeah, it was pretty nerve racking seeing all those people staring, judging me.” You took a breath and turned to face Harry. “But the second I heard you, everything felt so much better. Thank you.” You said, standing up and plopping down beside him.

“I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.” You told him. His expression grew serious. The proximity made his breath hitch, and his palms began to sweat.

“Of course you could. You won them over, you can do anything, because you’re amazing.” He responded, placing an arm around you. Your faces were inches apart. You could feel his hot breath, his eyes were so blue, so clear but there was a hint of something in them. Something that made your heart beat faster.

He looked down at your lips then flicked back up to your eyes. You leaned forward and smashed your lips to his. He wasted no time in kissing you back. His lips moved passionately in rhythm with yours. You moved on his lap to straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck, moving your hands to his blonde locks, tugging on them lightly.

He picked you up swiftly moving so that you were lying on your back as he hovered above you. He stared down at you for a second, admiring your beauty. “You’re so stunning, baby girl. Can I?” He looked down then back up to your face for your reaction. You inhaled sharply, nodding your head. You watched as Harry sat up, delicately pulling the string on your robe, the fabric falling open underneath you as you pulled your arms out.

You were in the hot pink lingerie that you were left wearing after the show. His fingers found the hem of the underwear and slid his finger underneath, pulling them down and off your legs quickly, leaving you exposed to him.

You were glad your bra had front clips as you watched him reach for it next, undoing the clasp with one hand. You felt your legs begin to shake in anticipation. 

He stood up for a moment to rip off his own pants and tshirt leaving him in his briefs. His giant bulge didn’t give you much room for imagination as it basically wanted to spring out of his pants.

You sat up, looking up at him, without breaking eye contact you pulled them down, letting his throbbing member spring back and slap his stomach. 

You wanted him as much as he wanted you.

He mounted you again, kissing you passionately. His member pressing against your sopping heat. He broke the kiss to align himself with your entrance, giving you one final look as if to ask if you’re ready. You nodded and seconds later you felt the head of his thick cock press into your folds.

You let out a small yelp as he fully entered you. The feeling of his cock passing through your gummy walls turning your brain to a fog. He smashed his lips back to yours, kissing you with so much love, so much yearn. He has wanted this for ages.

He bucked his hips slowly, not fast, not rough but sensually. He didn’t want to fuck you, he wanted to make love to you. He wanted to show you that he loves you, that he cares for you.

His hips moved rhythmically, pressing deeper into you with each forward motion. You moaned throughout the kiss, the intense feeling making you unable to hold back your noises of pleasure.

He held your waist firmly as he thrusted deeper, slower into you, making sure he felt every inch of you, making sure that you felt amazing.

You broke the kiss by tilting your head back into the cushions in extreme pleasure. He put his lips to your neck placing soft kisses that soon turned into small love bites. Your hands pressed into his back, your nails digging into his skin.

His hips rocked back and forth slowly until he felt himself getting close and you could feel your own orgasm nearing. His movement got sloppier as he thrusted himself into you more making sure to give it his all. 

You felt a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as you felt yourself no longer able to hold on. 

“Har-Harry.” You managed to force out in a pant, followed by a deep guttural moan. 

“I know love, it’s okay.” His tired voice replied as he thrusted one last time feeling himself reach his high. “Fu-uck.” He breathed out, burying his head into your shoulder groaning into you.. 

Your toes curled as you released your hot liquid all over him as he pulled out and came on his own, pressing the pad of his thumb over your folds and rubbing lightly. Your eyes rolled back as you rode out your high.

He finished, wiping himself off with a nearby towel.

“Come here darling.” He said walking over to you with a fresh towel and cleaning up your mess. You watched him clean you up, both of your chests rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

He pulled on his briefs and pulled you up gently, sitting where your head was lying and replacing the pillow with his lap. He stroked your hair as you two continued to breathe heavily. A silence falling over the two of you. 

Not an awkward, tense silence- but a comfortable, relaxed silence. 

You looked up at him. His hair extra messy, his tired eyes even more tired but a giant cheesy smile plastered on his lips. 

“I love you.” You said, finally breaking the quiet. 

“I love you too.” He replied.

No further words were needed. You knew how the other felt. You knew this wasn’t a casual thing of friends having sex after a major event but the beginning of two best friends realizing they have feelings for each other, the beginning of a relationship of two best friends in love with each other. 

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19, @lovinqbella, @sundarksposts, @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @jakevwebber @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @writer-jamie @shiftngdiaries @bambilenny @paynquees @obaltineobyss @lxzzxebunny

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌 ➛ 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑳𝒆𝒘𝒊𝒔⎯୧

summary: you hurt yourself during the trampoline park video and harry proceeds to fret over you | Harry x fem!reader

notes: the new sidemen sunday had me thinking things... harry would be such a worrier over you even if you just got a papercut lets be so real

content: fluff, minor injury, tiny bit of angst if you squint super hard, protective harry <3

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at  @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things @l3nney @aqraxiia @lostdeerinthemist @peachmd @willuver - send a message or leave a comment to be added <3

The place is chaos in the best way. 

Bright lights, springs squeaking under feet, people shouting names that echo off padded walls. You’re laughing as you run away with Ethan, breathless and reckless, socks slipping slightly against the padded surfaces and trampolines as you bounce from one section to the next. 

“Don’t let him get you!” someone yells – you don’t even know who.

You glance back and see JJ, grinning like a menace, gaining on you far too quickly. Panic spikes, playful and sharp, and you pivot without thinking, launching yourself toward the next trampoline- 

-and land wrong. 

Your ankle twists hard on impact. There’s a sharp, white-hot flash of pain that steals the air from your lungs.

“Oh-fuck-“

You stumble, dropping to your knees, hands gripping the padding. It throbs immediately, deep and angry, and when you try to put weight on it, your stomach flips. 

“I’m hurt,” you call out, half-laughing because the shock’s keeping most of the pain at bay for now. “Wait-no, seriously, I think I’ve-”

“Nice try!” Ethan shouts back, already bouncing away, leaving you as bait. “You’re not slick!”

Before you can protest properly, JJ tags you – a quick tap – and he’s gone too, laughter trailing behind them as the game barrels on without you. 

You sit there for a second, stunned. 

Then you try to stand. 

Pain shoots up your leg, and you swear, louder this time, dropping back down immediately. 

“Okay. Okay, no. That’s not- fuck that’s bad.”

The laughter around you starts to feel far away. Your ankle is already swelling, sock tight against your skin, and when you press your fingers to it, you feel sick, and tears start to well up.

A camera dips into your line of sight.

“You alright?” the cameraman asks, voice shifting instantly from filming-bright to concerned. 

You shake your head, trying to stop the tears from falling. “No. I think I’ve actually hurt it.”

That’s when someone calls over a runner. The game pauses in a messy, confused way – people bouncing in place, looking around, unsure. Within minutes, a small medical team is kneeling beside you, asking questions, gently testing your range of movement as you hiss through your teeth every time your ankle moves even an inch. 

And across the park, Harry finally notices. 

At first, he’s just wandering over, curious – hands on hips, still half in game mode. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, distracted. 

Then he sees you. 

Sitting on the padded floor. Sock peeled halfway down. A medic’s hands careful around your ankle. 

His face changes instantly.

“Oh- shit. Oh my god.” 

He drops everything – literally. His camera bounces on the trampoline as he jogs, then sprints, then skids slightly as he reaches you, crouching down in front of you like nothing else in the room exists. 

“What happened?” he asks, voice tight with worry already.

“What happened, are you okay?” 

You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. “I think I twisted it. Badly.”

His jaw clenches. 

“They tagged you and just – left you?” he snaps, looking over his shoulder, eyes searching the room.

You shrug half-heartedly. “They thought I was bluffing.”

Harry lets out a sharp breath through his nose, anger flickering across his face before he reins it in and turns back to you, immediately softer. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brushing hair out of your face, thumb gentle against your cheek. “Like- don’t lie to me.”

“It really hurts,” you admit quietly. 

He nods, swallowing. “Okay. Alright. You’re okay. They’ve got you.”

To the medic, he’s a machine-gun of questions:

“Is it broken?”

“Is she gonna need a scan?”

“Should she be moving it?”

“Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“Can i- can I stay here?”

They reassure him, calmly, that it’s likely just a sprain, that you’ll be taken out of the game, that they’ll ice it and keep an eye on you.

The game resumes somewhere behind him – whistles, shouting, laughter – but Harry doesn’t even look back. 

When someone yells, “Harry! You’re seeker now!” he barely reacts.

“Yeah, give it a minute,” he mutters, eyes fixed on you.

Even when he does technically rejoin the game, he doesn’t go far. He lingers near the medic area, half-hiding behind the padding, clearly not paying attention to who’s tagged or who’s running. Every few seconds, he glances back at you, eyebrows knit together. 

When he’s finally allowed back over, he sits beside you, shoulder pressed to yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve been closer.”

You lean into him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shakes his head anyway, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Next time someone leaves you on the floor like that, they’re getting beat. I don’t care if it’s a game.” 

You laugh softly, despite everything. 

He smiles back – small, relieved, still worried – and squeezes your hand carefully. 

“Games not worth it,” he murmurs. “You are.” 

For the rest of filming, even with the chaos still bouncing around the trampoline park, Harry doesn’t leave your side for more than a few seconds – keeping watch, keeping you close, like it’s the only thing that matters. 

[sdmnpact]

⋆˚࿔ After Party. 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harry Lewis x Reader x Will Lenney ~ smut

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ c/w: anal, handjobs, blowjobs, pussy eating, unprotected sex (pls be safe lads and ladettes)

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ thank you chris :)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ You were getting ready for a cozy night in. You dressed in your most comfiest shorts, your favorite loose cropped camisole, and had on your red lacy thong, something you wore to feel sexy but have now grown used to. You made your hot cup of tea and already had your comfort show paused on the tv and ready to go. 

Suddenly, you heard something fall over in the living room. Concerned, you quickly made your way to see what happened, only to be greeted with your boyfriend Harry and your mutual friend, Will Lenney, both absolutely battered and struggling to make it to the couch.

“Harry? I thought you said you weren’t drinking that much tonight?” You asked standing in front of him as he plopped back onto the couch. “Why’d you bring Will along?” You asked, placing your hands on your hips.

“Oh love, you know, the night just ended up going this way. Chris passed out, Stephen went home and me and Will didn’t want to stop so I invited him back. I hope it’s okay love.” Harry explained grabbing your hand, rubbing circles on to the back of it, giving you those big puppy eyes you can’t resist.

You rolled your eyes but nodded. “Of course it's fine. I was gonna relax here a bit but I suppose, I can do it in our bedroom.” You said your eyes wandered around to Will who was staring at your ass. 

“Like what you see Will?” You said teasingly, only joking of course. You watched his expression, his eyes darting to anywhere else in the room as he avoided eye contact with you. 

“Don’t look away now Will. Come here love.” Harry said, pulling you closer to him. He looked up at you as a way of asking for consent. You nodded knowing what's to come. Will looked at you two intensely as Harry’s fingers started at your calves, gliding over them slowly making their way up past your knee and to your thigh.

You felt your heartbeat quicken and your cunt begin to throb at his lingering touch. Harry’s finger tips ran up the length of your thighs and finally found their way to the hem of your shorts. He looked up towards you again as a final sign of consent. You nodded ready for this. You and Harry have only dreamed of this. A sick fantasy of your guys’ that you’ve talked about often. 

In a quick motion he pulled down your shorts revealing you to them in that lacy red thong that he knew all too well. You looked over to Will, his eyes wide with shock, his adams apple bobbing up and down as he gulped hard staring at your perfectly curved body.

Harry continued, his fingers tugging beneath the string of your thong. Playing with the thin material almost teasingly. Your cunt already throbbing, your hole aching for their fill. Your breath hitched as he finally ripped them down, letting the useless fabric slide down your legs and pool at your feet revealing your bare ass and pussy to both of them.

You looked over to see Will staring at your ass, your pulsating heat dripping with excitement at his gaze.

“She’s fucking perfect, isn’t she Will?” Harry asked, admiring your body. You watched as Will shifted in his seat evidently trying to hide his hard on, his hands rolled into fists, his eyes clearly hungry for you. You weren’t the only one to notice this.

You watched as Harry tugged off his shorts revealing his fully erect length, pink and throbbing with pre cum already dripping out. “Get on.” Harry commanded, pointing to the couch.

Will thought you were getting on Harry, ready to ride him but instead you got on all fours onto the couch, your head positioned above Harry’s cock and your ass up in the air facing Will.

You felt your body get hot as you were now fully vulnerable to Will. “Go on then love.” Harry told you. You did as told and grabbed the base of his cock, spitting on his tip and using your own saliva and his liquid as lube. You began pumping Harry’s cock before taking him in your mouth.

Your tongue licked and swirled around his base up the length of his veiny member, licking up his precum using the pad of your tongue to suction off his tip. His hand held the back of your head as his tilted back with pleasure.

Your head bobbed back and forth sucking him off like you usually do. Almost pornagraphic in a sense, hallowing your cheeks and staring up at him in that way you know gets him hot and bothered.

You stopped for a second, looking back to Will who stared at you two with puppy eyes desperately wanting to join in but not knowing how.

“Go ahead Will, fucking fill her up mate.” Harry said, noticing you staring at him. You exchanged eye contact with Will letting him know it was okay. That was all the confirmation he needed. He pulled down his trousers and boxers, freeing his massive veiny cock. HIs dick was so hard, pulsating so much it hurt, he needed to relieve himself immediately

You felt him shift on the couch as he aligned himself with the entrance of your asshole. Without warning, you felt Will thrust into your ass with full force. The sudden pressure giving you an intense feeling of pleasure as you release a guttural moan on Harry’s cock. The vibrations making Harry go mad with ecstasy.

Will thrusted into you back and forth as far as he could, his balls slapping against your dripping cunt making you even wetter. The harder Will pounded into you, the deeper you went on Harry’s cock. Harry’s tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag, your spit drooling out of your mouth making it a perfect wet hole for Harry to fuck. 

The feeling Harry felt was euphoric. He put his hand on the back of your head, balling your hair in his fist as you took his entire length into your mouth, the warmth and wetness of your mouth a hole for Harry to face fuck you to his liking. You started playing with his balls knowing how much he enjoys it, making him release pornagraphic moans of his own. 

Will’s thick veiny cock felt incredible in your tiny hole as he split you in half with his harsh speed. His hands gripped your hips using you for support as he thrusted himself in and out. You felt his cock twitch inside of you as your walls contracted around him. 

His already sloppy movements got sloppier as his knees fell weak and his hips grew tired when he finally felt himself release inside you with a loud grunt and euphoric sense of relief. He pulled out of you leaving behind a sopping trail of his slick and your dripping hole with his cum.

You could tell that Harry was close. You fixed your position and double fisted the base of his cock stroking him up and down, sucking the tip of his dick until he came in your mouth. You felt the hot liquid hit the back of your throat. You swallowed it without hesitation and licked up any more cum from his cock as he stroked your hair lightly while riding out his high.

You finished and pulled away, sitting back onto the couch with your legs facing outwards spread open. Harry got on his knees in front of you, positioning himself between your legs, licking his lips just looking at your sopping, throbbing cunt. 

Will sat next to you, his cock still twitching, aching for more. You touched your heat, using your own wet as lube for Will’s cock, the feeling of touching yourself giving you a slight feeling of pleasure. You reached for Will’s cock and began stroking him, your thumb gliding over the head every time you slid up.

Harry on the other hand began licking up your juicy liquid, the pad of his tongue gliding over your folds delicately making you wince at the pleasant feeling. His tongue licked around your folds teasingly, watching as you bit your lip in anticipation, wanting his tongue inside you. You pushed your cunt forward into his mouth making him smile at your neediness. 

In a swift motion, he slid his tongue into your heat causing you to yelp and lightly squeeze Will’s cock harder making him grunt as a response. Harry knew how to fuck you in a way that makes your brain melt, he knew he could make you turn to mush by just the flick of his tongue. He flicked his tongue against your clit, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed. He grabbed your thighs to hold you closer, to hold you in place as you squirmed, his tongue flicking rapidly in your heat, you squeezed your eyes shut at the intense feeling of ecstasy.

You struggled to continue pleasing Will but pushed through, increasing your speed on his cock. Will’s head tilted back as his moans grew louder with your faster pace. Harry’s tongue was doing wonders to your pussy, his lips sucking on your labia, his hand finding their way to your tit as he lightly squeezed it and massaged your nipple only adding to your growing orgasm. 

The room was filled with your squeals of pleasure and Will’s intense grunts of satisfaction. Your orgasm grew closer as Harry's tongue fucked you harder, your brain felt like fog , you felt yourself already leaking out.

You felt Will’s cock twitch in your hand, you pumped him harder a few more times before he released his hot liquid all over himself followed by a loud moan that pushed you over the edge, finally reaching your own orgasm. You released all over Harry’s mouth, your legs felt like jelly as they shook with your intense release. 

Harry licked up your mess, pulling away with his mouth glistening in your liquid. You pulled him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips and mouth. 

All three of you were sweaty, sopping messes as you sat back on the couch taking a breather from the intense feelings that overwhelmed your bodies. 

“Fuckin’ hell, I did not expect that after party.” Will chuckled breathlessly. You and Harry lightly chuckled at his words. “Didn’t I tell you she was perfect?” Harry said. 

“That she is.”

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19, @lovinqbella, @sundarksposts, @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @jakevwebber @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @writer-jamie @shiftngdiaries @bambilenny @paynquees @obaltineobyss @lxzzxebunny

[sdmnpact]

⋆˚࿔ Comments. 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Wroetoshaw x Reader ~ angst & fluff

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ a/n: i wrote this with myself in mine mainly, I wish I were confident enough to wear cuter clothes but my body type only let's me feel comfortable in baggy t shirts and baggy jeans. Regardless, I still love myself, and I hope you love yourself as well, all body types are beautiful, everyone is beautiful regardless of societies' standards. I hope you're doing well and I love yall so very much!! Enjoy!!

‘Why does he like her?’

‘She dresses like a guy.’

‘He should dump her.’

Your eyes scanned the comments section of your latest youtube video reading all the comments carefully. You felt a heavy sinking feeling in your chest the more comments that you read. You knew you shouldn’t let these meaningless words affect you but you couldn’t help it. 

Every word felt like a dagger and the worse you felt about yourself, the even worse you felt for Harry. 

Of course everyone has their own style but in a world full of thin bodies and fitted clothing it’s hard to match the mold that society wants to set in place for females. This being said, your style is somewhat different to those in your circle or in the ukyt circle to be precise. 

You don’t like clothes that hug your body too tightly or clothes that show too much skin but rather large t-shirts and baggy jeans that lay comfortably on your body. You’re much more known for how you don’t match the latest trends in clothing but rather wear a style of your own. People love you for it. People love how confident you are in yourself and you very much do feel confident in yourself.

You don’t often compare yourself to your friends but it’s starting to get difficult with the rise of hate comments you’ve been noticing. It’s become a more frequent thing nowadays with the newly publicized news of yours and beloved content creator Harry Lewis’ relationship.

You’ve been dating for over three years now but only in the recent months have you made your relationship public. Sure, there have been many rumors of the two of you galavanting around London pubs with your friends or larger social events but never have either of you openly confirmed these rumors or addressed the evidence collected by yours and his fans. 

Finally, after realizing your relationship is much more serious than just dating and that there is definitely a future for you two, you needed to become public to love each other freely and let your relationship blossom bigger and brighter.

Although many fans already shipped you two as you often star beside each other in videos (you in his, his in yours, and you in sidemen features), that type of romanticization of your relationship would show to be much different than the actual thing. 

Now, some people despise you. They want you nowhere near Harry. They want you two to break up. 

Not all people think like this, there are many fans who adore you two, you are what they had hoped for. You make Harry happy and he makes you happy. 

But some days, the haters are much louder than the fans.

You were sat in your living room, with your legs crossed under you with your laptop sat in your lap as you scrolled through your latest video. His fans invading your comment section with remarks on your sense of style, your personality, and nitpicking anything they can that will tear down that strong exterior you’ve built in yourself.

‘She talks like a man, he needs to lose her.’

‘She is no lady, he needs a real woman.’

‘How does he put up with her, she’s so annoying!!’

Your eyes fighting the tears that wanted to fall. You know these are just stupid words but they sting like a thousand knives into your heart.

“Darling?” You heard Harry’s voice boom through the flat as you hurried to exit out of that tab and wipe any tears that may have fallen. Harry walked into the dimly lit room with that cheesy, adorable smile that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

That smile drops quickly when he notices your face. Your red eyes, your puffy cheeks, you were biting your lip in that way that tells him you’re nervous. He quickly dropped his bag on the floor and walked (more like ran) over to you instinctively wrapping his arm around your waist underneath your thick hoodie. 

The cold of his hand making you gasp but quickly relax to his soft touch.

“Sweetheart, are you alright? What’s wrong?” His face was worried. His blue eyes filled with concern, his voice was wobbly. He knew something was deeply wrong. You never got this way. You were strong, independent, determined- if something upset you, you brushed it off. This was unlike you.

Of course you’ve received hate comments before and they just fall off you like nothing, but this, this was different.

It wasn’t just about you anymore.

It was about him.

It was about how you made him look.

You love him, with your entire soul. You couldn’t imagine living a life without him anymore. But you didn’t want to burden him.

“We need to break up.” You said sharply. You didn’t hesitate because if you did, the dam would burst and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

“What…” His voice said, a slight break in his tone. He didn’t think he heard you right. He must have misheard you. He knows you love him and he knows he greatly loves you. His ears must have tricked him.

“We can’t date anymore.” You repeated your sentiment, this time trying to pronounce your words carefully, trying to say this more coldly- trying to get your message across clearly.

“Darling.” He began, grabbing your hand in his but you tugged it away harshly. It hurt you. It physically, emotionally, and mentally pained you to behave this way.

“What happened? Did I do something?” His words almost made your heart almost stop. The thought that he thought he was the reason made you ache.

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You brain scanned any idea you could make up for this but just found the easiest, most simple phrase in the book. “I need to go.” You said, feeling the dam about to burst. You grabbed your bag and your laptop and made your way to the door.

He grabbed your hand making you turn to him. His blue eyes filled with tears, his lip trembling, his cheeks a light shade of pink.

“We can talk about this.” He pleaded.

“What is there to talk about Harry!?” You shrieked. “I am not right for you. I never have been and I never will be. You need to find someone else, someone better.” Your voice wavered.

“Is that what you think?” He croaked. He gently tugged you closer.

“That you are not right? There is NO other person for me, reader. It is only you. You are right, the best- you are perfect. You are everything, my everything. If you leave me here now, I don’t think I can live anymore. I don’t think I could breath, or sleep or eat, or just about live. If you are not right then I cannot exist.” He finished, breathless. His face filled with hot tears, his ears red, his face fiery with emotion. 

The dam burst. 

You felt hot tears stream down your face as you fell to your knees, your legs no longer able to support yourself. Harry fell with you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. His hands wiping your tears as his, rolled down his jaw onto his shirt.

“Harry.” You said, your voice just above a whisper.

“Darling, please don’t leave me. I love you. I need you.” His forehead pressed gently against yours as he stared down as your hands intertwined. 

“Whatever the matter is, we can talk about it and fix everything. I just.. I just need you here by my side.” 

“I can’t be a burden, Harry. I need you to know that I can’t pull you down.”

“What are you talking about? You never have, you never will.”

“They talk, they won’t like you if we stay together.”

“They can say whatever they want. We have each other.”

“I can’t.” He put his finger under your chin, pulling your face up gently so that you are inches apart.

“I can’t be without you. I will leave with you. If that’s what it takes, I will end my career online and we will buy a farm where we will have sheep and pigs and we will grow old in the countryside.” 

You laughed lightly. He always had this dream of running away to the countryside and owning a farm where he tends his livestock and his garden. You’ve always fancied that idea but it isn’t realistic for him right now.

“That’s ridiculous Harry. Everyone loves you. They won’t let you go that easily, I wouldn’t let you do it.”

“Then stay with me, like this, and we will overcome this together.” There was a sparkle in his eye. That sparkle that only lit up when he was looking at you. Your heart skipped a beat. You remembered the moment you fell in love with him and you fell deeper in love with him in this moment. You sighed deeply, thinking about what your future could become if you stay with him.

Your love for Harry is much stronger than those comments.

“Okay.” That simple four letter word made him jump with joy as he stood up and pulled you along with him. He picked you up in his arms bridal style, spinning around in a circle. A wide smile on his face as you squealed and laughed at his joy. 

He stopped and planted a passionate kiss to your lips, your fingers interlacing themselves in his blonde locks where they belong.

In the end, that’s all you two need. Each other.

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme, @tyna-19, @lovinqbella, @sundarksposts, @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @writer-jamie @shiftngdiaries @bambilenny @paynquees @obaltineobyss @lxzzxebunny

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝑪𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒔 ➛ 𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌⎯୧

summary: you get sick on the night you and arthur have plans but he stays behind to take care of you | Arthur x fem!reader

notes: i love a classic sick fic! based on this request!

content: fluff, reader has a fever/flu, arthur being a sweetheart

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at  @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things @l3nney

You know you’re not going the second you open your eyes. 

Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, your throat is raw, and your limbs are heavy in a way that feels like a task you need to emotionally prepare for. The room is dim, curtains half drawn, and the invitation that’s stuck to the fridge flashed in your mind like a cruel joke – dressing fancy, smiles, standing around pretending you care about small talk. 

Arthur had been excited about tonight, not buzzing exactly, but he’s mentioned it more than once, checked the time, laid out a shirt on the chair so he wouldn’t stress last minute. 

You sit up anyway, stubborn, and immediately regret it. 

The world tilts. Your stomach rolls. You flop back down with a groan just as the bedroom door opens. 

Arthur appears, hair still messy, still in pyjamas, holding two mugs, both steaming. 

“I’m not going,” you croak out.

He blinks. “Morning to you too.”

You gesture weakly at yourself. “I’m dying.” 

Arthur sets the mugs down and crosses the room to you, sitting on the edge of the bed. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, frowning immediately.

“You’re burning up.”

“I know,” you mumble. “I can feel my soul leaving my body.” 

“You’re very dramatic,” he says, gently teasing, then softer, “You’ve got a fever.” 

You sigh, turning your face into the pillow. “I’m sorry. You should go. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep. And drink water. And text you if I actually die. 

He snorts, but you hear his phone unlock. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, suspicious. 

“Texting George that we won’t be there tonight.”

Your eyes fly open. “Arthur- no. Don’t. You’ve been talking about this all week.”

He pauses, looks at you over his phone, genuinely confused. “Yeah, but you’re sick.”

“I’ll be asleep,” you insist. “You could go for like… two hours. It’s important.” 

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, warm and slow. 

“I don’t want to,” he says simply, like that’s the end of the discussion.

And it is. 

Arthur moves through the flat like he’s on a mission. 

He googles best tea for sore throats, then ignores the result and makes the same honey-lemon concoction he always does. He brings you plain toast because you can’t eat anything else and helps you sit up to eat it like you’re made of glass. 

Every time you try to move, he’s there. 

“Where are you going?”

“To the toilet,”

“I’ll walk you.”

“Arthur, I can walk.” 

“You nearly fainted earlier.” 

“I stood up too fast.” 

“That’s faint adjacent.” 

He tucks you back into bed after, like you’re a child, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders and pressing another kiss to your temple. The television plays something low and quiet while he sits beside you, laptop balanced on his knee, one hand resting on yours.

You fall asleep without realising. 

When you wake up, there’s a cold cloth on your forehead and Arthur’s gently wiping your face, careful like you might break if he’s too rough. 

“Arthur?” you mumble.

“Mm?”

“You’re really not going?”

He meets your eyes, thumb brushing your cheek.

“I’m right here, love.”

Later, when the fever dips enough that your brain breaks through the haze, guilt creeps in. 

You watch him from the sofa, curled into his side, as he types something on his laptop with one hand and keeps the other wrapped around you like an anchor. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” you whisper. 

Arthur looks down at you like you’ve said something completely unhinged. 

“You’re my night,” he says, without hesitation. Then, after a beat, adds, “Also, those events are boring. You just saved me from talking to people I don’t like.”

You laugh, which immediately turns into a cough. 

He’s already holding out water. 

“See?” he says gently. “Worth it.”

Your eyes sting a little, and you decide to blame it on the fever. 

“Thank you for staying,” you say quietly.

He kisses your hair. “Always.”

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒆 ➛ 𝑱𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒕⎯୧

summary: you surprise James at the last show of his tour | James x fem!reader

notes: my first james fic!!! hope you enjoy him :) based on this request!

content: fluff

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at  @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things @l3nney

James had already made his peace with it. 

Not happily, but quietly. In the way you do when you’re too tired to fight disappointment anymore. 

The venue is loud even before the doors open, the kind of hum that seeps into his bones. Final show of tour. Last night of living out of a suitcase, last night of adrenaline crashes and post-show silence, last night of everything being too much and not enough at the same time. 

And you’re not here.

You told him weeks ago you wouldn’t be able to make it. Work commitments, travel, timing – all of it stacked up in a way that made it impossible. He’d pretended it was fine. Had meant it, mostly. 

Still, he checked his phone before soundcheck anyway. Just in case. 

Nothing. 

Now he’s pacing backstage, guitar warm against his shoulder, crowd noise bleeding through the walls. He runs through the setlist in his head like muscle memory will keep him steady. 

Will claps him on the shoulder. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” James says. “You’re being weird, by the way.”

He’s been hovering all afternoon, offering help he doesn’t usually offer, asking questions that don’t really need answers. Every time James asks where his family are sitting tonight, Will just shrugs and goes, “Sorted, mate. Don’t stress.”

So when Will grins and says, “Am I?” James narrows his eyes.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Will says far too quickly. “Go play your show.”

The lights drop before James can push it. 

The crowd erupts. 

He steps out on stage and lets instinct take over – voice strong, nerves dissolving into sound. The first few songs fly by. He’s locked in, sweating, smiling, alive.

Between songs, he glances up toward the balcony. 

He doesn’t expect to see anything different. Just silhouettes, waving arms, maybe his mum leaning forward like she always does, eyes bright.

And then- 

He sees you. 

For half a second, his brain refuses to process it. 

You’re standing with his family, tucked into the balcony section like you’ve always belonged there. His mum’s got an arm around your shoulder. His sister is leaning in to say something that makes you laugh. You’re here. 

Looking right at him. 

James stops breathing. 

The room tilts.

His fingers fumble the next chord, just slightly, enough that he hears it. His mouth opens before his brain can catch up. 

“Oh-” he laughs into the mic, stunned. “Okay, hold on. Sorry. Sorry. I just-”

The crowd laughs, thinking it’s a bit. 

James is staring at you like he’s seeing a ghost. 

You lift your hand in a small wave, grinning, eyes shiny with the thrill of finally being caught. He swallows hard, shakes his head, breathes out a disbelieving laugh. 

He’s barely holding it together. 

Will, watching from the side of the stage, gives him a subtle thumbs-up. 

The rest of the set feels unreal. James plays on autopilot, but every time he looks up, you’re there – clapping, singing, leaning into his mum during the slower songs. It feels intimate in a way that nearly undoes him.

This wasn’t a coincidence. 

You planned this. 

When the final song ends, James barely hears the applause. He bows, waves, mouths a quick what the fucktoward Will, then disappears backstage the second he can. 

He doesn’t even make it to the green room before he sees you. 

You’re already there, slipping through the corridor with his family, trying not to laugh at how fast he’s moving toward you. 

“You’re evil,” he says breathlessly, hands immediately finding your waist. “You’re actually evil.”

You grin. “Hi.”

“Hi?” he laughs, a little hysterical. “You told me you couldn’t come.”

“I couldn’t,” you say softly. “Not without help.”

He looks past you, suddenly understanding. “Will.”

“Will,” you confirm.

James drops his forehead to yours, eyes closed. “I saw you with my mum.”

“She’s very welcoming,” you say. “Told me where to stand so you’d see me.”

He exhales a shaky laugh. “I nearly forgot how to play guitar.”

“That explains it,” you tease him gently. 

“Don’t,” he groans, then pulls you into a hug so tight it knocks the air out of both of you. “You have no idea what that meant to me.”

You press your face into his shoulder. “I wanted you to finish tour knowing I was here. With them. With you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft, voice quieter now. 

“Thank you for doing this. For surprising me.”

You smile. “Wouldn’t miss your last show.” 

James kisses you then – slow and full of relief. Applause echoes faintly from outside, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours again. “Best night of tour.”

“Even with your entire family watching?”

“Especially,” he says. “Because you were with them.”

And for the first time since tour began, James feels like everything has come full circle – music, family, love – all in one room, all exactly where they’re meant to be. 

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒇 ➛ 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑳𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒚⎯୧

summary: you challenge chef will at every turn, what happens when the line between professionalism and want finally disappears? | Will x fem!reader

notes: HE'S HERE!!! finally posting the first part of after service, hope you enjoy the sneak peeks of the other guys :) who do you want next?

content: 4.2k wc, waitress!reader, some fluff, workplace tension, power imbalance, jealousy, swearing, sexual content, slight angst, unprotected sex (dont do this!!!), oral f!receiving, slight dom will

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at  @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things

series masterlist

Will Lenney didn’t have time for distractions. 

That was the rule he lived by. The one that kept Side Table running the way it did. Precision, discipline, control. The kitchen was his domain, and every service was a performance that demanded everything he had. 

Which was why you were a problem. 

He heard you before he saw you. Laughter drifted through the pass, light and deliberate, pitched just right for the table you were working. Will’s jaw tightened as he plated, fingers moving automatically as his attention flicked toward the dining room. 

You were flirting again. 

Not recklessly. Never sloppy. You knew exactly what you were doing - the easy smile, the lean-in, the laugh at something that wasn’t that funny.

You played the role beautifully, and guests loved you for it. Tips reflected that fact. 

Will hated it. 

“Will.” 

He didn’t look up. “What?” 

Chris leaned against the pass, arms crossed, watching the floor like it was live theatre, but still keeping an eye on the running of things. “Your waitress is at it again.” 

“She’s not my waitress.” Will snapped, sharper than intended. 

But Chris wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. 

You’d been here six months – long enough to become part of the rhythm of the place, long enough that Will could remember exactly when it started. The first time you’d argued over a table modification. The first time you’d rolled your eyes at him and still done it his way. The first time you’d smiled like you knew something and he didn’t. 

The cat-and-mouse game had been an accident at first. A clash of personalities. Control versus confidence. You’d pushed back when he snapped. He doubled down when you didn’t fold. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about the food and started being about you. 

Will had noticed long before he’d admitted it to himself. The way you lingered at the pass. The way you always found a reason to be in the kitchen during the rush. The way you flirted just enough to make him think it was for him – and then made sure he saw you do it for everyone else, too. 

You’d noticed even earlier.

He knew that now. Knew it in the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking. In the way you smiled when he lost his patience with you. In the way you never once stopped pushing, no matter how sharp his tone got, no matter how often he told himself you were just another waitress who liked pushing buttons. 

This wasn’t new. 

This was delayed. 

Six months of glances held too long, of eyes catching at the pass and staying there half a second longer than they should. Of arguments that ended in silence, the kind that followed him for hours, replaying in his head while he chopped, stirred and plated. Of tension that lived in the space between your hands when plates were passed, close enough that he could feel your warmth, close enough that pulling away felt like losing. 

Six months of him wanting you and refusing to say it.

Six months of you knowing and waiting. 

So when Chris raised an eyebrow, smirked and said, “Could’ve fooled me,” Will had no defence. 

Instead, he ignored him, focusing on the dish in front of him. The kitchen hummed around him - pans sizzling, orders being called, the constant motion that grounded him. It was easier when he kept his eyes down. 

But then you laughed again. 

Something in his chest twisted, hot and unpleasant. He told himself it was embarrassment. That was the word he used. Professional concern. Image. A high-end restaurant didn’t need theatrics.  

You breezed through the swing doors, moments later, order pad in hand, still glowing from whatever charm you’d just deployed on an unsuspecting customer. 

“Table twelve needs another round,” you said brightly. “But they wanted to say the food is incredible.” 

Will didn’t look at you. “They would.” 

You lingered anyway. You always did. Leaned against the counter like you belonged there. 

“Everything alright, Chef?” you asked, voice innocent. 

He glanced up then, meeting your eyes. There was a glint there - knowing, amused - like you could see straight through him. 

“It’s embarrassing,” he said flatly. 

Your smile didn’t falter. “What is?” 

“The way you carry on out there,” he continued, plating with more force than necessary. “Practically whoring yourself out for a couple extra quid.” 

The kitchen went quiet. 

Even the pans seemed to stop sizzling. Someone dropped a spoon. Will became acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the kitchen, of the way his words hung in the air, ugly and impossible to take back – and still, embarrassingly, true. 

Arthur Hill let out a low “Jesus” before Arthur Frederick elbowed him hard. 

You didn’t react the way he expected. No anger. No defensiveness. No tears. Just a slow tilt of your head, eyes never leaving his.

“You don’t look very embarrassed.” 

Will’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious.” 

“So am I,” you replied. “And last time I checked, my job is to make customers happy.” 

You leaned closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. 

“And anyway, you watch every time.” 

His hands stilled, fingers locking around the edge of the counter like if he let go, he’d reach for you instead. 

For a moment, the kitchen faded away in his mind. All he could see was you - confident, infuriating, entirely too aware of the effect you had on him. 

His hands were gripping the counter so hard that the edge was digging into his hands. “Get back on the floor,” he said tightly. 

You straightened, unbothered and said sweetly, “Yes, chef.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Service dragged after that. 

Will threw himself into the work, barking orders sharper than usual, correcting things that didn’t need correcting. He hated the way his focus fractured every time you passed the doors, the way his eyes followed you despite himself. 

He hated that Chris noticed when he was in the kitchen.

“Mate,” Chris said later, quieter now. “You’re glaring holes through the pass.”

Will wiped his hands aggressively. “She’s unprofessional.” 

“She’s good at her job,” Chris countered. “And you’re jealous.” 

Will shot him a look. “I’m not jealous.” 

Chris smirked. “Sure.”

By the time last orders were called, Will was wound tight. You hadn’t come back into the kitchen once since your argument, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. 

When service finally slowed, he found you leaning against the bar, counting tips with a satisfied little smile. 

George caught his eye and wisely disappeared. 

Will approached, voice low. “We need to talk.” 

You glanced up. “About what?”

“About earlier.” 

You hummed. “Didn’t seem like you wanted a discussion.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I wanted you to stop.” 

You stood, tucking your money away. “And I wanted you to be honest.” 

He scoffed. “I was.” 

“No,” you said calmly. “You were jealous.” 

The words landed between you, heavy.

Will stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You like winding me up.” 

“I like that you pretend you don’t like it,” you replied.

The bar was empty now. Chairs stacked. Lights dimmed. But he knew Chris and Harry were still hanging around somewhere before lock-up. 

“Come with me,” Will said abruptly.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Where?” 

“The walk-in,” he replied. “Now.” 

You didn’t hesitate. 

The door shut behind you with a solid, unmistakable click.

The sound was final. Private. The kind of noise that made Will’s spine straighten instinctively, every rule he lived by flaring like a warning in his head. 

Cold rushed in immediately, sharp and clean, biting through his jacket. The walk-in hummed around them, shelves stacked high, metal and plastic and the faint scent of herbs and citrus. It should have grounded him. 

It didn’t. 

You turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the low light, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to look. No pass to hide behind. No tickets to focus on. Just you, standing too close already, like you knew exactly how little space he had left.

“You think this is a game,” he said, and it came out rougher than he meant. 

You tilted your head, studying him. “I think you don’t like sharing my attention.” 

That hit somewhere low in his chest. Ugly. Honest.

He laughed once, breathless, the sound sharp in the cold air. “You flirt with half the restaurant.” 

“And you hate it,” you said softly.

“Yes,” he snapped. Then quieter, “because I want it.” 

The words hung between you, raw and undeniable. 

You stepped closer. 

Not touching. Not yet. 

Close enough that he could feel your heat against the chill, close enough that every inch of restraint he had left went tight and screaming. He didn’t move. He couldn’t trust himself to. 

“Then stop pretending you don’t.” 

His hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers brushing your waist like it was instinct. His thumb flexed, barely, as if it was testing whether this was real. 

“Say the word,” he murmured, voice low and uneven. “And I’ll walk away.” 

You didn’t say it.

Instead, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm against skin that was already on fire. “You’re not very good at letting go of control, are you, chef?” 

His grip tightened, the shelves digging into his back behind him like he needed something solid to keep him upright.

“Don’t,” he warned, but there was no weight to it. No authority. Just want.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Or what?”

That was it. 

Will kissed you like he’s been holding his breath for six months and finally let himself exhale.

Controlled at first, but it broke almost instantly, turning desperate and messy and full of everything he hadn’t let himself say. His hands found you like they had been waiting, sliding to your waist, your back, pulling you closer until the cold disappeared entirely. 

You made a soft sound into his mouth, and he almost lost it right there. 

When he pulled back, it was only because he had to breathe. Foreheads touching. Breath uneven. Hands still gripping you like letting go might undo everything. 

“We shouldn’t,” he said, the lie weak even to his own ears. 

You smiled. “You don’t sound convinced.”

The door rattled faintly as someone passed outside. Reality crept in, unwelcome and sharp. 

Will closed his eyes for a second. Then he forced himself to step back. 

“Go home,” he said hoarsely. “Before I do something I can’t undo.” 

You nodded, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Tomorrow night?”

His smile was dangerous now. Unrestrained. 

“Tomorrow night.”

He watched you leave, heart pounding, already knowing that next time, he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

The next day is unbearable.

Will knows it the second you step onto the floor.

You’re already in character – smile bright, posture open, voice pitched just right as you greet your first table. You move like you’re performing, like you know you’re being watched. Like you want him to watch.

And he does. 

Every time you lean closer to a guest. 

Every time you laugh and touch someone’s arm. 

Every time you tilt your head and play sweet and charming, entirely too aware of the effect you have. 

It’s worse than before. 

Because now he knows exactly how you taste. His hands have memorised the shape of your waist, and he knows what you feel like pressed against him. 

“Will,” Arthur Frederick says, scrubbing furiously at a pot. “You good?” 

“Yes,” Will snaps, sharper than intended. 

Arthur Hill glances between Will and the pass, then toward the floor. “Really? Cause your eyes doing that twitchy thing again, and you look like you’re gonna crack your teeth with how hard you’re clenching your jaw.” 

Arthur looks away from his pot and stares at him like he’s crazy. “Dude!?”

“What?” He says incredulously, like he genuinely thought he was helping. 

Will exhales through his nose and focuses on the plates in front of him. He tells himself it’s fine. That this is exactly what he complained about before. That he practically asked for this. 

Then you appear in the kitchen. 

“You’re smashing it tonight, Chef,” you say brightly, eyes flicking over him in a way that is anything but innocent. “Table six wants to personally thank you.” 

“They can thank the food,” he replies.

You lean closer, lowering your voice. “They want to thank you.”

His grip tightens on the tongs. 

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head straight back out, hips swaying just enough that it can’t be accidental.

Chris watches you go, then looks at Will. 

“She’s doing that on purpose,” he says. 

Will doesn’t deny it.

The rest of the shift becomes a test of endurance.

You flirt shamelessly. With regulars. With new guests. With people Will knows don’t stand a chance. You play it up, laugh louder, lean further, let your hand linger just a second longer than necessary when you take menus back. 

Every time you pass the kitchen doors, you look at him.

Not too obviously. Just enough. 

The looks say you see this?

They say you remember last night? 

They say you’re going to pay for that comment. 

By the time last orders are called, Will is wound so tight it’s almost painful. 

You float into the kitchen at the end of your shift to drop off your apron, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. 

“Good service,” you say airily. “You seemed… distracted.”

He glares at you. “You’re enjoying this.” 

You smile. Slow. Satisfied. “Maybe.” 

“Get changed,” he says, voice low. “Go home.”

You step closer instead. “Last I checked, you’re not my boss. I report to Chris, not you.”

The kitchen and restaurant begin to empty. George heads out first. The Arthurs trail behind, arguing about something stupid and trivial as they go. Chris follows not long after, calling a casual goodnight. 

Harry leaves the keys on his way out, trusting Will to finish closing. 

The restaurant exhales.

The last of the noise drains away – the hum of voices, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of glass – leaving behind a silence that feels heavy and charged. Will stands still, very aware of you in his space. 

Just the two of you.  

“You pushed all night,” he says quietly, finally turning to face you.

You untie your apron, unhurried, folding it with deliberate care. “You told me to stop before. You didn’t today.” 

“That’s because”, he says, stepping closer, “I was trying not to drag you into the walk-in halfway through service.”

Your eyes darken. “Trying?”

The words feel like a challenge.

He’s right in front of you now – close enough to see the faint flush on your cheeks, close enough that your perfume cuts through the lingering smell of disinfectant and metal in the kitchen. There’s no one left to pretend for. No one left to stop him. 

“You wanted to wind me up,” he says, voice low. “Congratulations. You did.” 

“And now?” you ask, soft but steady.

He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist – not rough, but firm. Anchoring. Claiming. His thumb presses into your pulse, and he feels how fast it’s racing.

“Now,” he says, releasing you slowly. “Everyone’s gone.” 

Your breath catches. Just once. That’s all he needs.

He steps back, forcing space between you like it’s the last good decision he’ll make tonight. 

“This is your last chance,” he says. “If you walk out that door, we forget this ever happened.”

You look at him for a long moment. 

Then you turn. 

Not to leave – but to the door.

You reach up, fingers wrapping around the lock Harry left half-turned, and twist. 

The click is loud in the empty restaurant. Final. A choice made out loud.

Will laughs under his breath, something dark and unrestrained finally snapping loose in his chest.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

You step back into his space, close enough that he can feel the heat of you again, voice low and sure.

“Neither do you.” 

His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb brushing your lip, slow and deliberate now, like he’s taking his time on purpose.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been waiting all night.” 

Will doesn’t kiss you this time – he claims you.

His mouth finds yours like it’s been denied too long, hands already moving, already sure, already done pretending this is anything other than inevitable. You barely have time to react before you’re pressed back against the counter, his body boxing you in, voice low and dangerous against your lips. 

“Come on, be a good girl for me now?” he murmurs, like he knows you won’t listen – and like he’s counting on it. 

You try to answer him, but when his fingers brush against your damp underwear under your skirt, it comes out in a broken noise, breath catching when his grip tightens on your arm just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“You’re soaking already, sweetheart.” He says teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix this for you.” 

He lifts you, so you’re sitting on the countertop, leaning back on your hands, and lowers himself so he’s level with your already aching core. You can feel his breath hot against you, making you squirm around and very close to begging for it. 

Will drags your underwear down your legs torturously slow, then stuffs them in his back pocket, sending you a smirk. 

Before you could respond to that, Will leaned in to lick your slit. 

“Oh fuck,” you cried out, head thrown back, arms nearly giving out with the shock of pleasure. 

He uses his long fingers to push through your folds and slips one into your embarrassingly wet hole, tongue attached to your clit. He takes his time in a way that almost feels cruel, making you feel every second of it, every inch of anticipation, making that string inside you stretch thin. 

His hands hold your thighs in place around his head, steady and unyielding, while his mouth memorises the taste of you, nose nudging your sensitive clit as his tongue dips into you. 

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter without thinking, knuckles whitening. Whines and broken noises escape your lips. The faintest hint of satisfaction shows in the way his grip tightens, but his pace never changes.

“Look at you all, desperate.” He says, pulling his mouth away, but still pumping his fingers in and out. “If I knew this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done this ages ago.”

“Sh- shut up,” you say weakly. Gasping as he hit that spot deep inside you. 

“That’s not very nice, honey is it?” 

He returns his lips to your drooling pussy, and you let out a whine. You were practically humping his face, and when Will’s tongue moved even faster, you moved your hands to grip his hair and began to press his face deeper into your folds. 

“Fuck, Will, yes, so close,” you groaned out, legs shaking as he moved his mouth to suck hard on your clit. After only a few more swipes and licks of his tongue, you could feel yourself on the edge. 

When you try to speak, to warn him, to say his name, he hums softly instead, a quiet, controlled sound that tells you he’s exactly where he wants to be.

“Go on, sweetheart, cum for me.” You finally let go, shaking as you do, and Will holds you as you fall apart. 

When you finally stop shaking, Will stands from his place on the floor slowly, giving you a second to catch your breath. 

But his hands don’t leave you. They slide up, steady and smooth, thumbs brushing reassurance into your skin even as his eyes stay dark and focused, watching you like he’s checking for something only he can see. For a moment, he just holds you there, breathing heavy, forehead resting briefly against yours like he needs the contact to steady himself too. 

“Look at me,” he says quietly. 

You do, and his grip tightens just a fraction, approval flickering across his face like he’s pleased with what he sees. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and certain. 

Then his hands move again, guiding you to lean back on the counter. 

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and rough with restraint. “Not done with you yet,” he says softly, unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down. 

You reach towards him, freeing his cock from his underwear. 

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckles down at you, capturing your lips in a kiss where you can taste yourself on his tongue, while he lines himself up at your entrance. 

“Please, Will.” You finally beg, and he pushes into you, stealing your breath away. 

“There you go, pretty girl.” 

He starts slow at first. Deliberate. Dragging his cock in and out of your walls like a punishment for every time you teased him, every time you smiled at someone else just to make him lose his mind. His voice drops again, closer now, and when he says your name, it sounds like it’s been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting.

“Still want to play?” He asks teasingly, breath warm against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck. 

Your breath stutters, and he notices, smiling like he’s been waiting for that reaction. He reaches up to fondle your tits, making more pathetic noises fall from your lips and echo in the empty kitchen. 

The steel counter is cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat building everywhere else, and you squeeze around his cock hard.

The control he’s been holding onto slips, not completely but enough that his breath stutters, enough that the brutal rhythm changes. The sound you make pulls a groan out of him, low and rough, and he presses closer instinctively, forehead dropping to your shoulder. 

“Fuck”, he breathes out. 

You feel him lose the careful pacing, the way he finally stops dragging it out, thrusts turning needier, and everything narrows down to sensation, pressure, and the way he keeps you close. His hands slide to your back, holding you through it. 

You moan out again. “Will– fuck- I’m gonna-”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

You finally cum for the second time that night, and Will follows soon after, hips stuttering as he releases into you. 

Will rests his forehead against yours for a second, eyes closed, your breath mingling, like he’s grounding himself before he moves at all.

When he does it’s careful. Unhurried. He guides you off the counter and down with him, hands warm and steady, until you’re both sitting on the floor.  

The kitchen floor is cold. 

Or it should be – but you barely notice, curled into Will’s side with his jacket half-draped over you both, the faint hum of the fridges filling the quiet. The lights are dimmed, the world reduced to his breathing and warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. 

One arm is wrapped around you, firm but easy now, thumb tracing absent-minded lines along your arm, the other hand is tangled in your hair, gentle in a way that feels new – careful, almost reverent. 

You feel safe. 

Not in a this changes everything way. 

Just… steady. Warm. 

It’s nice you think – the quiet after the storm. The way the tension has finally burned itself out into something softer, something easier to breathe in, 

Will presses his lips to the top of your head without thinking about it. 

You smile and let yourself melt a little more into his side. 

For once, there’s nothing to prove. 

The next few days at work feel… different. 

Not dramatic. Just shifted. Like the air has settled into a new shape around the two of you. 

Will’s calmer. 

Not soft but less sharp around the edges, less quick to snap when things go slightly wrong. He still runs the kitchen like a drill sergeant, but there’s a looseness to him now, like he’s not carrying quite so much tension in his shoulders anymore. 

And everyone notices. 

You catch him looking for you without realising he’s doing it – eyes flicking to the floor when he thinks no one’s watching, hands stilling for half a second when you pass the doors. He doesn’t shout at you anymore, not once. Just meets your eyes, smiles slightly, lets you get on with work. 

It’s almost worse than the arguing was.

Arthur Frederick is the first to say something. 

“So,” he says one afternoon, scrubbing a pan that’s already clean, while you linger in the kitchen on your break, his eyes darting between the two of you. “You and Chef got, like… a truce or something? Because he smiled earlier, and it was terrifying.”

Will doesn’t even look up.

“Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do your job.”

Arthur Hill snorts from the other side of the sink. “There he is.”

Will finally looks up, glare sharp and familiar. “Would you like to join him?”

Both Arthurs immediately shut up, returning to their work with exaggerated focus. 

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

Later, when you pass the kitchen, Will catches your wrist briefly – quick enough that no one sees – just long enough to brush his thumb against your skin. 

“Dinner tonight?” he murmurs. 

You nod, and he smiles. 

The cat-and-mouse game is over, and somewhere between service and silence, you found something worth keeping.

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝑮𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔 ➛ 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑳𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒚⎯୧

summary: you have a crush on will and hate it | Will x fem!reader

notes: inspired by the one and only t swizzle!

content: crushing, alcohol consumption, fluff

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at  @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things

You decide very early on that tonight is going to be about self-control.

That is the lie you tell yourself while fixing your makeup in the bathroom mirror, pressing your lips together and whispering, Get a grip. Because Will Lenney is going to be there, and you are, unfortunately, painfully aware of how that affects you. 

It’s annoying, really. The crush you have on him. The way your stomach does that stupid swoopy thing when he laughs, or when he leans in too close to hear you over music, or when he says your name like it’s familiar. Like it belongs to him. 

So you make a rule. 

You will talk to everyone at this party. 

Just not him. 

You clock him the second you walk in, and something inside you goes tight and sharp like a pulled thread. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing at something someone says, head tipped back, eyes crinkled in that stupid, unfair way that makes him look like he knows he’s attractive but pretends he doesn’t.

You have to physically look away.

Because you’ve been doing so well. Ignoring the feeling, pretending it’s nothing, telling yourself it’s just a crush, just proximity, just your brain being stupid. 

And then he smiles like that.

You grab a drink and down half of it in one go, throwing yourself into conversation with the first person who makes eye contact. Then another. Then another. You laugh a little too loud. You insert yourself into conversations you barely care about. You become a version of yourself that’s sharper around the edges, quicker to snap, quicker to joke. 

You are not thinking about Will Lenney. 

Except you are. 

Every time someone mentions his name, your stomach twists. Every time he laughs, it lands somewhere deep in your chest. You tell yourself you hate him a little. That helps. Sort of. 

You hate that you notice. 

You hate that you care. 

By the time you’re two drinks in, the edge of your self-control has dulled. By three, the anger has softened into something else. By four, you’re warm all over, limbs loose, tongue a little too free. 

Someone brings up accents. 

You don’t even remember how it happens – just that you’re sitting on the arm of a sofa, drink balanced loosely in your hand, surrounded by people who are half-listening at best. 

“And then he said,” you’re saying grinning, already laughing. “In that weird accent of his.”

Someone perks up. “Whose accent?”

You tilt your head, pretend to think. “Oh, you know. Will’s.”

Across the room, Will’s head snaps up. 

You don’t see it. 

“He says things like-” you drop your voice into a bad imitation, exaggerated and playful, “why aye man, that’s lush, like.”

Laughter erupts around you at the impression. 

You’re laughing too, tipsy and giddy and absolutely not considering the consequences of your actions. “It’s mad because everything sounds like a joke when he says it. He could be confessing to a crime, and I’d be like, ‘Aw, that’s cute.’”

There’s more laughter. A friend nudged you. “You like him, then?”

Your stomach flips.

You scoff immediately. “What? No. God, no.”

You take a sip of your drink too quickly. “He’s just- annoyingly good-looking. It’s rude.”

There’s a beat.

Then, from somewhere behind you, closer than you expect-

“Glad to know my existence is such an inconvenience.” 

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn. 

Will is standing right there. 

Too close. Close enough that you can smell his aftershave – something warm and clean. Close enough that you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, the curve of his mouth fighting a smile. 

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment tangled with something sharper.

“Oh my God,” you say weakly. “I was- joking?”

“Mm,” he hums. “Sounds convincing.”

The people around you suddenly find somewhere else to be. The moment stretches, awkward and buzzing and painfully intimate. 

You cross your arms defensively. “You weren’t meant to hear that.” 

“Well,” he says lightly, “I did. And now I’m devastated.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I think you’ll live.”

“Barely,” he replies. “Might have to retire the accent.”

“That would be tragic,” you shoot back before you can stop yourself.

His grin widens. “Oh?”

You curse yourself internally. 

The lights dim slightly as someone switches to a slower song. The room shifts – less chaotic, more close-knit. Shadows gather in corners. Conversations lower. 

You should move away. 

Instead, you stay. 

Will steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve been avoiding me all night.” 

Your heart stutters. “Have I?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Talked to everyone else though. Impressive effort, but I missed you.”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Didn’t notice.”

“Liar,” he murmurs.

The music pulses softly around you. The world feels smaller, narrower, like it’s just the two of you in this dim, humming space. 

He reaches out then – not boldly, not possessively. Just enough.

His fingers brush against your hand. 

It’s accidental. That’s what it could be. What it should be.

But neither of you pulls away. 

Your breath catches, 

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, thumb grazing the side of your hand, sending sparks straight up your arm. “Because you’ve been glaring at me like I’ve personally wronged you.” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m just… mad at myself.” 

“For what?”

You hesitate. The truth sits right there, heavy and tempting. 

“For… liking you.”

His hand stills. 

Then he laughs – soft, surprised. “Is that so?” 

You look away, embarrassed now, alcohol loosening your honesty. “Don’t get a big head.”

“Bit late for that,” he teases gently.

There’s a pause. The music swells. Someone cheers in the distance.

Will leans in, voice low. “You know, you could’ve just talked to me.” 

You meet his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you could stop mocking my accent.”

“No promises.”

He smiles at that – really smiles. The kind that makes your chest ache.

His fingers tighten around yours, just slightly - not possessive, just secure. “You’re hard work, you know that?”

You smile back, helpless and warm and far too gone. “You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it. 

[sdmnpact]

⋆౨ৎ Dear Diary. (2023) ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Arthur Frederick x Reader ~ fluff

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ Your diary entries about how you and Arthur fell in love.

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ a/n: Another Arthur fic! I started writing this with the idea that it was like a time piece based on the way they talk, I was thinking Bridgerton but modernized it? It turned into something else, I don't know it's weird but I love it and I hope you do too!

9/24/23

Dear Diary,

I saw him today. He had sweet brown eyes that I could just melt into, big and brown like a deer almost, with curly brown locks that sat on his forehead perfectly. He’s quite the handsome fellow. He walked into our bakery today and ordered a coffee with creamer and one blueberry scone. His voice was raspy but the nature he spoke with was intelligent. He sounds very studious and he is very courteous. He left a five pound note in the tip jar. It was strange the way my heart began to flutter the moment I heard the bells above the door ring and I saw his face. His smile is warm and he has this aura about him that just radiates sunshine. I hope I see him again soon.

9/25/23

Dear Diary,

I saw him again! I couldn’t believe it. I thought I would never see him again but I did. He wore a green jumper and some black slacks. His hair was especially messy and curly today. His doe-like eyes were just as big and brown as I remember. He ordered a coffee with creamer and a lemon scone this time. I didn’t get to tend to him since I’m always in the back of the shop but Peter tended to him. I tried to get details out of him about the lad but he wouldn’t tell me. I told Ma and she just laughed but Pa did tell Peter to quote ‘throw me a bone’. He explained how the lad had just moved into the neighborhood and heard that our bakery was a local staple. I tried to get more out of Peter but he just made fun of me. I hate having a brother sometimes.

9/26/23

Dear Diary,

He came in today. I didn’t go into the bakery because I had my other things to tend to but Peter told me, my ‘boyfriend’ had come in again. He told me that the lad had asked about me but I think he was just messing with me. There’s no way he could have seen me. Or could he have? There’s a small cut out between the till and the kitchen area so he could have possibly seen me. Of course, he had to have seen me if I could see him. But could he be telling the truth? Did this man ask for me? Oh I can’t wait to see him again! 

9/27/23

Dear Diary,

He did come in today and this time I GOT TO TEND TO HIM!!!

I can’t believe how darling this man is. He is so much more handsome up close!! He almost looks like a model! He ordered his usual coffee and the scone of the day. He told me that he loves my hair and I told him I like his. His laugh is enchanting, and the way he speaks is intoxicating. I could listen to him talk all day long. He said he looked up the history of our bakery and asked me what I knew. I told him the basic run down but oh how I wish we could have sat and had a little chat! Pa glanced at the lad making him rush our short lived conversation. Pa and Peter made fun of how red my cheeks were when I spoke with him. I’ve just realized, I haven’t even learned his name…

10/11/23

Dear Diary,

It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen my mystery man. He hasn’t come in for his usual coffee and scone. I don’t even know him, yet I miss him. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. I haven’t even focused on my work properly, I just want to see him again. Peter told me I was acting crazy, missing a man I don’t even know. I don’t know what it was but there’s something about him that makes my knees weak and my stomach flutter. I can’t wait for us to reunite.

10/15/23

Dear Diary,

I was cleaning the front of the shop when I saw him. He was walking down the street with another fellow with black hair and a pretty girl by his side. I don’t think she was with my brown haired lad since she seemed extra close with the black haired one. The moment I saw him, he turned to me. We locked eyes for a brief moment but that moment felt like a lifetime. His eyes softened and his lips curved into a small smile. He kept walking and I kept sweeping. I hope he comes back to me.

10/22/23

Dear Diary,

I see him every now and then. He used to come in daily, now I rarely see him. I wonder why he doesn’t come in anymore. I miss him.

11/3/23

Dear Diary,

He came in today. He quietly ordered his coffee and scone then put a five pound note in the tip jar. I saw something else in his hand as he dropped the note in the jar. I dug around in the jar while everyone was occupied and found it. It was a piece of paper with a number on it with the words ‘to the cute worker in the back :) - Arthur’. I read those words about a hundred times and then a hundred more. I couldn’t believe it. His name suits him so well. The moment we went home, I ran to my room and plopped onto my bed, putting his name and number in my phone then sent him a message. It read ‘I hope you meant this for me :) - reader’ and sent a selfie. At the moment everything felt right but after I sent it, maybe it was a bit too forward. I received a reply a few minutes later.

The squeal I released made Peter barge into my room and ask what was wrong. I lied and told him I saw a bug. He huffed and left the room angrily but I didn’t care. I read the words on the screen carefully. ‘Of course I did. Would you fancy having a coffee with me some day?’ followed by a selfie of him. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. I admired his picture. Everything about him is perfect. I sent a message back. 

‘Most definitely <3.’

11/4/23

Dear Diary,

Arthur came in today and I tended to him. Besides the exchange we didn’t speak, we just looked at each other. His adorable eye smile let me know to text him later. His hand brushed mine when I handed him his order. Then he sent me a simple wink before he walked away. I was freaking out on the inside but remained calm on the outside. Peter made kissy faces at me after Arthur had left of course. I bet my face was beet red after our little encounter, I hope he didn’t notice. When we arrived home, I texted him.

‘Did you enjoy your scone today?’

‘Of course. It was just as delicious as every other day. My compliments to the baker ;)’

‘That’s good to hear. It was nice seeing you again.’

‘Same here. Maybe, if you’re free, would you like to get coffee or something tomorrow?’

‘I would love to!’

I am going to have trouble sleeping tonight. I’ll be too excited for tomorrow!

11/5/23

Dear Diary,

I told my parents I was going to meet with Arthur. Ma was giddy that I was finally meeting with a man after so long of being out of the dating scene and Pa was less than thrilled but happy for me nonetheless. If it was up to him, I would be single forever. Peter made fun of me of course but I laughed right back in his face since I have a date and he doesn’t. 

I didn’t want to meet at our bakery of course. I wouldn’t want Peter hovering over us and Pa glaring at our direction the entire time. I told Arthur to meet me at a cozy coffee shop a little down the street. The coffee shop is one of my favorites to go read at. The place is warm and inviting with a sweet aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. The booths are enclosed spaces that provide privacy but also give a quaint homely feeling adorned with pillows and fake candles in the centre of the table. 

I sat in one of these booths and waited for him to arrive. I watched as he walked in, his eyes scanning the entire room until they met mine. I waved at him and watched as his face lit up. He was dressed in a nice red knitted jumper and khaki slacks. His hair wasn’t its usual messy self but seemed to be styled quite nicely. We ordered our drinks and just talked. Oh how we talked, the conversation never felt dull, nor stale, it felt meaningful and intimate. We talked about anything and everything we could think of. From his hobbies to mine, our lives from childhood to now. I got to know him in a way that I never thought I would be able to. 

He’s so fascinating and so knowledgeable. He loves playing chess and I told him we must play against each other some day. He liked that. He is such a sweetheart and a good listener. Every time I explained something of interest his eyes never wavered. It’s like I had his undying attention. We spoke for what seemed like hours but was only merely two. I had to get back to the bakery. He walked me back, his hand brushed against mine as we walked side by side. I felt my heart almost leap out of my chest almost every time. 

I have never felt this way with a man before. We stood outside the bakery and I told him how we must do this again soon. He agreed and I boldly kissed his cheek before I went inside. I didn’t look back but asked Peter what Arthur did. He said, he smiled to himself and began walking up the street with a cheesy grin on his face and a light blush on his cheeks. 

This was a day to remember and I can’t wait for the next!

11/20/23

Dear Diary,

Arthur comes to the bakery almost everyday. He brings me a bouquet of flowers every other day. He has begun talking to Peter and Pa more, he offers to help Ma and Pa with anything he can. He says he loves being at the bakery but Ma thinks he loves being near me. Peter is starting to like him and Pa is starting to warm up to him. Ma was already in love with him the moment he formally introduced himself. He asked me on another formal date tomorrow and I am just so excited.

11/21/23

Dear Diary,

Our day out was just lovely. We took a stroll through the park near the bakery, it has a beautiful gazebo that sits right in the middle. We sat there and talked again. We sat so close, our shoulders brushed together. I really wanted to grab his hand but didn’t want to be too forward. I think he must’ve noticed this when he reached for mine. My face was probably bright red but his hands are so warm and so soft. I love the way his eyes light up when he talks about history, he can go on for hours and I could listen for just as long. We ordered a couple of sandwiches and sat down in a grassy area after a while enjoying the fluffy clouds in the most random of shapes. 

As we lay on the grass together looking up at the clouds, he suddenly looked at me with a stupid cheesy grin that made me almost melt, he was so precious. He asked me to be his girlfriend! Of course, I immediately said yes and we began our relationship with a kiss. His lips are just as soft and plump as they look. My stomach was doing backflips and I was so happy that I found him. I came home and gave every detail to Ma. She was extremely happy for me. Of course Peter had some quip about Arthur only wanting to get in my pants but I know he’s not like that. He’s a gentleman.

12/22/23

Dear Diary,

It’s almost time for Christmas! Arthur and I have been inseparable. I’ve been round to his flat and finally met all his friends. They’re so nice and sweet, I’m jealous he has such good friends. They’re quite hilarious too, my cheeks hurt whenever I leave his place from how much laughing and smiling I’ve done. Arthur comes around the bakery whenever he has the time. I’ve taught him how to make those scones he likes so much. 

We often go out to the pub with his friends or to the museum on dates. I love spending time with him. He’s such a delight. Pa and Peter absolutely adore him even though they try to lie about it. I just know Pa has a soft spot for him.

I already have his Christmas gift sitting in my closet and wrapped in gold wrapping and a huge red bow. I hope he loves it, it’s a customized chess set with our initials engraved on the side. I can’t wait to see his reaction!

12/26/23

Dear Diary,

He loved his gift! He was really happy about the chess set but the way his face lit up when he saw our initials carved into the wood was the best part. He gave me a locket with the first selfie we took together. I adore it so much, I’m going to cherish it forever. He spent Christmas day with us. Ma bought us matching couple pjs and made sure to take plenty of pictures. We drank hot cocoa near the fire and watched Christmas films all day. Being wrapped up in his arms made me feel so safe. I think I’m falling in love.

1/1/24

Dear Diary,

The New Year was spent very well. We were invited to one of his mates' New Year’s Eve party. He looked so dapper in his outfit and I made sure to match with a sparkly one of my own. Ma and I went dress shopping so I chose a nice one that fit perfectly in all the right places. Arthur and I never left each other’s side. It was a fun night full of dancing and laughing with his friends. 

The best part of the evening was during the countdown. He had his arm wrapped around me as we all counted down to midnight. As the clock struck 12, Arthur pressed his lips to mine, a feeling of electricity surged through me and besides the fireworks going off outside, I felt fireworks of my own erupt with the kiss. After he pulled away he said ‘I love you’. I was beyond happy to hear those words. I kissed him again and told him that I love him too. We spent the rest of the night in each other's arms until it was time to go home. 

I cannot wait to see what the new year holds for us.

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @toomuchaintenough @writer-jamie @bambilenny @obaltineobyss

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ➛ 𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌⎯୧

summary: you and arthur both missed your train, so you get to know eachother | Arthur x fem!reader

notes: yk i love a meet cute!

content: fluff, flirting, slightly awkward arthur <3

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things

The train doors close with a sound that feels almost like a personal attack. 

Not slammed – not dramatic – just a soft, final beep followed by the gentle whirr of inevitability. You slow from your half-jog, half-run to a stop, breath catching more from frustration than exertion, watching your reflection blur in the darkened glass as the carriage pulls away. 

You stare at the empty platform for a second longer than necessary. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Of course.”

Beside you, someone exhales – not annoyed exactly, more amused in a tired sort of way. You glance sideways and see him standing there with his hands on his hips, hoodie slightly crooked on his shoulders, cheeks faintly pink from the cold and running for the train too. He looks longingly at the disappearing train, then at the overhead board, then back at you. 

“They really let you believe you’re going to catch it,” he says mildly. “That’s the cruel bit.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “I actually felt hope for a second.” 

He nods gravely. “Rookie mistake.”

There’s a beat of silence – the comfortable kind, not awkward – as the platform settles again. The hum of the tunnel. The echo of footsteps somewhere further down. You both shuffle back toward the waiting area without discussion, like the universe has quietly paired you up for the foreseeable future. 

The board flickers. 

Next train: 7 minutes.

You sigh and lean against one of the pillars. He mirrors you on the opposite side, hands shoved into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. 

“Same one?” he asks. 

“Unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Thought so.”

You smile, small and tired. “Every time I’m late, it’s this line.”

“It knows,” he replies. “It senses weakness.”

That gets a laugh out of you – a real one this time – and when you look back at him, his eyes crinkle in a way that suggests he’s pleased he managed it. 

He hesitates, then gestures down the platform. “There’s a coffee stand that might still be open. I was thinking of grabbing one to make the wait feel justified. No pressure, obviously. 

You glance at the board again, then back at him. “I think caffeine is the only thing keeping me upright.” 

“Perfect,” he says. “Same.” 

The coffee stand is barely more than a counter wedged into the wall, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. He insists on paying despite your protests, waving it off with an easy, “You can get the next missed train round.”

“Bold of you to assume there will be a next time,” you say.

He smiles into his cup. “I like to live dangerously.”

You walk back together, steam curling into the cold air between you. The platform feels warmer now, or maybe it’s just the company. 

“So,” he says, after a moment. “Where you headed?”

You tell him. He nods, thoughtful. 

“Long day?”

You huff a laugh. “Long week. Long year. The usual.” 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I get that.” 

There’s something about the way he says it – not rushed, not performative – that makes you believe him. You find yourself telling him more than you usually would to a stranger: about work being overwhelming, about how the commute feels longer lately, about how you almost didn’t make it out the door this morning. 

He listens. Properly. Doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t one-up, just hums in acknowledgement and asks gentle follow-up questions. When you stop talking, you realise you’ve reached the end of your coffee.

“Sorry,” you say suddenly. “I didn’t mean to unload on a stranger.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mind. It’s… nice. Makes the wait feel less pointless.”

You smile at that. “What about you?” 

He shrugs, then pauses like he’s deciding how honest to be. “Busy. In a good way, mostly. But sometimes it feels like everything’s happening at once, and you don’t quite know where you’re meant to stand.” 

“That’s very specific,” you say. 

He grins sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, I get it,” you reply softly.

Another comfortable silence falls. Not empty – just full of unspoken understanding. You become aware of how close he’s standing now, shoulders nearly brushing, the faint smell of coffee and laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie. 

The board flickers again. 

Next train: 2 minutes. 

You feel a strange tug in your chest – a disappointment you weren’t expecting. You don’t want the moment to end yet. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says. 

“Sure.”

“Do you always run for trains, or was today a special occasion?”

You laugh. “I always convince myself I can make it. I never do.”

“Same,” he says. “Every time. You’d think we’d learn.”

“Optimism is a curse.”

“Optimism is character-building,” he counters. “Or so I’ve been told.”

The train rumbles in the tunnel, a distant wind growing louder. People begin to gather closer to the edge of the platform. The moment feels fragile now, like it might dissolve as soon as the doors open. 

He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. You notice he looks suddenly nervous – a subtle thing, but there all the same. 

“Listen,” he says, voice softer. “This might be a bit forward, but… I’ve really liked talking to you.”

Your heart skips. “Me too.”

He smiles, relieved. “Would you maybe want to-” He stops, exhales, recalibrates. “Would you want to swap numbers? just… in case we miss another train.’

The train pulls in with a rush of air, doors sliding open down the platform. 

You grin, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He hands you his phone, trying (and failing) to look casual about it. Your fingers brush as you pass it back, and the contact sends a quiet thrill through you. 

“Arthur,” he says, once it’s saved. “By the way.”

You tell him your name. 

“It suits you,” he says, like it’s a simple fact. 

You step onto the train together, sitting side by side as the doors close – this time with a promise instead of a loss. As it pulls away from the platform, you catch his eye, and he smiles at you like this isn’t the end of something, but the beginning. 

[smzyyx]

7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN

Chapter 3

atv x reader - fluff, slight smut

Part 3 yayyy!!!

I hope yall like this

masterlist

chapter 1

chapter 2

cw - nothing much, just horny making out and cum

After that night things had been the best.

Somewhere between the constant texting and the way Arthur’s name lights up your phone at ridiculous hours. Between study sessions that never quite stay academic and the fact that he knows your coffee order now—doesn’t even ask anymore. Between making out pressed against his bedroom door and walking home with your lips still tingling, replaying it all in your head.

It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of this.

You never thought about labels. Not properly. You didn’t want to jinx it.

Then your flatmate leans against the bathroom door one morning, toothpaste foaming at the corner of her mouth, and says, “So… is Arthur your boyfriend or what?”

You laugh it off. Shrug. Say something noncommittal.

But the word follows you anyway. Boyfriend.

It settles into the back of your mind and refuses to leave.

You want to ask him. You really do. You just don’t want to sound like you’re assuming. Or needy. Or like you’ve already decided something he hasn’t.

So instead, you walk to his flat for a makeout study session, autumn air biting at your cheeks as the city hums around you. The sky is that pale grey-blue that always comes with October, the pavements littered with damp leaves.

You shove your hands deep into your coat pockets to keep your fingers from freezing—but your tote bag is heavy and uncooperative. It slides off your shoulder every few steps, forcing you to yank your hands out and awkwardly hike it back up.

Bottle clinks. Books shift. Laptop threatens to fall.

You sigh under your breath. You look ridiculous.

By the time you reach his building, you’re mildly flustered and deeply offended by your own bag. You knock, adjusting the strap for the tenth time.

The door opens almost immediately.

Arthur stands there, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like he’s run his hands through it absentmindedly. When he sees you, his face lights up in that way that feels dangerously close to home.

“Hey,” he says, soft.

“Hey,” you reply, smiling without even thinking about it.

There’s a beat where neither of you moves. Then you notice his stance—feet angled weirdly, shoulders tense like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You snort. “Why are you standing like that?”

He looks down, frowns. “Like what?”

“Like a NPC.”

Before you can say anything else, he reaches out and gently tugs you inside by the wrist. “Come here,” he says, laughing, pulling you across the threshold in mock retaliation.

The door shuts behind you, warmth washing over you instantly.

“How was the walk?” he asks as you toe off your shoes and shrug out of your coat.

“Cold,” you say, dropping your tote bag dramatically by his bed. “And humiliating.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Humiliating?”

You gesture at the bag. “This thing kept falling off my shoulder. I was losing aura the entire way here.”

He laughs, leaning against his desk. “You never had any in the first place.”

You flop onto his bed, pulling out your laptop, and he joins you a moment later. Books spread out. Pens uncapped. A genuine attempt at productivity is made.

It lasts maybe ten minutes.

You keep catching him staring at you. When you look back, he pretends to be deeply invested in his notes. You show him a meme that has nothing to do with contract law. He laughs too hard. You giggle. Your knees keep brushing.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “Arthur, stop.”

“Oh—right,” he says quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“No,” you interrupt, smiling. “You look pretty too.”

He blinks. “Me?”

You lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yeah. You.”

His ears go pink instantly. He hesitates for half a second, then leans in and kisses you properly—slow, careful, familiar.

You pull back with a grin. “Okay. Studying.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Studying.”

You make it another five minutes before he pokes your side. You yelp, squirming away, laughing. He does it again and suddenly you’re play-fighting, limbs tangled, laughter filling the room as your books slide off the bed.

You put his laptop away just in time and end up straddling his lap, kissing him until your head feels warm and fuzzy.

You pull back, breathless. “Wait.”

He stills instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “I just… I was thinking.”

He nods, attentive. “Okay.”

You swallow. “About us.”

His expression softens. He doesn’t rush you.

“I really like what we’re doing,” you say quietly. “But I don’t want it to be undefined forever. And I don’t want to assume anything either.”

He smiles—small, shy, sincere. “Maybe we should make it official.”

Your heart jumps. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I guess that makes me your boyfriend.”

Your smile spreads before you can stop it. “Yeah. It does.”

Arthur’s weight settles half over you on the bed, and the world outside might as well not exist. Every kiss is hungrier than the last, though still punctuated by these ridiculous little laughs when your noses bump or your teeth clash.

He pulls back once, breathless, staring down at you like he’s still convincing himself this is real. “You’re so hot,” he murmurs, and it makes your whole body heat.

You tug him back down before you can combust from the shyness of it. His hands—hesitant but bolder now—skim your waist, then up your ribs, sliding under your shirt like he can’t resist. His touch is clumsy, warm, trembling slightly, but it makes you arch up into him with a soft sound you can’t hold back.

That sound does something to him. His breath hitches, and then his hips shift—accidentally at first, brushing against you. You gasp, and he freezes.

“Sorry, I—”

“Did I do that?”

“Yea, sorry.”

“Don't be,” you cut in, flushed and aching. You bite your lip, meeting his wide eyes. “Do it again.”

The silence after that feels like a live wire. And then he does. Carefully at first, then with more certainty, pressing his hard cock into your core, your mouths meet again. The friction makes you whimper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, and soon you’re both rocking against each other in messy, needy rhythm.

His forehead drops against yours, his laugh low and shaky. “We’re…god, we’re really doing this.”

You nod, biting back a moan as your bodies grind together, heat building in clumsy waves. It’s not smooth, it’s not practiced—half the time you’re both shifting to get the angle right—but it’s real, and desperate, and so much more intoxicating than you ever imagined.

You tug his hair gently and he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering. The sound makes your stomach flip, your pulse racing. Every little gasp and laugh tangled between you feels like discovery, like something you’ve both been craving but never daring to touch until now.

His breath starts to stutter against your lips right to your core. The grinding get messy, The outline of his cock pressing against your pelvis harder and harder, Your teeth biting into his ear, his jaw, his lips as you both rock against each other in a horny frenzy.

he lets out a choked groan as his hips move rigorously, the sound urging you to rub against his dick faster.

“Fuck- Fuck I'm gonna” His hips stutter against you as his joggers become wet and sticky.

He looks at you, pupils dilated, breath heavy, neck painted in dark red hickeys.

Fuck he looks so beautiful.

“Sorry-”

You shush him with a soft kiss, biting his bottom lip afterwards.

By the time you finally slow, collapsing against each other in a breathless heap, you’re both flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair messy. Arthur buries his face in your neck, his lips sucking on your skin, still laughing softly.

“You're my girlfriend, he mumbles, his voice hoarse but warm.

You chuckle breathily, running a hand through his hair as his tongue soothes over your new love bites. “Yeah.”

Taglist: @whisperturnedecho @forchencookie @willnees @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19 @canyouseethesainz @roc-haze @wherethezoes-at @cheekytv @beauty-nd-the-geek @dopeysunflowers @formulaal @pookietv @happyclifford @sapphiccaa @rubi-radio @madsclarkey @sturnl0ve @norrizzandpia @thankyoulovely @williamlenneys

Reblogs and comments are appreciated, also pls let me know your thoughts and any suggestions you may have for the next part <3

[sdmnpact]

⋆౨ৎ Mr. Nice Guy.˚⟡˖ ࣪

Arthur Frederick x Reader ~ fluff & angst

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ c/w: intoxicated reader, mentions of being taken advantage of, happy ending

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ new year, new me as they say... its been a year so im trying to make my account somewhat cuter with dividers and symbols. Its gonna be weird and wonky for a bit but pls bare with me... anyways hope you enjoy this one!!

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ happy new years lovelies

You rolled your eyes at Arthur for the fifteenth time this night. You were at your local pub with friends. Close friends and friends of friends of course. One of those friends of friends being Arthur Frederick. Arthur, the guy who is the absolute nicest, sweetest, most thoughtful lad one could ever meet. A good reputation amongst everyone he meets, among his fans, and even strangers in the street.

No one would ever- ever believe that he could be cold and callous. They would say you’re lying just to bring down this good man's reputation. But, it’s true, he could be a bad person when he wants to be and unfortunately, it’s always to you.

You remember the first time you met. Your close friend George had introduced you to his group of friends, Bach- the weird one, Chris- the short one, Arthur Hill- the sassy one, and Arthur Frederick, the book smart one. Everyone was sweet and treated you with respect. Arthur treated you with respect.

That was until something changed in him. Halfway through the night, he became cold towards you. You had no idea what happened, what you did or said that just didn’t sit right with him. He stayed reserved, he didn’t laugh at your jokes, he didn’t offer to get your drink when he went back for another, and you could feel his stare burning a hole into you.

That’s when it started and it’s only gotten progressively worse from there.

He tries to leave you out of plans, he ignores your presence during video shoots or friendly hangouts, he talks about you to others. 

You can’t stand Arthur anymore.

His presence alone makes you anxious, you feel like he is judging you making you second guess yourself constantly. You’ve started rejecting invitations to hang out if you know he’ll be there. 

You explained all this to George but he just tells you that you’re overthinking this whole situation and that it probably isn’t personal, Arthur could just be awkward at times with the opposite sex.

But then you noticed how he behaves with other girls like Becky or Liv and now you know it isn’t a gender thing but something else.

You didn’t want to go out tonight but the whole group was out celebrating some youtube milestone and ‘you just have to be there’ according to George. You forced yourself to go out and try to have fun even with him there because at the end of the day, they’re your friends too.

You were all sat in a booth with you sitting right across from Arthur. He was explaining something you couldn’t care to listen to as you continued to sip your drink. Everyone was laughing, appreciating his humor and knowledge for the topic except you.

Since you were out here to have fun, you did just that. You drank and drank, not only to try to make time go faster but try to forget this night. You downed your pints with the boys, did shots with the girls, danced to the music with Liv and Sabina, and finally ended up at the bar alone.

You ordered another shot and downed it quickly, slumping down in the bar stool. At this point you were quite drunk, your cheeks were flushed, your hair a mess. You didn’t care and just wanted this night to be over.

“Hey girl.” You heard a deep masculine voice say beside you. You turned to see a guy around your age, dirty blonde hair with green eyes that looked like emeralds. You found him quite attractive but at this point anyone was looking good to you. You nodded at him, resting your arm on the bartop. 

“Want another drink?” He asked pointing towards the bar. You nodded without thinking as he was already calling the bartender ordering both of you a couple of shots. You sat with him for a few minutes, downing the shots and forcing yourself to laugh at each one of his little jokes. 

You were definitely drunk now, you couldn’t properly process what was happening anymore. You felt him grabbing your arm and tugging you out of your seat. You got up almost falling over but you felt him grip onto your waist tightly, too tightly.

It all felt hazy, and in the back of your mind, you knew what was happening. You tried pulling away looking for your group of friends but they were lost amid the crowd that had gathered over the last hour. 

‘Come on love’ You could barely hear what he was saying and as much as you tried, you couldn’t get away. 

You were about to be led out of the pub, about to be out of safety and in the streets of London with a stranger. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Back off mate!’

‘Let her go!’ 

‘Fuckin’ hell!’ 

You could barely make out the conversation but you heard a punch and a wave of commotion. The man let you go, you thought you were going to hit the ground but another pair of muscular arms caught you.

“Reader, are you okay?” You heard this quite clearly. You recognized that voice, the voice that gave you goosebumps. You nodded your head half heartedly as he propped you back onto your seat. 

The next second you were handed a glass of water which you struggled to hold but took anyways, trying to swallow as much water as you could. You felt him pat your back, move your hair out of your face, and hold you so that you don’t fall over.

This was weird. You’ve never experienced him being nice, well not to you anyways.

“George, I’m gonna take her home.” You heard him say. You furrowed your brows somewhat refusing to go with him. “It’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re okay and safe.” He said into your ear to make sure you heard clearly. 

You were in no place to argue so you just agreed. At least going home with someone you knew was better than with a stranger, even if it’s someone you hate.

He was such a gentleman. Even though you were all over the place, walked like a newborn deer, and almost threw up about five times, he never let you fall over and always made sure you were okay.

He carried you up to your flat and carefully placed you onto your couch. You listened as he went into your kitchen, glasses clinked and the sink turned on then off. He was back in front of you, seconds later, holding another glass of water.

He took a seat on the arm chair beside the couch and pulled out his phone. 

“Why are you being nice?” You asked, annoyed by how different he was being. This wasn’t the guy who had hated you for the last two years, this was the guy that the whole world knew of as a sweetheart. 

“What?” He asked, taken a back.

“You’re an ass to me, you’re always an ass to me. Why are you being so nice?”

“You could’ve gotten murdered!” He exclaimed, maybe a bit too defensive.

“And you are the one person I would’ve expected to let that happen. Why did you help me? You hate me.” You huffed. You watched his face soften, the defensive expression he had turning into one of concern.

“I don’t hate you..” 

“Of course you do! You are horrible to me! No one else, just me.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. “Do you just despise me that much?”

“Of course not. I don’t hate you. I like you.” His eyes widened like he said something he shouldn’t have.

“I mean I like you as a person. I just..”

“What!” You said wanting to hear his excuse for his poor behavior over the years.

“I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want to fall for you.” You felt your heart sink but also your food come up. You ran towards the toilet puking your guts out. You heard light footsteps follow you and seconds later, your hair was being held up and you felt your back being rubbed.

You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. “There you go again. Being ‘nice’.” You said wiping your mouth. 

“To hell with this, you aren’t gonna remember this anyways- Reader, I like you okay. I am attracted to you, I have been since the moment I met you. I never said anything because you were George’s best mate and I thought it would be inappropriate to date you or even like you for that matter. I thought by ignoring you, I would get over you. It didn’t work, I just ended up liking you even more. This was so stupid. Being an asshole wasn’t the right thing to do but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. Now here we are and you hate me, you think I hate you and…” You cut him off but putting your finger up to his lips. He looked at you, his big brown eyes even bigger somehow.

 “You are so annoying. I might not remember this either but to be honest, I liked you too. I still kind of like you. You’re so adorable and funny but you’re also a huge jerk and I hate you. You dumbass, you should’ve just told me! We could’ve been a couple right now instead of this.” You said lighting punching his shoulder.

“I know, it was the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life and I regret it all so much. If I could erase these last two years, I would and I would have tried to sweep you off your feet instead.” He said, rubbing his face in his hands. 

There was a long pause of silence.

“So what now…” You said as the air started getting a bit stale.

“I don’t know. But I promise, I will never be an ass to you again. Can you forgive me?” You stared at him for a few seconds. He seemed genuine, he seemed very sorry. 

“I think I can forgive you but you need to give me some time. I think maybe you need to take me out to eat a couple times before I can fully forgive you.” You smirked. He looked up, his face lighting up and plastered with a huge smile.

“Of course! I’ll do whatever you want!” He said, grabbing your hand in his.

“Okay, you might need to remind me about this in the morning but for now-” You began, curling into a ball on the bathroom floor. “I need to sleep..” You started drifting off. You felt him pick you up and carry you to your bedroom. You tried to resist but you were too tired to do anything.

He placed you softly under the duvet, fluffing your pillow and making sure to leave another glass of water and an aspirin by your bedside table. He wrote a small note as well, leaving it there for you to see. 

You woke up with the worst headache of your life. You couldn’t believe how much you drank last night. You never wanted to leave your bed. You looked over and saw the pill and water, chugging it almost immediately. 

Your eyes fell upon the orange sticky note hanging onto your lamp. 

Don’t be scared when you see me - Arthur.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. What an ominous note. Which Arthur? 

“You’re awake!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard those sudden words as someone walked into the room. “I told you not to be scared.” He said with a chuckle. 

“Is that bacon?” You said, eyeing the plate in his hands. He nodded, setting up the tray table over your lap and placing the food down.

“Why the hell are you in my flat!?” you said the realization hitting you.

Arthur explained everything, in great detail. You were scared, shocked, surprised, and somewhat relieved. 

“Did that all really happen?” You asked, finishing the last of your food. He nodded.

“Well thank you. Thank you for being honest, helping me, and from what I hear basically saving my life. Thank you.” You said opening your arms for a hug. He gave you one. A much needed and overdue hug.

You two can finally start fresh again. Finally understand each other. You two can finally be friends or even more than that.

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @toomuchaintenough @writer-jamie @bambilenny

[smzyyx]

It always makes me sad when people say TV talks too much when he's usually just passionate about something or excited to be spending time with his friends :( could you write something where reader is hanging out with the ukyt crew and the others kind of tune Arthur out when he's talking about something but when he gets quiet because he realizes the others aren't listening, reader says "hey, I'm listening" so he keeps talking?

What were you saying

Atv x reader - fluff

masterlist

cw: nothing much but the gang might seem a bit mean

This was requested in August so its really late but its one of the only requests i didnt delete because im gonna be so real I face the same thing that Arthur faces a lot with my friends so I just really wanted to write this 😭

The flat is loud in the way it only ever is when everyone is there. Someone’s brought snacks that are already half gone. There are bodies sprawled across sofas, arms slung over chair backs, people talking over each other without even trying not to. The TV is on but no one’s watching it—just background noise for the chaos.

George is mid-story, gesturing wildly with a bottle in his hand. Isaac’s leaned against the counter with Liv tucked into his side, both of them laughing before the punchline even lands. Arthur Hill and Chris are arguing about something trivial while Yasmine adds commentary purely to wind them up.

You’re curled up on the end of the sofa, knees tucked under you, watching it all like it’s a familiar kind of storm.

“And I’m just saying,” George finishes, “if it wasn’t that deep, then why did it take three of us to figure it out?”

Arthur Hill squints at him. “Because you lot are idiots.”

“Oi,” George says, affronted. “That’s not fair.”

Chris leans forward, eyes lighting up with mischief. “To be fair, George does have a massive head.”

There it is.

Everyone reacts at once—laughter, groans, George instinctively reaching up to pat his hair like he’s checking whether it’s grown since last time.

“It’s proportional!” he protests. “It’s because I’m smart.”

Isaac laughs. “All that intelligence has to fit somewhere.”

Liv adds, deadpan, “You’re basically a Funko Pop.”

The room erupts. George’s laugh is loud and unbothered, hands thrown up in mock surrender. Someone makes a comment about his brain rattling around like a DVD at the back of a drawer.

You laugh too—but out of the corner of your eye, you notice Arthur.

Arthur Frederick has been quiet for a few minutes now, leaned back in the armchair slightly apart from the main cluster. He looks relaxed, legs crossed, hands loosely folded, eyes unfocused like he’s been somewhere else entirely. You recognise the look—it’s the one he gets when something in the conversation nudges a thought loose and his brain just goes.

Right on cue, he straightens a little.

“Well, actually,” he says, voice cutting through the noise with earnest certainty, “head size doesn’t really correlate with intelligence at all.”

There’s a brief lull, not silence, exactly, but a dip in volume as people register he’s speaking.

Arthur sits forward now, warmed up by the opening. “There was this study I was reading, like, a proper analysis, where they looked at cranial volume versus cognitive performance across a pretty large sample size, and the correlation was basically negligible.”

He gestures with his hands as he talks, fingers opening and closing like he’s shaping the idea in the air.

“The thing is, people assume bigger brain equals smarter, but intelligence is way more about neural efficiency than size. It’s about how well-connected everything is. You can have a slightly smaller brain with denser synaptic connections and outperform someone with a larger one.”

George nods politely for about three seconds before his attention drifts back to Chris, who’s whispering something that makes him grin. Isaac checks his phone. Arthur Hill reaches for another snack. Liv leans over to say something to Yasmine, who bursts out laughing.

Arthur keeps going—at first.

“And like, even within humans, the variance is massive. There’s also this misconception that—” He slows, eyes flicking around the room. His hands pause mid-gesture. “—that size is predictive, but it just… isn’t.”

No one’s looking at him anymore.

The realization hits gently, but it hits.

He stops talking.

There’s a small, almost imperceptible smile that crosses his face—the polite kind, the one people use to smooth over the feeling of having misjudged the moment. He leans back into the chair again, folding in on himself just a touch, gaze dropping to his hands.

“Anyway,” he murmurs, more to the room than anyone in it.

The conversation swells back up around him like he was never speaking at all.

Your chest aches.

You’ve been listening the entire time. Not just out of politeness—out of genuine interest. You were already following where he was going, already curious about the study, already anticipating the way he always links one topic to another like stepping stones only he can see.

You shift closer, turning your body toward him.

“Wait,” you say, gently but clearly. “Arthur—what were you saying about neural efficiency?”

He looks up, surprised. “Oh—uh.” He blinks, like he needs a second to recalibrate. “It’s… it’s not important.”

“It is,” you say, shaking your head. “You said the correlation was negligible? But how did they even measure cognitive performance?”

Something changes in his face.

It’s subtle, but unmistakable—the way his eyes brighten, the way his posture straightens without him even noticing. The awkwardness melts away, replaced by quiet excitement.

“Right—yeah. So they used a combination of standardised cognitive tests and longitudinal performance metrics,” he says quickly now, words tumbling out. “Which obviously has its own limitations, but what was interesting was how consistent the results were across different demographics.”

He leans forward again, elbows on his knees.

“And this actually links to something else I found really cool—brain size comparisons across species. Like, cetaceans, for example.”

You smile. You knew it was coming.

“So whales and dolphins have absolutely massive brains—some species have brains way larger than ours—but again, it’s not just the size. It’s the encephalization quotient. That's basically how big the brain is relative to body size.”

He gestures excitedly now, eyes locked on yours like the rest of the room has faded into static.

“Dolphins, especially, have incredibly complex social structures and problem-solving abilities, and a lot of that comes down to cortical folding and neural density rather than sheer volume. Some researchers even think their emotional processing is more sophisticated than ours.”

You nod along, asking softly, “That's why they're so social.”

“Yes!” he says immediately, delighted. “Exactly. There’s evidence to suggest their brains are wired for empathy and cooperation in a way that’s genuinely comparable to humans. Possibly even more nuanced in some respects.”

He laughs under his breath, a little self-conscious but happy. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

You shake your head, resting your chin in your hand. “No, I love this. Tell me more.”

Arthur exhales, smiling properly now—wide and warm and a little disbelieving.

“Well,” he continues, slower this time, more comfortable, “there’s this theory about how intelligence isn’t a straight hierarchy at all. It’s more like… different kinds of optimisation. Humans are good at abstract reasoning, cetaceans are incredible at social cognition, corvids at problem-solving—it’s all just different expressions of complexity.”

The noise of the room carries on around you—laughter, teasing, someone calling George a conehead again—but Arthur doesn’t notice anymore.

Taglist: @whisperturnedecho @forchencookie @willnees @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19 @canyouseethesainz @roc-haze @wherethezoes-at @cheekytv @beauty-nd-the-geek @dopeysunflowers @formulaal @pookietv @happyclifford @sapphiccaa @rubi-radio @madsclarkey @sturnl0ve @norrizzandpia @thankyoulovely @williamlenneys

Reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[ghostwrittenbygrace]

୨⎯𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝑽𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒔 ➛ 𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌⎯୧

summary: while Arthur is in Vegas someone tries flirting with him but he shuts it down | Arthur x fem!reader

notes: based on this request! i love him he's so awkward <333

content: fluff, one sided flirting

taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at  @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123

Las Vegas was already loud before Arthur even stepped out of the hotel.

The strip was lit up like it was trying to compete with the sun, neon bleeding into the night sky, music thumping from somewhere he couldn’t quite place. He flipped his camera on as he walked, narrating absent-mindedly, half focused on framing the shot, half distracted by the sheer chaos of it all.

“Right, so,” he said into the lens, squinting a little as a Ferrari roared past in the distance. “F1 in Vegas is… mental. I’ve been here all of five minutes, and I already feel underdressed and underqualified.”

He laughed at himself, adjusting the strap of his bag and weaving through the crowd toward the fan zone. Everywhere he looked, there were merch stalls, drinks being shoved into hands, and people already half-drunk despite it barely being the afternoon. 

He cut the camera briefly, checking his phone – a message from you sat in his notifications. 

Be safe. Don’t let Vegas corrupt you. 

A selfie followed, you pulling a mock-serious face. 

Arthur smiled without thinking. 

He typed back quickly:

Too late. I’ve seen things I can’t ever forget.

Camera back on, he leaned against a barrier near one of the viewing areas, filming the atmosphere while he waited for the cars to come through again. That’s when someone stepped into his peripheral vision. 

“Hey.”

Arthur glanced over instinctively.

She was tall, dressed like she belonged in Vegas in a way he very much did not – confident, glossy, leaning in just a bit too close like they were already mid-conversation.

“Hi,” he replied automatically, polite but cautious.

“You’re British?” she asked, smiling in a way that clearly wasn’t just friendly.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, shifting his weight, camera lowering slightly. “Uh- yeah.”

She laughed, touching his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Knew it. I love the accent.”

Arthur’s shoulder tensed. He gave a small, awkward smile, the kind he reserved for situations he wanted out of without causing a scene. 

“That’s… nice,” he said.

She glanced at the camera. “You filming something?”

“Just vlogging,” Arthur replied. “Work thing.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes lighting up. “So, you’re, like, famous?”

Arthur winced internally. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

She leaned in closer anyway. “I’m in town all weekend. You here with anyone?”

That was it. No ambiguity, no flirting back by accident. Arthur straightened, voice calm but immediate. 

“Oh-yeah. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

The words came easily. Automatically. Like muscle memory. 

Her smile faltered for just a second before she scoffe, pulling her hand back. 

“Right,” she said flatly. “Of course you do.”

Arthur nodded, still polite. “Yeah.”

She rolled her eyes. “Figures. You all say that.”

He blinked, genuinely confused. “I’m… not saying it. I do.”

She gave him a once-over, unimpressed now. “Sure.”

Arthur felt a flicker of irritation then – not loud, not dramatic, just a quiet, protective sort of annoyance.

“I’m serious,” he said, firmer this time. “I’m very happily taken.”

That did it. 

She huffed, stepping back like she’d suddenly lost interest in the entire situation. “Whatever. Enjoy Vegas, I guess.”

And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, heels clicking sharply against the pavement. 

Arthur stood there for a moment, blinking in shock, adrenaline buzzing faintly in his chest. 

“…Right,” he muttered to himself.

He lifted the camera again, forgetting he was filming that entire interaction, and flipping it around so it faced him. 

“Well,” he said, exhaling a laugh, “that just happened.”

He shook his head, half amused, half baffled. “For the record, if you’re watching this-” he paused, eyes flicking briefly to the lens like he knew you’d see it eventually, “-I miss you. And Vegas is absolutely not worth the stress.”

Later that night, back in the quiet of his hotel room, he collapsed onto the bed and called you. 

You answered almost immediately. 

“Alright, Vegas boy?”

Arthur smiled softly, rolling onto his side. “I told someone I have a girlfriend today.” He said, not wanting to keep any secrets from you. 

You laughed at his honesty. “Someone?”

“Very confidently,” he added. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

There was a brief pause before you spoke again, warmer now. “I’m glad.”

Arthur’s voice dropped, honest and gentle. “There wasn’t really a choice.”

And as the strip buzzed endlessly outside his window, all he wanted was you – far away, grounding, and infinitely better than anything Las Vegas could offer. 

[buttlesangel]

Hey queen!!

Hear me out, sending either Will or AB slutty pics while they’re travelling? Ending up with phone sex, him getting himself off while Reader rides dildo? Perchance? 🤞

or anything along those lines really 😚 love your writing!!

phone sex ── alfie buttle⋆⭒˚.⋆

pairing: alfie buttle x fem! reader

warnings/contents: mutual masturbation, smut, mdni

a/n: i love this idea please i love you. I hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it my darling! thank you for the support <3

Pm me to be on taglist <3

requests are open and i'm happy to write whatever, hope you enjoy xx

@ghostwrittenbygrace @dilfslutsstuff @kislnd @lenneyswhore @cigarettesafterbooks @teleskinnd

The Snapchat notification lit up his screen, a little ghost icon shining at him in the dark of the Icelandic cabin he was stuck in for Chips video. Alfie grunted, shifting his weight in the ridiculously old wooden chair. He was frozen at this point, tired of looking at fucking snow and rocks. All he wanted was to be back in London, in his own flat, with you.

He tapped the notification, expecting a blurry picture of a night out or a stupid selfie with a dog filter. He was not expecting this.

It was a video. You were in your bedroom, the fairy lights he’d cursed while putting up giving everything a soft, golden glow. The camera was pointed down your body. You were wearing a set of black lingerie, all thin straps and sheer mesh that did fuck all to hide what was underneath. Your hands, with your nails painted that dark red colour he loved, were slowly tracing the line of the suspenders down to the tops of your sheer stockings.

The video looped. Your hands sliding down, pausing, then sliding back up. It was so silent but so dirty. He immediately took a screenshot, the little arrow icon confirming his thoughts. He knew you’d see it. That was the point.

He typed back, his thumbs fumbling on the cold screen. Fucks sake, girl. You little fuckin' rocket.

The reply came back in seconds. A selfie. You were on your bed, pouting at the camera, one arm placed covering your nipples. The caption read: Poor baby, miss me? Iceland's that boring then?

Even more now, he typed back, a grin spreading across his face. It’s just a load of rocks and wind. And you, you’re bare teasing me now. You know that, right?

Who, me? came the next snap. A picture of your legs, elegantly crossed, the sheer fabric of the stockings shimmering. Just thought you might be getting bored.

Oh, I’m bored alright, he replied. And you’re not helpin’. In fact, you’re makin’ it worse

Am I? How?

He could practically hear the mock innocence in your tone. He loved it. He hated it. He fucking loved it.

He decided to play along. He stood up, pulled down his joggers, and let them fall to his ankles. His cock was straining against the fabric of his boxers, a thick, heavy ridge. He palmed it, the heat of it seeping through the cotton. He took a picture, careful to keep it just suggestive enough. The waistband of his calvin klein boxers pulled down low, the dark hair leading down to the base of his shaft. Just a tease.

He sent it with the caption

This is how.

The response was immediate. A video. You were biting your lip, and the camera panned slowly down your body. It lingered on the flat of your stomach, on the delicate little bow sitting right in the centre of your knickers. Then it moved lower, between your thighs, which you’d just parted. The fabric was pulled tight, and he could see the dark shadow of your cunt through it. Your fingers danced over the material, right over your clit.

The video ended. Alfie swore, a low sound. He shoved his boxers down, his cock springing free, already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a hand around it, giving it a slow, firm squeeze.

Fuckin’ hell, girl, he typed, one handed. You’re killin’ me here.

Good, you replied. Another picture. This time, you’d turned over. You were on your hands and knees, looking back over your shoulder at the camera. The lingerie had a back to it, the bare of your little thong left nothing to hide, your ass completely out.

What are you gonna do about it, Alfie?

That was it. The gloves were off. He sat back down in the chair, spreading his legs. He took another picture, this time showing everything. His thick, hard cock in his fist, the head flushed and glistening.

This, he sent back. Gonna have a wank thinkin’ about that arse. And you’re gonna watch.

Another video from you. You’d flipped back over. You were lying with your head on the pillows, your legs spread wide. One hand was between your legs, and you were slowly rubbing yourself over your knickers. He could see the fabric getting darker, damper with your arousal.

Show me, you’d written over the video.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He started stroking himself, slowly at first, squeezing the base, twisting his wrist over the head. He used his own pre cum to lube it. He kept his eyes glued to the screen, waiting.

The next snap was a godsend. You’d moved your knickers to the side. Your fingers were buried in your pussy, glistening with your wetness. You were slowly pumping them in and out.

Alfie’s breath hitched. He sped up his own rhythm, his hand flying over his cock. The sounds he was making were wet, obscene.

More, he typed, his thumb slipping.

You delivered. The next video showed you grabbing a dildo from your bedside table. It was a thick, black thing, one he’d bought for you. You held it up to the camera, a smirk on your face, before positioning it at your entrance.

He was mesmerised. He watched as you slowly sank down on it, your mouth falling open with a quiet moan. You took it all, right to the bottom.

Fuck yes, he typed, his own strokes getting faster, more erratic. He was getting close. He could feel the heat building in his spine, the tension in his balls increasing.

You like that, Alfie? you sent back, followed by a video of you starting to ride it. Your hips were rolling, your back arching. Your free hand came up to pinch your own nipple.

Love it, he managed to type back. Fuckin’ love it. Ride it, girl. Ride it for me.

He watched your snaps come through, a dizzying, filthy slideshow of you fucking yourself on that dildo. Your tits bouncing, your face contorted in pleasure, your fingers working your clit. It was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

Then, his phone buzzed again. But it wasn't a Snapchat notification. It was your name, flashing on the screen with an incoming call. His heart hammered against his ribs. He almost dropped his phone trying to swipe accept.

“Hello?” he breathed, his voice rough.

Your voice came through the speaker, breathy and a little shaky. “Alfie.”

“Fucking hell, you dirty little slut, i'll be at the gaff tomorrow if you keep this shit up,” he groaned, not stopping the movement of his hand. “Couldn’t even wait, could you?”

“I… I needed to hear you,” you panted, and he could hear it then, the slick, wet sounds of you fucking yourself, the little whimper that escaped your lips. “Are you… are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“What do you think?” he grunted, his eyes squeezing shut. He pictured you perfectly, legs spread, that black toy splitting you open. “I’m sat here like a right idot, wanking myself stupid in the fuckin’ Arctic, ‘cause my girlfriends a dirty little tease.”

“Good,” you moaned, and the sound went straight to his cock. “Are you thinking about me?”

“Always,” he breathed. “I’m thinkin’ about how you look right now. All sprawled out. I’m thinkin’ about that tight little cunt, and how it feels when I’m buried in it.”

He heard you gasp, a sharp, ragged sound. “Alfie…”

“Tell me what you’re doin’,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t be shy now. You started this.”

“I’m… I’m riding it,” you whimpered. “Just like you wanted. My legs are shaking. I wish it was you.”

“I know you do, girl. I wish it was me too. I’d be fuckin’ you into next week. Not slow like that, either. I’d have you screamin’.”

He could hear your breathing getting faster, more desperate. The wet sounds from your end were getting louder, more frantic. It was the most obscene, most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“Are you close?” he asked, his own rhythm faltering as the heat in his belly intensified.

“So close,” you whined. “Tell me… tell me what to do.”

“Rub your clit for me,” he ordered, his voice thick with lust. “Use your fingers. Hard. I wanna hear you come for me. Cum all over that fuckin’ toy while I listen.”

He heard a muffled cry, and then the sounds from your end became a frantic, wet rhythm. He could picture it perfectly, your fingers flying over your swollen clit as you impaled yourself on the dildo.

“That’s it, girl,” he grunted, his own release barrelling towards him. “Come on. Let me hear you. Let me fuckin’ have it.”

Your cry was high and broken as it came through

the speaker, a ragged, desperate sound that was followed by a series of breathless, whimpering moans. He could hear the slick, frantic sounds of your fingers working your clit, the wet squelch of the dildo as you fucked yourself through it. It was the single most erotic thing he had ever experienced in his entire life.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, his head falling back against the cold leather of the chair. His own hand was a blur on his cock, the tight, wet heat of his fist a poor substitute for the real thing but the only option he had. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

He listened to you panting, your breath hitching as you came down from your high. The little whimpers you were making were going straight to his balls, which were now drawn up tight and aching.

“Alfie…” you breathed, your voice sated and soft.

“Not done yet, reader,” he grunted, a primal urgency taking over. “You’ve had yours. Now I’m gonna have mine.”

“Tell me,” you whispered, and he could hear the smile in your voice. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“I’m thinkin’ about that ass,” he said, his voice a low growl. “The one you were showin’ off earlier. Thinkin’ about bendin’ you over the side of this bed and fuckin’ you from behind ‘til you can’t stand up. Thinkin’ about grabbin’ a handful of your hair and…”

He broke off with a groan, his hips bucking up off the chair. The image was so vivid in his mind, the sensation of your skin under his hands so real, that it pushed him right over the edge.

“Fuck… fuck, I’m comin’,” he bit out, the words torn from his throat.

His orgasm ripped through him, he came hard, thick, messy ropes of it striping his stomach and chest. He kept stroking, milking every last drop, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, the only sound on the line was his own ragged breathing and the howl of the Icelandic wind outside.

“Christ,” he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You laughed, a low sound that vibrated right through him. “Worth it, though?”

Alfie looked down at the mess on his hand and stomach, then at the phone in his other hand. He could picture you lying there in your London flat, a lazy, satisfied smile on your face.

“Yeah, girl,” he said, a slow, genuine grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, it was fuckin’ worth it.” He paused, then added, “Right, now I’m all sticky and this cabin is fuckin’ freezing. When am I comin’ home? I’ve had enough of this scenic bullshit, i'm telling Josh we're booking the next flight.”