#RedEarring

[siriusdiamant]

Delicate Red Ruby Men Earring, 14K Gold Gemstone Stud Earring, Unique Statement Earring, Dainty Jewelry, Birthstone Earring, Birthday Gift

Introducing our Delicate Red Ruby Men Earring, a truly remarkable piece of jewelry that combines elegance with a touch of masculine charm. Crafted with precision, these 14K gold stud earrings showcase a captivating red ruby gemstone, exuding a vibrant and eye-catching allure. Their dainty size and unique design make them a perfect statement accessory, adding a distinctive touch to any outfit. Whether you're looking for a birthstone earring or a thoughtful birthday gift, these exquisite earrings are sure to leave a lasting impression with their exquisite craftsmanship and timeless beauty.

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

Another one for Harry would be him and the reader being at a shoot (maybe a holiday video or something like that) and the reader notices Harry‘s social battery is drained and she takes him away to be alone with him and comforts him. Would be really nice if she also relates to his situation :) I was thinking mostly fluff and a little angsty for this one x

Recharging

Pairing: Harry Lewis x Reader Warnings: Fluff, angst, drained and overwhelmed Harry Word Count: 630

Masterlist

A/N: YALL IM COOKED i have math aa sl paper 1 tomorrow and I haven't started studying. might as well write to make myself feel better :)

The chalet was chaos.

Fake snow drifted from a too-powerful machine in the corner, giant boxes wrapped in glittery red paper were scattered across the floor, and someone — probably Tobi — had just spilled hot chocolate all over the set Santa throne. The camera crew was frantically trying to reset a shot while Ethan and Simon debated about who looked better in an elf costume.

You sat off to the side, watching the mess unfold with a bemused smile.

And then you noticed Harry.

He was standing by the fireplace prop, stiff and unfocused. His laugh was a second too delayed when someone cracked a joke. He was twisting his fingers together — not out of nerves, but out of habit. The one he always did when he was overwhelmed but didn’t want anyone to know.

Your heart tugged.

It wasn’t loud in the normal sense — no blaring music, no screaming fans — but it was too much. Too many lights. Too much fake cheer. Too many people in too small a space. You knew the feeling well. Your own social battery had dipped an hour ago, but you’d been trying to tough it out for the team.

You stood up and made your way over to him quietly.

"Hey," you murmured, gently touching his elbow.

He turned his head slightly, and the second your eyes met, his shoulders dropped. He didn’t even say anything — just gave you the smallest nod, like thank God you noticed.

“Come with me?” you asked softly, already steering him away.

You led him through the back hallway of the rented cabin until you found a small sitting room — unused, dimly lit, and blissfully quiet. You pulled him in and shut the door.

Harry sank onto the old couch with a heavy sigh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands raking through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not looking at you. “I’m trying. I just... I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, sitting beside him. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I didn’t sleep much,” he added, voice smaller now. “And it’s just been non-stop people all week. And I hate feeling like the one who can’t hack it.”

You reached out and gently tugged his sleeve until he let you take his hand.

“I get like this too,” you said quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m fine because I smile and keep talking. But sometimes I go home and sit in the dark and don’t answer my phone for a day because I’m just... drained.”

He looked over at you, eyes soft and a little glassy.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing a second to breathe. Or needing someone to pull you out for a bit.”

He laced his fingers through yours, squeezing gently.

“You’re really good at this,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion. “At knowing when I need it.”

You smiled. “It’s not a superpower. I just... care. A lot.”

A beat of silence passed between you. Then Harry leaned back on the couch and tugged you with him until your head was resting on his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around you.

“Can we just stay here for a while?” he whispered.

“Of course,” you said. “As long as you need.”

The world outside was still spinning — fake snow, bad jokes, and Christmas chaos. But in that little room, the two of you existed in a soft kind of silence. No pressure to be “on.” Just warmth, quiet, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

And somehow, even with the chaos still waiting outside, everything felt just a little bit lighter.

[bomiten]

the concept of you ⋆˚｡⋆

#%! oneshot (1,652) words #%! mark lee x gn!reader

synopsis .ᐟ writer!mark experiencing a writers block before a due project and gets frustrated bc he thought he hadn't looked hard enough when in fact, all he needed was to look in front of him (you).

content warning .ᐟ not much dialogue, feelings realization, love from a writer's (mark) pov, super sappy, lots of romance!!!, fluff, mild profanity, extremely self indulgent

Every writer needs their muse, their motivation. an inspiration, anything. Mark had too many thoughts, too many things to write about but none trivial enough. or maybe he just hadn't looked hard enough, or in front of him, at that.

He had a project due in two days and his paper is blank. Not even a pen mark. He had looked everywhere, anywhere. At anything. He had looked inside, and out. He’d seen multiple things but none stuck. He could write about the grievances of stray dogs. He could write about the neverending push and pull of chasing your dreams.

He could write about love, but ultimately it’ll not be as accurate. He has yet to even feel love himself.

The possibilities were endless. But none of them seemed to strike him enough. To leave an impression. None of them were compelling enough. 

Mark is sitting completely idle at his study desk, his nightstand the only source of light in his room. He’s absolutely defeated. He won't be able to write anything and then he’ll lose his job and he’ll be miserable for life.

No you won't. A voice inside his head had said, strangely it sounded a lot like someone he knew. He couldn't quite pinpoint who, but it rang a familiar gentleness.

Before he even knows it, he’s pulling his phone out of his back pocket and haphazardly typing a quick ‘coffee?’ to a contact he visits way too often than he’d like to admit.

And when an instant reply of ‘sure! meet you at the usual’ pops up, Mark is quick to his feet and already throwing a coat on. He grabs at his keys and his wallet before hesitating on his journal. Surely he wouldn't need it there, right? Right.

He's walking out of his door when he feels giddiness surge through him. A slight buzz in his bones he couldn't quite get rid of no matter how many deep breaths he'd taken. A little jump in steps, and a thin smile on his face. He was excited to see you. 

By the time he reaches the coffee shop you frequent, he’s already shaking. From the cold air of spring, or excitement. Or both.

“Hi” you smile over at Mark when he takes a seat, his freckles soft against his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Spring really brings it out “hey” Mark echoes back.

Mark asks what you’d like to get, as if he hasn't had it memorized that he could write the exact order down with his eyes closed “you know what I get” Mark smiles, a shy blush on the tips of his ears “yeah, I do” he says with a giggle, making you do the same. 

He just wanted to make sure. Sure of what? If he still knew everything about you. 

Mark didn't need long conversations, or deep talks. Your presence was enough. The familiarity of everything else in between and the knowing glances thrown at one another. 

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d always have a fun little story to tell. A small incident that somehow you’re able to turn into a much longer story. It's okay. Mark had always been a listener kind of guy. You didn't need him to say anything to know he was listening. It was the way his eyes would never leave yours, or the way he laughs softly at your witty remarks. 

And when Mark returns with both your orders, you’re already shaking in your seat to tell Mark your rendezvous from yesterday. All is normal, he’s leaned back on his chair, both hands engulfing his coffee in hopes to gain a little warmth. 

His thoughts then trained back to his paper due in two days. Which brings him into a slight panic. He’s only now realizing he can’t be wasting time like this. Not that he thinks being around you is a waste of time. But you get his point.

He watches you make gestures with your hands, maybe to reenact whatever story you're telling. He watches the way your lips move and the way it creases up into a smile every time something funny happens— you always cover your laugh behind your hand. He wishes you’d stop that, your smile was beautiful— He watches the way your cheeks get a pretty shade of pink when an embarrassing detail slips up.

Has he always noticed these things? He's an observant guy. Of course he is. It's the heart of being a writer; observing and interpreting. But had he always been this observant to you?

He knows your favourite color, your favourite show. He knows when you're upset, when you’ve achieved something you just can't keep the excitement in. He knows your house inside out, probably the same way you do to his. Heck, he knows your exact coffee order. Who even does that? 

Mark does, obviously. He's seated in front of you, no fucking clue what you're talking about anymore because he's too caught up in absorbing every little detail on your face. He laughs at something you said, but it doesn't quite process inside his head. He's laughing because you're laughing.

And maybe that's it. Mark laughs when you laugh. Mark cries just as hard as you do regardless if he knows the reason. He walks with you in absolute silence with no intention of breaking it. Mark sleeps on a futon next to your bed whenever you ask him to. Mark would’ve given you the moon if you asked. He would've given it even if you didn't ask. 

If Mark was asked what he didn't like about you, he’d be able to list down a maximum of five things. He didn't like how you never finish your food. He didn't like how you don't dry your hair before going to bed. He didn't like how you think it's okay for an animal to hurt you because at least then, you were able to pet it.

But Mark, those were only 4. He doesn't know the fifth one just yet. He doesn't look for it, either. He likes to think about what he likes about you. 

He likes the way all your teeth show when you smile. He likes the way you link arms with him when walking down the street. He likes listening to you talk for hours on end. He likes it when he knows you’d always call him first. He likes it when you shine in the things that you love doing. He likes it when you–

And oh. Oh. There were many things Mark liked about you. Too much, really. But he realizes, when you break his train of thought to tell him “mark, I have to go soon. I have too meet up with someone”

The fifth thing he didn't like about you, was the fact that he could never tell if you liked him the way he does.

I like you in what way? Mark’s eyes grow positively three times its size. He doesn't know if it's from the realization that he likes you, or from what you just told him. 

Mark is in panic now. He can't possibly let you leave, let you go. “What? Who?” You watch Mark scramble to put his coffee down, eyes shaking trying to watch your every move.

The sight makes you giggle, “I still have work, mark. I was just on break” and Mark is standing. He's standing and walking next to your chair, hands trying to look for pockets to shove it in “I could walk you to your building..?”

God he's so awkward and obvious. You grab your coat and stood next to him, your arm already linking on his “sure. you can walk me out of the café” Mark seems to nod at that, walking with you out the shop, before it dawns on him what that meant. 

Before he even knows it, you’ve both already exited the shop. He's panicking again, his hands getting clammy and awkward. You laugh at him, “I’m gonna go now, Mark” trying to pry your arm out of his hold gently.

Mark looks at you defeated, he’d already given up in trying to sabotage your little meet up with whoever and he hasn't even done much to prevent it at all “m’kay..”

He's so annoyingly endearing and obviously you can’t help but laugh at him. Head thrown back and all. Mark looks at you puzzled. What’s funny?

It takes you a minute to recover, nearly tearing up. Just as you take a step away, a thought passes just as fast as the breeze. You hum, if Mark wasn't going to do it first, then you will.

You lean close to his face with a grin, Mark trying his best to be normal about it. You giggle once more before landing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, the feeling fleeting. And you're gone just as fast, laughing at Mark’s face going cherry red as you're waving goodbye, walking down the street with a hop in your step.

Mark stood immobilized. What the fuck just happened. He brings a hand to where your lips had kissed, the touch still burning his skin as if you were still there, kissing him.

He takes a tentative step away, slowly walking the opposite direction with a dazed look. His mind was far away and his eyes were unfocused. He damn near crashed into a pole and the only thing he worried about is your kiss mark disappearing.

That day, Mark had walked home and sat on his little study desk, his paper slowly filling up with words. That day, Mark had written about love. Because now, he can finally say what it felt like to be in love. And how it felt perfect because it was you, he was in love with you.

He had written about the concept of you. 

I love mark lee. You love mark lee. Me and da homies all love mark lee fawk 😞❤️‍🩹

© bomiten 2025 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms. thank you.

[antiqueanimals]

Florida Wildlife; vol. 11, no. 3. August, 1957. Illustration by Wallace Hughes.

Internet Archive

[ronthafrog]

this little critter is a redear sunfish !

it was caught out of a reservoir (and returned) & kindly allowed us to use it to teach highschool students how to measure fish :)

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 22

Day Twenty-One | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Twenty-Three

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OlderVirgin!Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Reader is an older virgin; fingering; oral sex; loss of virginity; vaginal sex; safe sex

Marcus doesn’t laugh when you tell him. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s stunning. You feel like folding in on yourself, but Marcus just looks at you as if you’ve just told him about the forecast for the week. Maybe that should make it better, but it almost makes it…Worse. You’ve gotten no reaction; Marcus’ face is almost pointedly flat, as if he’s masking what he thinks, what he feels. 

You groan softly, scooching away from him, even as he murmurs, “Hang on—” 

You don’t hang on, but you don't run away from him like you’d like to, either. You tug the sheets up around your bare chest before you cover your heating face with your hands. You can feel the bed shifting beside you before Marcus’ hands gently curl around your wrists. He doesn’t try to pull them back from your face, he just waits for a moment. You draw in a few deep breaths, trying to quell your embarrassment before you lower your hands to your lap. Marcus’ hands lower to your thighs, the heat of them bleeding through the sheets.  

“It’s normal,” He soothes. 

“I know.” 

“Everyone moves at their own pace—” 

“I know.” You can feel your defensive irritation building, and shut your eyes, trying to steady yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head, resting your hands atop his. “It’s…I’ve never told anyone that I’m a virgin and had it…Go well.” 

Marcus turns his hands over in yours, and bless him, he waits again. You draw in a deep breath, hold it for a few beats, and push it out slowly, giving Marcus’ hands a small squeeze. 

“Can we slow down?” You ask. 

“Of course we can.” He answers without a single hesitation. 

-- 

He doesn’t ask. For a while, he doesn’t even mention it. You’re not sure which is worse: talking about it, or not talking about it. You can’t help but wonder if he has questions that he’s just keeping to himself. You can feel him watching you now and again, but when you glance over questioningly, he just smiles. It puts you at ease. 

You still don’t jump right into it. 

You spend nights together, the two of you both fool around and get each other off, but you notice that he lets you lead. You’re certain he’s doing it on purpose, even if he won’t tell you. 

--  

“...Have you just never…Had the urge?” Marcus finally hedges one afternoon. You’re not sure what’s brought it to his mind. Maybe he’s thought of you—wanting you. Maybe he’s held back. You just keep your gaze set stalwartly on the television, watching Bogart and Bergman skillfully dance around what they really want to say. Maybe Marcus has been doing that for weeks; maybe he doesn’t have the patience for it anymore. 

“I have,” You admit. “But no one’s ever…Wanted to.” 

It feels shameful, and uncomfortable. No one’s ever wanted you like this. No one’s ever shoved their hands up under your shirt, murmured against your sweat-slicked skin that they need you—

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Marcus soothes, and by the slightly stunned tone, you’re certain that he really means it. Still, you shrug, looking at your lap as you try to ignore the way your stomach twists with discomfort. 

“Well,” You mumble in concession, “If it is, they’ve never said anything.” 

Marcus lets out a soft hum of sympathy, his hand smoothing over your arm. 

“People don’t always ask for what they want.” 

“I guess.” 

You can’t help your smile as Marcus presses his face into your neck, dotting the skin with kisses. 

“For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.” 

Your smile widens, and you squeeze your eyes shut to quell the wave of relieved tears that spring up in your eyes. 

--  

Marcus gives you the time, and the space, and you decide that since the ball is in your court, you oughta do something with it. It’s a gamble, and it terrifies you, but as the two of you makeout lazily on his couch, you push yourself to straddle his lap. Marcus slides his hands over your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze as his tongue sweeps past your lips. You cup Marcus’ cheeks, drawing back to get a good look at him. 

“Marcus?” You murmur. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“Can we go to bed?” 

“Sure,” Marcus nods, shaking back his sleeve to eye his watch. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten—” 

“No, Marcus, I���” You swallow thickly, summoning all of your courage and steadying yourself. “I want to go to bed.” 

Marcus’ brow furrows and he nods. “Yeah, I know. We can…” He trails off, searching your rapidly heating face. You watch as it dawns on him, his brows raising and his lips puckering into a small, surprised o. 

“Are you sure?” He presses. You nod, leaning in and brushing his lips gently along yours. 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” 

--  

We can stop if you want to. 

He reminds you as he takes you apart, just before he lowers you onto the bed; just before he makes you shake apart with his tongue, and his fingers, and the sight of his pretty, dark eyes fluttering closed as he tastes you. 

We can take our time. 

Marcus says that over and over again—as you take him into your mouth; as he eases and curls his fingers to help stretch your throbbing, needy pussy. 

You’re in control. 

He murmurs it against your neck; against your thigh; against your sternum as he presses reverent kisses to the space between your breasts. 

He makes you feel in control, too, smoothing his hands over your head as you roll the condom onto his cock and lightly stroke him. You tip your chin up, brushing your lips against his, and smiling as Marcus bows closer to give you a warm, sweet kiss. 

“Are you ready?” He asks softly. 

“Yes.” 

You lay back, stomach fluttering with nerves as Marcus leans over you, grinding gently against you. You shiver at the feeling of his cock grinding against your slick folds. You bite your lip as the head of his cock nudges your entrance. His gaze flickers up to yours, and you nod. 

“Please, Marcus,” You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer. Marcus braces himself over you, slowly pressing deeper inside. You let your head fall back, your eyes sliding closed as you savor the sensation of him filling you. It’s a little uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity, but he’s taken so much care to stretch you that the feeling isn’t unbearable. He goes still once his hips are flush against yours, and you manage to just catch his stifled groan as your cunt throbs around him. 

“Is that—” He sighs as you slide your hands up over his arms. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” 

“I…” You sigh, fumbling for your words, “It feels so…Mm, god, it feels amazing.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You feel big, Marcus.” You open your eyes, smiling up at him as he beams at you. He presses his chest against yours, catching your lips in a kiss. You curl your arms around his shoulders, sliding your feet up to bend your knees. The shift makes your pussy pulse, and you whimper against his lips. Marcus lifts his head, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Marcus?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” 

“Move? Please?” 

Marcus nods, sliding a hand down to your thigh to steady himself. He draws out, then eases his hips again. The sensation makes your breath catch in your throat. Your hips seem to tip up against his of their own volition, chasing the unfamiliar stretch of him. You can see him holding back. It’s in the tightness of his jaw, and the slow, steady way that he thrusts into you. You take in the sight of him—of his biceps as he holds himself over you, the furrow of his brow, his hazy eyes as he peers down at where you’re connected. 

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Marcus pants, “Fuck, you feel perfect.” 

The praise makes you shiver, your mouth falling open. You dig your nails into his shoulders as your pussy ripples around him. 

“Marcus,” You plead, “More.”

He hikes your leg up around his hip, thrusting with more force. The bed creaks a bit, your headboard whacking lightly against the wall in time with the slapping of your hips. You grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down for another kiss. His hand snakes down, swiping across your throbbing clit. You can feel him smiling against your lips as you whine into his mouth. 

“Is this what you needed?” He goads. 

“Yes, Marcus, yes—” 

“How does that feel?” 

“Good, it feels so good, you—Oh god, oh god,” You gasp, hips pressing up into his cock and his fingers. He murmurs encouragingly, fingers swirling your clit in small, concentrated circles with each thrust of his hips. You can feel your orgasm creeping up, your toes curling in the sheets as you fist a hand in Marcus’ hair. 

“Marcus,” You warn softly. 

“Yeah—Oh, I know, fucking look at you,” He presses closer, hips sawing with long, slow thrusts. “I want you to cum for me, sweetheart. You’re so fucking perfect, taking my cock like this.” 

Your mouth falls open with a moan as you raise a hand, toying with your breast and thumbing your aching nipple. Your eyelids flutter, back arching as you press your hips up against his, whimpering and moaning as you fall apart around him. Marcus keeps his thrusts steady as you cum, cunt tightening and throbbing around him.

It’s a few moments before you hear him before you hear him curse under his breath, and thrilling in the feeling of his hips rabbiting, then stilling. You listen to him panting, feel him gently draw out of you before he climbs off of you, leaving your sweat-sheened skin to cool. You close your eyes, listening to him pad away from the bed. It’s followed by the hissing of the faucet, the plop of the condom being dropped into the waste bin, the burble of a washcloth being squeezed out, and the return of his footsteps. 

You open your eyes, watching him, and smiling as he gently cleans you off. He glances up, his eyes catching on yours, and you smile, stroking his chin gently. Marcus sets the washcloth aside, climbing back onto the bed properly and drawing you into his chest. You cuddle into him, sliding a leg over his and thrilling in the lingering throb between your thighs. 

“How are you feeling?” Marcus murmurs. 

“Mm…Sleepy,” You admit, smiling as he chuckles.

“I really took it out of you, huh.” 

“After you put it into me, yeah.” You laugh as Marcus does, grinning up at him as he tips his head back against the pillows, his belly rising and falling with laugh. You lean up, cupping his and gently guiding his head toward yours, giving him a tender kiss. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” You murmur. 

He shakes his head, giving your side a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you for trusting me to.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ;

[earness]

[caffeinated-frog]

Fish!

Some of them look a little weird, but it’s my second time painting with gouache. I’m definitely proud

[Image description: A photograph of a gouache painting depicting five blue rectangles, each with a fish inside. The fish are largemouth bass, redear sunfish, rainbow trout, brown trout, and channel catfish. The fish are labeled with thin black handwriting. /end Image description]

[inthecityofgoodabode]

November 2023: Sunday Fishing Trip

As promised, we went fishing Sunday. We broke out the hunter orange vests since it is deer season & we wanted to reduce our chances of being shot by accident:

First fish of the day:

Quail Hollow Lake:

Today's small catch. Just one bluegill & two redear sunfish (aka shellcrackers) but it was a beautiful day:

[aaronofithaca05]

Shown my fic to my abuela (grandma), and she said.

-Aaron, prendica mía, what are you talking about, did she was r×ped

-Abuela; is a he

-Ah. What a pity then, i really like it, bit I thought you didn't write it, it's way mature for you...Still I love it, tell me more if you finished it; also read ir to your mom

-you are crazy, no....

Writers, sharing work on the internet to strangers:

Writers, the second friends and family want to read their work:

[freshwater-emo]

Timothy Knepp

[handstudioua]

Summer's Sweetest Statement: Dangle with Delectable Cherry Earrings! (1498 characters)

Craving a touch of playful summer magic? Look no further than these enchanting cherry earrings! Each earring boasts a pair of vibrant red cherries, meticulously sculpted from lightweight polymer clay. Measuring approximately 1.5 cm in diameter, these delightful charms burst with color, ready to add a touch of whimsy to any outfit. Delicate green cotton cords dangle effortlessly from secure metal fittings, adding a touch of natural elegance. With a total length of 6.5 cm, these earrings are the perfect pop of color to brighten your day, no matter where your summer adventures take you.

Why These Earrings are the Perfect Summer Companion:

Handmade with Love, Worn with Confidence: Each earring is a unique work of art, handcrafted from lightweight polymer clay. This not only guarantees a one-of-a-kind piece but also ensures comfortable wear throughout the day.

Versatility is Your Friend: These earrings adapt effortlessly to your personal style. Dress them up for a touch of bohemian flair with a flowy maxi dress, or add a pop of color to your everyday jeans and t-shirt. They're the perfect summer staple that complements any outfit.

Conversation Starters On-the-Go: Be prepared to turn heads with these playful earrings! Their unique design is sure to spark conversations and bring smiles, making them the perfect way to express your personality and add a touch of summer fun to any occasion.

From Picnics to Poolside Paradise, These Earrings are Ready for Anything:

Picnic Perfection: Add a touch of fruity fun to your picnic basket. The vibrant cherries will complement your checkered blanket and summer treats perfectly, making your spread even more delightful.

Poolside Paradise: Let your personality shine bright by the pool! These water-resistant earrings (avoid submerging for extended periods) are the ideal accessory for a day of splashing fun.

Summer Nights Out: Add a touch of playful charm to your evening outfit. These earrings will add a pop of color to your little black dress or your favorite summer jumpsuit, making you stand out from the crowd.

Sweeten Your Look & Someone Else's Day:

These delightful earrings also make a fantastic gift for any friend or family member who loves a touch of summer sweetness!

Search Keywords: cherry blossom earrings, summer fruit jewelry, clay earrings, cotton cord earrings, lightweight earrings, handmade earrings, gift for cherry lovers, summer accessories

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

Left on Read

Pairing: Harry Lewis x Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, awkward tension, ghosting, unresolved feelings, dirty talk, resentment, angst, light enemies-to-lovers.

Summary: You hooked up once, then ghosted him the next day without a word. A year later, you’re hired as the Sidemen’s new social media coordinator. Surprise, bitch. The awkward tension is unbearable. Harry’s not the same since that night, and neither are you.

Word Count: ~2,500

Masterlist

It’s a surprise, really, that it took this long for you to end up here.

The Sidemen HQ. The most infamous collective of YouTube chaos. And you? Well, you’re their newest hire. Social media coordinator, of course, because they’re “growing.” You had the credentials, the connections — and hell, you needed the job. But, maybe more than that, you needed a change of scenery.

What you didn’t need was the heavy, suffocating tension the second you walked through the door. You should’ve known. You should’ve prepared for it.

You didn’t.

Your eyes catch him almost immediately — Harry Lewis. Leaning casually against a wall, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone, acting like he doesn’t see you. But you know he does. You can feel the weight of his gaze before you even register it.

Your heart stutters.

It’s been a year since that night.

The one where you let yourself go too far, where you let him pull you in without a second thought. And when the morning came, you’d run. You didn’t leave a text. No explanation. No apology. Just silence.

It was easier that way, or so you thought. Easier than dealing with whatever you were starting to feel for him. Easier than the aftermath of that night when you let yourself be weak and vulnerable. It wasn’t like you expected anything from him, but a small part of you had hoped he’d reach out.

But he didn’t.

And you didn’t either.

Now, a year later, you’re standing here, about to work with him. For him, even. And you can already feel the weight of that night pressing against you like a bruise that never quite healed.

He’s the first to speak, but only because he’s cornered. Ethan’s behind you, introducing you to the team, smiling and cheerful. But Harry? Harry is different. The air around him crackles with unspoken tension, the kind you’ve been trying to ignore since you stepped into this room.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he mutters under his breath. The words are low, almost drowned out by the noise of the room.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a sharp nod and turns his attention back to his phone. The tension thickens. It’s like you’re a stranger again, like that night never happened. You almost wish it hadn’t.

But it did.

And now you’re here. And so is he.

The first few days are unbearable. The team is easy to work with, for the most part, but Harry? Harry avoids you at all costs. He doesn’t speak to you unless it’s necessary for work, and even then, it’s clipped and distant.

It’s like he’s a stranger. Like nothing ever happened. But you can’t forget.

One night, you’re walking out of the office late, ready to call it a day when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t turn around.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

You recognize his voice before you see him. Of course you do. You’ve spent more than enough time pretending it doesn’t echo in your mind.

“I work here now,” you say, your voice coming out colder than you intend. “Shouldn’t be surprising.”

He’s quiet for a beat too long, and when you finally turn to look at him, his face is unreadable. But his eyes — God, they still hold that edge, the one that left you breathless the night you ran.

“You ghosted me.”

The words are simple, direct, and yet they feel like a slap.

You feel your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t think he’d ever bring it up. You didn’t think he’d ever admit that he noticed.

But he did.

And you… you didn’t know how to react.

“I wasn’t ready for anything serious,” you mutter, hoping it comes off convincing, even to yourself. “I told you that.”

His gaze sharpens. “We didn’t talk. You didn’t even leave a message. You disappeared without a word.”

You can see it now — the hurt behind the anger. The way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes flicker with something dangerous.

“I couldn’t do it,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what it was between us, and it scared me.”

There’s silence between you two. He shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t break eye contact.

“You didn’t think it was worth talking about?” he asks, voice strained. “Didn’t think I deserved an explanation?”

The hurt in his voice cuts deep. You wish you could take it back, but the words are out now, and they’re hanging in the air between you like a weighted truth.

“I didn’t know what to say,” you reply softly, feeling the weight of the admission sink in. “It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, Harry. I didn’t want it to be.”

His eyes flicker, but instead of saying anything else, he turns and walks away.

The days drag on. Each time you catch his gaze, it’s like a cold punch to the gut. His silence is deafening, and every moment feels like a reminder of that night. You want to talk to him. You want to apologize. But you don’t. Because you’re scared. Scared that if you say anything, it’ll make everything worse.

But then, one night, it happens.

You’re both stuck late at the office, finishing up some last-minute work. The rest of the team has gone home, and it’s just the two of you. The awkward silence is almost suffocating. You can feel him watching you from across the room, his eyes heavy with something unspoken.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice small but determined. “For ghosting you. For leaving you like that.”

He looks up from his phone, eyes dark and unreadable. For a second, you think he’s going to brush it off. But then he pushes himself off the chair and stands up.

“You don’t get to just apologize and walk away,” he says, voice low. “You don’t get to do that.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re too scared of what might come next.

But he doesn’t wait for you to speak. He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him.

“You fucked me over, and I didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs. “But I’m still here. And I’m not letting you run from this again.”

Before you can say anything else, his lips crash against yours. Hard. Desperate.

The kiss is everything you’ve been avoiding — everything you’ve been denying. His hands are rough, tugging you closer, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t want to run anymore.

The tension between you explodes in a rush of need. His mouth is everywhere, and when his hands push your shirt up, you don’t stop him.

Not this time.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment, like he’s been aching for it.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and ragged, he looks at you, eyes dark with desire.

“You don’t get to walk away from me again,” he says, voice a low growl. “You hear me?”

You nod, heart racing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Harry’s gaze is steady on yours, his eyes dark, but there’s an unfamiliar tenderness in them now, softening the usual fire. He’s waiting, just like you, for the moment when all the anger and confusion will finally slip away, and only the raw, desperate need remains.

His hands move to your waist, fingertips brushing the fabric of your clothes. Slowly, deliberately, he undoes the buttons of your shirt, his breath catching as he exposes the skin beneath. There’s no rush, no frantic need to hurry — just a steady, simmering intensity as he takes his time, as if savoring every inch of you. His lips ghost over your skin, barely touching but sending shivers through your body, making your breath hitch.

When your shirt falls to the floor, Harry leans in closer, his lips trailing a path up your neck, biting down on the soft skin just below your ear. The sensation sends a spark of heat straight to your core, and you can’t help but gasp, fingers curling into the sheets as you tug him closer.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathes against your skin, his voice rough with the hunger he’s been hiding. “I’ve wanted you... all this time.”

The confession stirs something deep inside of you, the lingering ache of longing and regret mixing with the heat of the moment. You don’t know why it took so long for you to admit it to each other, but now, in this space, it feels like the only thing that matters.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, pushing it up over his head. The moment his bare skin is exposed, you can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body responds to yours, both of you finally giving in to the desire that’s been building for so long.

He groans softly when you press your chest against his, the feeling of your bodies so close, so desperate, making everything feel like it’s spiraling. Your breath hitches as you feel the hard length of him against your thigh, and you can see the way his eyes darken at the contact, the way his grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you closer, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that is anything but gentle.

The kiss is bruising, urgent, like you both need to feel something, anything to break through the walls you’ve built. His hands are all over you now, roaming, exploring the curves of your body like he’s trying to make up for lost time. The way he touches you — with need, with longing, with a hint of desperation — leaves you breathless, overwhelmed, caught between the desire for more and the fear of what it might mean.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low, almost a growl, his lips just barely grazing yours. “Because once we do this, there’s no going back.”

You feel the weight of his words, but it only sharpens the craving that’s been building inside of you, that deep ache for him you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hand finding its way to the buckle of his jeans. “I’m sure.”

With that, Harry finally gives in, his lips crashing to yours again as he unzips his jeans, kicking them off in a hasty motion. You can feel the hardness of him as his hands slip down to your hips, lifting you easily, guiding you to where you both need to be.

The moment he enters you, a soft gasp escapes your lips, and Harry groans low in his throat, his body shuddering from the intensity of it. His hands hold you firmly, but the way his eyes search yours — like he’s looking for something, something deeper than just physical release — makes your chest tighten.

He moves slowly at first, testing the waters, his rhythm steady and careful. But the deeper you fall into each other, the faster it becomes, the harder, until the tension between you is unbearable, and all you can do is hold onto each other, gasping for breath with every push and pull. Each movement is rough, a little desperate, as though you’re both trying to forget the hurt of the past, the silence, the walls that had kept you apart for so long.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry murmurs against your ear, his hands digging into your skin, pulling you closer, urging you to meet him with every thrust.

You cling to him, your nails scraping down his back as the pleasure builds, the connection between you both now undeniable. Every inch of him feels like a contradiction — too gentle and too rough all at once, both apologizing and demanding.

“I’ve missed this,” you confess, the words slipping from your mouth as your breath becomes ragged, your body tensing, every muscle screaming for release.

His pace falters for just a second, his grip tightening, his lips pressing against your neck. “I’ve missed you. All of you,” he says, and there’s something so raw, so vulnerable in his voice that it makes everything feel even more intense. You can feel the desperation in his movements, the raw need, as he finally lets go of everything — the guilt, the frustration, the fear.

And when you both finally reach the edge, the release is nothing short of explosive, your bodies shaking, your names falling from each other's lips like a final confession. Harry collapses on top of you, breathless, both of you trying to steady your racing hearts.

You lie there for a while, tangled up in each other, neither of you willing to move just yet. It’s not about the sex anymore. It’s about what’s been said without words, the connection that was always there, buried under layers of hurt, now finally laid bare.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, his voice soft against your ear. “For everything.”

[cowgirlsuntamed]

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[antiqueanimals]

Louisiana Conservationist, March-April, 1974. Illustration by Duane Raver Jr.

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