#conversations with crusty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamersparacosm · 2 months ago

Text

jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering sandwiches to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should i call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

#im not online but my queue is! 🔔#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jjk #jjk x reader

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theuselesshistoryweeb · 2 years ago

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I have acquired moneys hehe

#hetalia #hws netherlands #character ai #apologies for the crusty laptop #I was too engaged in this conversation to try to clean it

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sluttylittlewaistenthusiast · 2 years ago

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could smell ellie's converse through the screen pag tingin ko palang eh alam nang it stanky

#tlou #ellie williams #the last of us #eliies crusty musty converse #so crusty u could smell it through the screen

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ariestrxsh · 18 days ago

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mean!chris x shy!reader

✰ content warning: smut, sneaking around, pornography, masturbation, oral(m & f!receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, enemies to lovers

✰ summary: the morning after you and chris share a mutual masturbation session together, you both have to act normal around his suspicious brothers. the tension grows even thicker when the two of you are left alone all afternoon.

Idk who first wrote mean!chris or shy!reader, so I can't give proper credits, but I feel like it's been done before. I can't claim this is an original AU, but I hope you enjoy the fic! Credits to everyone who did it before me! ✰

dividers by @/anitalenia

Lights Turned On

chapters: | 1 | 2 |

The next morning, the sound of the heater kicking on woke you up around 9 a.m. You were on the hard living room floor with Matt to your right, beginning to stir. Nick was already up and making coffee in the other room, the aromatic scent drifting through the air.

You shivered, tugging your wool blanket up to your chin. Sunlight was beginning to pour in through the big window, lighting up the front of the house. You yawned, the detailed memories from the night before flooding back to you - Chris, walking in on him, seeing him naked for the first time, finishing beside him.

You almost had to ask yourself if it was all a dream, but when your tired eyes fluttered opened, Chris was descending the stairs. He was in a sweater and flannel pajama pants, and he was holding a laundry basket with his sheets in it. There was a part of you that felt hurt when he didn't even glance in your direction.

"You piss the bed or something?" Matt teased Chris, motioning towards the basket full of his bedding.

"Fuck off," Chris hastily mumbled under his breath on his way to the laundry room. You quickly turned away and blushed, knowing he was probably washing them because of the mess you made on them. It definitely wasn't a dream, but you were better off pretending it was, that way you didn't bring any attention to the situation.

Matt shifted around in the blankets, rubbing his eyes and turning to face you. "Hey, did you go upstairs last night?" He casually asked you. Your eyes subtly widened, and your heartrate started to quicken.

"Yeah, I went to go wash off my makeup," you shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Why was he asking?

"Then why didn't you?" He asked, furrowing his brow and letting out a chuckle as he motioned towards the smeared eyeliner on your eye lids and your crusty day-old mascara. "You look like a damn racoon."

Blood rushed to your cheeks, realizing you were going to have to think on your feet and lie, because after you'd gotten caught up in your little side quest with Chris, you completely forgot the main objective of going upstairs in the first place.

"Yeah, turns out I forgot my makeup wipes and my face wash at home," you shrugged, rolling your eyes at yourself and shooting a weak smile in his direction.

"You could've used my face wash," Matt narrowed his gaze at you. "Or Nick's."

"I just didn't feel right about using it without asking first," you lied, shrugging a shoulder and glancing over at Matt's face to see if he bought it.

"You're always welcome to our stuff. You know that," Matt said, giving you a skeptical look. You could feel the awkward tension growing between the two of you. You could tell that Matt could tell that you were hiding something.

"Why'd you ask?" You wondered out loud, taking control of the conversation. You tried to make your question sound as nonchalant as possible, trying to figure out what he already knew without seeming like you were trying to gather information.

"Well, I woke up last night, and you were gone. I stayed up for like twenty minutes before I fell back asleep, but you never came back down. I almost went upstairs looking for you, but I dozed off," Matt replied.

Your heart dropped at his words. The thought of him stumbling upon you and Chris and your intimate moment sent a rush of panic through you.

"So, why were you upstairs for that long? Were you alright?" Matt inquired with an almost concerned look on his face. You had to come up with something quickly that would either answer all his questions or keep him from asking them.

"God, Matt! I was having lady issues. Do you have to pry so hard?" You snapped back defensively, knowing he wouldn't want to press further. You threw the blanket off in annoyance as Matt mumbled an apology to you.

You almost felt bad for being snippy with him, but you didn't know any other way to handle the situation in the moment without incriminating yourself, so you doubled down. You got up with a huff and headed to the kitchen to join Nick.

"Coffee?" Nick offered, glancing over at you, already refilling his Keurig with water in anticipation that you were going to say yes. You weren't the type to ever turn down a cup of coffee.

"Sure, thanks," you accepted, giving him a warm smile. Nick grabbed you a french vanilla kcup and your favorite mug out of the cabinet and started brewing a cup for you.

You peered through the doorway that connected the kitchen to the laundry room as Chris pulled his sweater off over his head and tossed it into the wash with his bedding. His intense blue eyes met yours for just a moment, but his expression was completely unreadable.

You loved how mysterious he was, but you also hated it, and you especially hated how much you loved it. You were usually good at reading people, but Chris' mannerisms, his expressions, and his tone, all left you with more questions than answers.

He went back to loading up the washing machine, but he started subtly flexing, enjoying the attention you were giving him even if he was really good at acting like he didn't notice. You dropped your gaze to the way his pajama pants hung low on his hips, revealing the waistband of his black Calvin Klein underwear. Your eyes wandered to the bulge in his pants.

"Did you hear me?" Nick inquired, breaking you out of your dirty thoughts that you were entertaining about his brother.

"Huh?" You asked, not realizing he had been speaking to you or that you had been subconsciously holding your breath the whole time. Nick glanced at where you were looking and back at you, giving you a confused look as if he could tell what you were thinking.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about all the laundry I have to get done," you nervously responded, quickly pulling your gaze away from Chris' bulge.

"You're good," Nick replied. "I was just letting you know I'm leaving for my Space Camp meeting soon, and Matt's coming with me if he ever gets his ass up," Nick chuckled, looking over his shoulder into the living room where Matt still laying on the floor on his phone. You snorted at Nick's comment.

"You can come if you want, but it might be a little boring. You're also free to just hang out here as long as you don't mind being stuck here with Chris."

You shrugged, trying to act like you weren't dying to stay back. "I don't mind hanging out here," you told Nick, taking your cup of coffee from him once it was done brewing. Nick took his mug with him into the living room, saying something to Matt about him being the laziest person he's ever met.

You wandered over to the boys' fridge to get some milk for your coffee. You reached down and picked up the carton, and when you turned to close the fridge door, Chris' blue eyes met yours as he was preparing his own cup of coffee a few feet away.

He shook his head and let out a soft scoff. "Gonna stay and hang out here with me all day? Thought you had laundry to do," he joked, giving you a smirk to let you know that he'd noticed you checking him out.

Your palms began to sweat, nearly losing your grasp on the milk in your hand. You could hardly hear Nick and Matt arguing or the sound of the Keurig brewing over your heart hammering away. Chris leaned up against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he licked his lips.

"You better put your eyes back in your head before one of my brothers catches you staring at me like that," Chris warned you, reaching down the front of his underwear and adjusting his hardening cock. Your gaze followed his wandering hand for just a moment before you caught yourself staring.

You blushed, averting your eyes to the two boys in the other room. Matt was still laying on the floor, bickering back and forth with Nick about how long it would take him to get ready.

"I've already called the Uber. They're like ten minutes away!" Nick rolled his eyes, standing over Matt with one hand on his hip, and his other hand looped through the handle of his ceramic mug. "You think I can't get ready in ten minutes?" Matt scoffed, finally climbing to his feet.

You turned your attention back to Chris, who was taking a step towards you, your stomach fluttering as he got close to you, thinking for a moment that he might kiss you. "You gonna do something with it or just stand there?" He smirked, towering over you.

"Do something with it?" You reiterated, your breath growing shallow as you peered up into his perfect blue eyes. Was he asking you to..?

"The milk, you little pervert," he chuckled, looking down at the carton you still held in your trembling hand. He took it from you without waiting for you to answer. He poured a bit into his steaming hot coffee and turned back to you, handing you back the milk. He brought his mug to his lips and took a sip from it, holding eye contact with you. You'd never been so jealous of a cup of coffee before.

"I had fun last night," he said, finally addressing the elephant in the room, "but if you're hoping for another show, just know, the first one may have been free, but the next one's gonna cost ya." Chris winked, gently brushing past you as he walked off in the other direction, heading towards his room.

Your jaw dropped, and you peered back over your shoulder at Chris as he ascended the stairs, admiring his back muscles. You could hardly wait for Nick and Matt to leave to figure out exactly what Chris meant by that little comment.

A few minutes later, you said your goodbyes to Nick and Matt, wishing Nick luck with his brand deal and apologizing to Matt for snapping on him earlier.

You took a shower in the upstairs bathroom after they left, finally washing the old makeup from your face and letting the hot water run down your back. The whole time you stood under the shower head, rinsing the shampoo from your hair, your mind was swimming with thoughts of Chris, replaying last night's events and anticipating what today would be like now that the two of you had the house to yourselves.

You spent a little extra time in the shower, scrubbing yourself and shaving all your body hair, trying to convince yourself you weren't doing it in case Chris wanted to have sex with you, even though you knew you were.

Suddenly, you heard the bathroom door open and close, which startled you and caused you to knick your ankle with your razor. "Shit," you whispered, watching the bit of blood color the water before swirling down the drain.

"Gonna use up all the hot water before I can get a shower in, huh?" Chris snorted as you heard the sound of the faucet running.

"W-What are you doing in here?" You managed to get out, stumbling over your words.

"Using my bathroom," he scoffed as if it weren't the most obvious answer in the world.

"You can't just barge in here," you argued, peeking out from behind the shower curtain at the shirtless boy who was applying some toothpaste to his toothbrush.

"You mean, like you did to me last night?" Chris winked at you and started brushing his teeth. You pulled the curtain closed again with a huff and went back to shaving your legs.

A couple minutes later, you heard Chris spit into the sink, rinse off his toothbrush, and knock the excess water off of it. You thought he was just about to leave when you heard the toilet lid open and the sound of Chris emptying his bladder just a few feet from you.

"Ew, are you peeing in here right now!?" You exclaimed.

"Yeah? So?" He nonchalantly asked, shrugging.

"You're disgusting," you shot back, rolling your eyes.

"If I'm so disgusting, why do you want me so bad then?" He teased you. You couldn't even think of a witty comeback. Instead, you scoffed at him loudly and waited for him to flush before you shut off the water. At least he washes his hands, you thought as you heard the faucet running again.

"Can you hurry up?" You asked. "I'm done with my shower. I'm ready to get out now."

"Then get out," he responded. You poked your head out from behind the shower curtain and gave him an unamused look. "What? You got to see every inch of me last night." Chris leaned up against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your gaze flickered between him and your towel that was slung over the rack across the room. He smirked at you and reached for your towel, handing it to you. You snatched it out of his hand and started drying off behind the curtain. You wrapped the towel around your chest and stepped out onto the bath mat, your eyes meeting Chris'.

"Why are you still in here?" You retorted, glaring.

"Just waitin' for my turn to use the shower. Didn't expect ya to take all damn day," Chris sneered back. His gaze danced over you, eyeing you up and down as you wiped away the condensation on the mirror with your hand.

"You're bleeding," Chris observed. You glanced down at your ankle and the drop of blood that was slowly running down your skin. "Here, hop up on the counter," he told you, moving closer towards you, grabbing you by your waist and spinning you around.

He lifted you by your hips, propping you up on the ledge of the granite countertop, your heart skipping a beat. Your gaze met his for a moment. He reached around you to grab a bandaid out of the drawer and a tissue from the kleenex box beside you.

He kneeled down in front of you, wiping away the bit of blood that dripped down your the side of your foot and carefully placed a bandaid on your cut. His hand gently brushed over your freshly shaven leg as he stood back up.

"There," he softly cooed, both of his hands resting on the countertop and his face just inches from yours. "I'm gonna go take a shower. By the time I'm done, I want you completely naked on my bed, legs spread, touching yourself to your favorite kind of porn," he lowered his voice, searching your face for a reaction.

Your heart pounded in your ears, your eyes widened, and you could feel your cheeks flush as he spoke. You turned your head away, avoiding eye contact. "You hear me?" He wondered aloud, tipping your chin up to face him again. "You got to watch me last night. Now it's my turn to watch you." His intense blue eyes bore into yours.

Your breath was caught in your throat. Any boldness you had the night before was completely diminished when he spoke to you like that, his body draping over yours as you sat there in your towel. All you could do was nod.

Chris took a step back, dropping his bottoms with a smirk. You glanced down almost as a reflex but quickly turned away to leave the room. You heard the shower kick on behind you.

You walked down the hall, completely embarrassed by what Chris had asked you to do - and admittedly, a little turned on by it at the same time. When you walked into Chris' room, you noticed a vanilla-scented candle lit on his bedside table next to his lamp.

Your eyes wandered to the new, fresh sheet he had on his bed. You finished drying off, letting your towel drop to the floor. You laid on the clean linen, propping yourself up against his headboard with a soft pillow behind you. You nervously bit down on your lip, preparing to do what Chris had told you he wanted you to be doing when he walked in.

Your palms started sweating, and your face grew hot. You opened your phone, scrolling through some porn when a lesbian video caught your eye. You clicked on it, your stare locked onto the two women and the way they started kissing and undressing each other.

Your hand wandered south, your fingers drawing closer to your heat as the scene played out in front of you. After the two of them made out for a few minutes, the video started to get even more steamy. Their hands roamed each other's bodies and their mouths, too.

You watched as one woman started sucking on the other woman's neck, slowly moving down to her collarbone and then to her breast. She took the woman's nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She trailed kisses down her stomach, parting her thighs, and started gently licking her between her legs.

A soft moan unfurled from your lips as you started gently rubbing your clit in circles. You were so enthralled with the hot scene and how good your hand felt that you nearly forgot you were in Chris' bed or that he could walk in on you any minute.

You started going at it faster now, your breath quickening and your fingers making tighter, more fervent circles as you listened to the heavenly sounds the girl made while she was being eaten out. That's when Chris appeared in the doorway, leaning up against the doorframe with his towel hung loosely around his hips as he watched in awe.

You didn't notice him yet, too caught up in what you were doing, your body squirming beneath your own touch. His voice startled you when he finally spoke. "Look at you," he quietly said, smirking, his gaze fixed on you. He stepped forward, running his fingers through his damp hair, a few water droplets rolling down his chest.

He approached the side of the bed and gently brushed the back of his hand against your flushed cheek. "What do we have here?" He inquired, peeking over at your phone screen and raising an eyebrow at what he saw. You immediately grew self-conscious and started to close your legs. "Ah, ah, ah," Chris cooed, "keep 'em open."

He gently wedged your knees apart again with his strong hands, his eyes dancing over your breasts and your glistening pussy that you continued to toy with. "You're watchin' girls, huh?" He sweetly asked, his voice laced with a hint of jealousy.

You bit down on your lip and nodded, still drawing lazy, slow circles on your clit. "What do you like about girls?" He asked, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face as he watched the video alongside you.

"They're soft and sensual, and they just know what they're doing more than boys do," you admitted, your eyes still fixed on your phone screen and the way the two girls were interacting with one another.

"They know what they're doing more than boys do, hmm?" Chris repeatedly you, sounding skeptical. "You really believe that?" You nodded, your eyes flickering up at his. He let out a low chuckle.

"We'll see about that," he smirked, taking your phone from you, shutting off the screen, and tossing it to the side. "C'mon. I'm your entertainment now. Let's put that mouth of yours to good use, hmm?" Chris softly purred, dropping his towel.

His hard cock sprung out at eye-level with you, and he gently placed his palm on the back of your head, his fingers combing through your locks. He gripped you by the underside of your hair, guiding you towards his swollen tip. He pressed it up against your full lips, watching it slowly disappear behind them.

He let out a relieved sigh, a smile curling on his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, too nervous to look directly at him. He softly chuckled at your timid nature.

"C'mon. Look at me, pretty girl. Don't get all shy on me," he softly whispered, coaxing you to meet his gaze with yours. "That's it," he hissed as you slowly peered up at him, looking into his gorgeous blue eyes. He looked like a God, standing over you, his perfect skin glistening from his shower.

You softly moaned around his length, the vibration causing him to twitch in your mouth and involuntarily tighten the grip on your head. He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, his jaw dropping as you took him further.

He reveled in the sight of you looking up at him with his cock buried behind your soft, wet lips. "Good fuckin' girl," he rasped, gently rocking his hips forward, taking in the view.

His gaze travelled between your legs, admiring the way your fingers traced your clit. "Fuck, you look so good like this," Chris hoarsely whispered. "Wonder what Matt and Nick would think if they knew I had you like this right now," he smirked, his words causing you to clench around nothing.

You hummed around his perfect cock, feeling it spasm against your lips. He tipped his head back for a moment, his blue eyes rolling back as a few pleasured sounds poured from him. You could feel him throbbing as your tongue traced every vein.

You could tell he was already close, and it took every ounce of willpower for him to hold his hips still. He grabbed you by your hair and slowly pulled you off of him. "Fuck," he whispered, his cock twitching at the loss of contact.

He brought his attention back to the way your hand was moving fervently between your legs. He slowly paced over towards the foot of the bed to get a better view of you touching yourself for him. "So wet, aren't you?" He purred, slowly lowering his head between your thighs. Your heart raced, anticipating his next move.

"Put your fingers inside," Chris ordered you, his hot breath hitting your cunt as he spoke, causing your toes to curl. "You heard me. Put them inside," he repeated. You nodded, taking two of your fingers, placing them at your entrance, and slowly pushing them in. A soft whimper escaped your lips as your knuckles disappeared into your hole. "Fuck yeah. That's it. Now fuck yourself with them. Hard."

You did as he said, pistoning your fingers in and out of your pussy, the wet, languid sounds filling the room. Your breath grew ragged and your moans grew louder. Chris licked his lips, his gaze fixed on your glistening cunt.

"Stop," he said suddenly. You halted your movements, giving him an inquisitive look as you slowly removed your fingers. He hooked his arms around your thighs, pulling your heat closer to his face. He placed his strong hands on the back of your legs, pinning your knees to your chest and nearly folding you in half.

Without warning, he started slowly and seductively tracing your folds with his tongue. You pinched your eyebrows together, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against his soft pillow. "Oh, no you don't. Eyes on me," he ordered you.

You peered down at him with a glazed over expression, eager to do whatever he said even if it was out of your comfort zone. You watched his tongue slither out from behind his lips once more, and he started flicking it against your clit. "Oh!" You whimpered, your body jolting at the sensation.

He chuckled against your heat, watching you writhe around. He closed his lips down around your sensitive bud, alternating between tenderly suckling on it and licking it. He rolled his soft and velvety tongue against you, your wetness starting to drip down his chin.

"Chris.." you squealed. He hummed against you, vibrations reverberating through your whole body. You kept your eyes fixed on him the whole time, his blue eyes that were staring into your soul and his quick tongue that were just about to fall apart on. He pulled away just before you could.

You let out a disappointed sigh, your climax ripped out from under you before you could reach the point of no return.

You watched Chris position his length at your entrance. Your eyes and your mouth widened as he started slowly dragging his pink tip up and down your folds, teasing your slit. He shot you a smirk as he finally sunk it in, ripping a few satisfied sounds from your core.

Your walls enveloped him, accepting him and sucking him in as he pushed a bit deeper. A guttural sound left his lips as you stretched around his throbbing member. "God, your pussy is perfect," he purred, slowly rolling his hips back and forth. "Takin' me like a good girl, aren't you?" He grabbed your left leg and slung your ankle over his shoulder to get a deeper stroke.

"Oh, my god," you sharply gasped, feeling his tip kissing your cervix over and over again. It wasn't just his size, but the way he fucked - the way he stirred his hips into you, the way he angled himself inside of you, and the way his thrusts were sensual and slow but incredibly powerful nonetheless.

"Feel that? You like that?" He seductively asked you, his fingertips gliding over your thigh as he pushed into you once more.

"Yes! Right there," you moaned, not worrying about your volume, considering the two of you had the house to yourselves. Each restrained movement he made drove you crazy. You knew he was holding back - taunting you. You grasped for Chris' soft sheets beneath you, desperate for something to anchor you.

Chris bent your knee and pressed it into your chest as he burrowed himself deeper, using all his body weight with each skillful plunge. "So fuckin' pretty when you're about to fall apart on my cock," he told you through his breathlessness, tenderly placing a hand on your face as he pressed his forehead to yours.

You could feel your cheek grow warm under his touch. You giggled, breaking eye contact and turning away. "C'mon, eyes right here. I wanna see your pretty face when you finish on me," Chris whispered, tilting your chin to face him again.

As if there were a magnet drawing you each closer to one another, the space between your lips and his started to close in on itself. He moaned into your mouth, his breath mixing with yours. The sloppy sound of you two kissing filled the room, complimented by skin slapping against skin as Chris sped up his thrusts.

Chris broke away from the kiss, feeling you start to tremble beneath him. "That's it. C'mon," he cooed, his gaze locked onto your blissed out expression. You could feel the knot forming in your core, threatening to snap any second now. "Be a good girl and finish for me," he grunted, his own finish line approaching.

"Chris.." His name slipped from your lips as more of a breathy whisper. You came unraveled, your pussy pulsating around him, moans and profanities streaming from your throat as your climax was ripped from you.

Chris continued bucking his hips forward at an unwavering pace, his fingertips digging into the top of your thigh. He fucked you steadily through your orgasm and the aftershocks, chasing his own. He stared down at the complete mess you were beneath him, admiring how beautiful you looked right after finishing.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned you, his facial expression saturated with lust and pleasure, his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes locked on yours. You could feel him starting to twitch inside of you, teetering on the point of no return.

He pulled out at the last second, ropes of cum squirting onto your lower stomach and your pussy. He let out a satisfied sigh before collapsing beside you, his cheeks flushed and sweat dropping down the sides of his face. He turned to face you, a smile spread across his lip, still clearly out of breath but trying to muster up enough strength to tease you one last time.

"So. Do I do it better than girls do?" Chris chuckled, grabbing a towel and cleaning the evidence of what he's just done to you off of your skin. You blushed, your chest rising and falling as you stared up at the ceiling.

"Better than the ones I've been with, yeah," you admitted breathlessly.

"What about the other guys you've been with?" Chris asked, narrowing his gaze.

"Okay, fine. Yeah, better than them, too. Happy?" You shot back, rolling your eyes and trying to hold back a smirk.

Chris climbed to his feet, unable to control the fact that your comment went straight to his head. "That's what I thought," he responded, wandering over to his closet to grab a change of clothes.

"You know, I would have liked more foreplay, though," you admitted.

"More foreplay, huh?" He asked, glancing back at you and giving you a lustful grin. "Noted. I'll do that next time."

Your heart fluttered at the promise of a next time.

You threw your legs over the side of his bed, glancing down at the wet spot the two of you left behind on the bed. You blushed, reaching for your towel and draping it around your body as you started to head out of the room. "I'm gonna go change," you told Chris.

"Good luck," he mumbled.

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a suspicious look as you stepped out into the hallway. You walked a few doors down and entered Nick's room, pausing when you saw that your bag was left unzipped. You made your way over, kneeled on the carpet, and started rifling through its contents in search of your change of clothes.

Of course, Chris was messing with you. You just knew he had something to do with this.

"Chris!" You shouted, getting up from the ground and heading towards the bathroom. You peeked in there for the outfit you'd worn the night before, which, of course, was also missing.

"Chris!" You exclaimed again after he didn't answer the first time. You marched down the hall and back into his bedroom. "What did you do with my clothes?" You asked accusingly, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Why do you assume I have them?" He snorted from his gaming chair, his headset already on. "Because they're not where I left them, and you're the only other person here," you retorted, your eyes rolling in annoyance.

"Guess you'd better start looking for them because all you have to wear is that towel until you find them," he smirked, glancing up at you from his laptop.

"Ugh!" You stomped, growing impatient. "I'm serious. Where are they, Chris?" You hissed.

"I'm serious - you'd better start lookin' for them, because I'm not tellin'. You're gonna walk around in that little towel of yours until you find them," he repeated, giving you a sharp look.

He had done this on purpose - hidden your clothes throughout the house. He wanted you like this. He wanted you vulnerable and desperate, in nothing but a flimsy towel while you took part in his little demented scavenger hunt.

The only saving grace was that the house was much warmer than it was when you'd first gotten up, so being in a towel wasn't completely uncomfortable despite how exposed you felt. You rolled your eyes one last time before you left the room again.

You shuffled downstairs, rifling through the pantry for something to eat while you silently asked yourself, if you were Chris, where would you hide someone's clothes? You made yourself another cup of coffee, holding your towel closed with one hand.

You figured you'd either find them or he'd give them back to you before his brothers got home. Surely, he wouldn't leave you stranded in a towel for Nick and Matt to come home to - right?

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #dom chris sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

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boricuasirena25 · 2 months ago

Text

loser, nerdy 2000s ellie x popular, bimbo, mean girl fem!reader headcanons

authors note : just wanted to say thank uu sm for the support i’ve seen on my last post abt nerdy ellie, i fr posted it without thinking and i can tell a lot of yall like it! im taking requests for her so lmk what uu want. :)

cw : some nsfw (some of the things i put in the nsfw might be like pg13 but i still put them there anyways idk 😭), lotta jokes abt boobies, ellie’s PAINFULLY nerdy like oh my goodness. takes place in the late 2000s to be oddly specific.

— SFW

• she has fantasies of you and her in the medieval times, you being the glamorous princess and her being your daring, knight in shinning armor. she literally draws it in her sketchbook, pages filled with doodles of you in corsets or big and gorgeous low cut gowns, her holding up a sword towards your “boyfriend” adrian, who in her medieval universe is “lord adrian of valebrume”, a totally made-up kingdom name that sounds dark and full of lies. she made sure it rhymed with gloom, doom, and consume—because duh, he’s the villain.

• and her favorite medieval scenarios? saving you. you’re chained in a tower. a dragon’s outside. adrian is there, trying to “rescue” you but being a fool. ellie shows up on horseback, sword drawn, cloak flapping dramatically. she slays the dragon, pushes adrian off a cliff, and drops to one knee like: “my lady. i have come for you.” you run into her arms, kiss her hard, and whisper, “you’re all I ever wanted, sir williams…”

• she can solve a rubik’s cube in under a minute. but she will not do it in front of people because she’s been bullied enough. only her stuffed triceratops knows how smart she really is.

• she’s so soft for you it’s pathetic. you could insult her in front of the entire class and she’d still smile and go “you’re so funny…” like a kicked puppy. you could say “shut up, ellie” and she’d respond with “yes ma’am” and a full-body shiver.

• 100% draws on her converse “E + (your initial)” with a heart inside of it.

• she’s, OF COURSE, obsessed with dinosaurs. she’ll say corny pick up lines like “i think if i was a dinosaur, i’d be a simp-o-saurus. because… y’know… for you. i’m simpin’ real hard.” and then she’d probably smack herself in the head after like “what the f*ck was i thinking…”.

• even though she’s HEAVILY bullied (specifically for being a lesbian who’s obsessed with you) shes blessed enough to constantly third wheel with dina and jesse.

• quite literally owns a rubber “i heart boobies” bracelet that she insists is for breast cancer awareness, but really she just thinks boobs are awesome and it’s the only time she’s allowed to say it out loud.

• she’s knows how to skate and does it quite frequently as a source of transportation (until joel gives her his rusted up, old, monster truck that ellie isn’t allowed to get till she passes spanish).

• death note is her favorite manga. she bought the first volume from a crusty used bookstore with joel, and it unlocked something feral inside her. the intensity? the drama? the moral conflict? she ate it up. once accidentally moaned when reading a panel of misa sitting on light’s lap. would never admit that.

• she owns a fake death note she made and writes adrian’s name in it “adrian luis davis – punched in the nuts by a ghost and then falls in a porta-potty in front of the whole school. dies of embarrassment.” then she drew a tiny doodle of him slipping on a banana peel. and if another boy makes you laugh? she flips open her ‘death note’, glares over her glasses, and mutters “he’s done for.”.

• she’d be a marching band lesbian idc, she’d play percussion and have the most wrinkled up band uniform ever. and she literally never wears the hat right. it’s always tilted or falling off her head. one time it flew off during a performance and she had to kick it off the field. she was mad until she looked over and saw you laughing at her in the stands.

• still plays the guitar, (she does in every universe), and she practices every single day. after school, while watching invader zim. she zones out completely when she’s playing. it’s the only time her brain shuts up—unless she’s thinking about your boobs. then it’s just chaos. one night she was home alone and played “the only exception” by paramore after smoking weed and cried because it reminded her of you.

• she didn’t tell anyone. just laid on the floor of her living room like a snow angel in her spider-man boxers whimpering.

• she owns a jennifer’s body DVD and keeps it hidden under her bed. watches it on mute when joel isn’t home. she has the kiss scene with needy memorized (she sometimes even rewatches it and imagines it as u and her).

• she owns a chunky PS3 and plays GTA IV when she’s had a bad day, or is just like super angry as her own therapy. she’ll storm into her room, throw her backpack down, and boots up her fat, fingerprint-covered PS3. the fan’s loud, the controller’s kinda sticky from soda, and the GTA IV disc is always already in. she plays like a menace—steals a car, blasts the liberty rock radio station, and causes chaos in liberty city.

• but if she’s super mad?! like adrian calling her out in front of the whole class once again?! his arms around your waist while you just sit there?! she types cheat codes into her cracked notebook and gives niko bellic rocket launchers and infinite health. she’s full on blowing up traffic jams, launching grenades into alleyways, and driving into the water just for the hell of it.

• when joel checks on her like, “you alright, kiddo?” she just grunts “yeah,” while casually tossing molotovs at cop cars with dead eyes. but she plays minecraft when she’s just chilling. she builds the ugliest dirt houses with torches everywhere and lives like a little swamp gremlin. has one big chest labeled “STUFF” and refuses to organize it. she wears full iron armor and still falls in lava. blames lag.

• OBSESSED WITH SPIDER-MAN. she literally has spider-man bedsheets and posters in her room; one above her bed, one crooked on the celling holding on by a thread (when her fan is on too long it almost blows off), and one behind her door.

• when she writes about you in her journal she puts “my MJ <3”. she even draws it. little comic panels where she’s spidey saving MJ (you) from some made-up villain that originates from adrian. ellie gives herself abs and a six-pack. no shame.

• she also owns a knock off spider-man costume. it’s from walmart and a little too tight, with faded colors and one busted web-shooter strap. she wears it with her dirty converse and grey sweatpants and thinks she’s the coolest thing ever. wears it to the store when joel isn’t paying attention. she once got it stuck in the dryer and cried.

• only wears boxers. various different pairs that r always peaking out of her sweatpants, cargos, or jeans. her favorite pair? her prized possession? a pair of faded-ass spider-man boxers. they’re red and blue with tiny spidey logos all over. she’s had them since middle school and refuses to let them go—even though they’re worn thin, have a little hole on the thigh, and the elastic’s basically screaming for mercy.

• she calls them her “lucky boxers” and lowkey wears them on days she knows she might see you. she also owns black boxers with little green dinosaurs on them and classic plaid ones that r oversized and practically fall off her hips. the waistband’s always showing. always. at this point, it’s part of the fit. she doesn’t even care if they get bunched under her jeans—just tugs at them in the hallway like “gotta air it out.”

• if she’s nervous around you, she adjusts her boxers way too much and acts like it’s not because she’s turned on.

• and for some reason, this loser is like freakishly good at soccer? beastly good. jaw-dropping good. weirdly good. but then again it’s probably because she’s a lesbian. she’s fast, aggressive, strategic—she plays forward like she isn’t afraid to slide tackle some 6’0 dude to the ground. she gets called for fouls all the time because she plays like she’s ready to fight. her coach yells at her all the time; “williams! dial it down!”, “williams, it’s not that deep—GET OFF HER!”.

• she wears the same cleats from middle school. they’re black, duct-taped, and smell like her garage. her shin guards are always crooked, and her socks never match.

• she once tried to hit you up by calling you mamacita with the worst accent you’ve ever heard. thought it was smooth. just for you to hit her with the dirtiest look ever. let’s just say she never said that out loud again.

• her all time favorite soda is dr pepper. she drinks it a little too much… her bedroom is a crime scene of empty cans. they’re stacked into little pyramids on her windowsill, crammed into her backpack, one might even be under her pillow. joel once tripped over a can pyramid and she screamed like he destroyed a sacred monument. BUT she swears it “makes her smarter.” she’ll sip it during math tests like it’s brain juice. “it’s got 23 flavors, joel. i’m running on 23 IQ boosts right now.”.

• literally owns a faded, crusty dr pepper graphic tee. it’s oversized and has holes in the collar, but she thinks it’s high fashion. it was $3 at goodwill and she treats it like a designer item. if she’s wearing it under her flannel, it’s a special day. she also 100% has a dr pepper can tab on a necklace chain. she popped it off her “lucky can” and wears it under her shirt. when you find it one day and asks about it, ellie stutters, “it’s—it’s like, uh, for good luck. and stuff…”

• dina notices ellie in class going through her sketchbook, finds one page where your name is written next to a sketch of you in a princess outfit. next to it? ellie’s self-insert knight version—sword drawn, hearts floating around them. dina looks up slowly and goes, “ellie… have you spoken to her yet?”

• “she said ‘thanks’ when I let her borrow a pencil. we’re basically married.”

— NSFW

• she gets turned on by the stupidest things about you. the way you chew gum, the way you fix your hair, the sound of your laugh, the way you tie your shoes, the way you stretch in class and your shirt rides up a little. she’ll cross her legs in AP biology like “be cool. don’t squirm. don’t look at her boobs again.” just to take another quick glance down.

• ellie found out what a strap was from the L word. she saw shane pull it out of a drawer once and nearly passed out. didn’t even know what it was called at first—just googled “lesbian harness thing from l word” on ask jeeves. then, when scrolling online she saw this neon green strap-on with a ugly, cheap, fake leather, hideous colored harness—and for some reason, she bought it. i mean the harness was only $29.99, dildo $14.99 and with a shipping of $8 dollars, it’s not like she could afford those $90 ones. now it’s growing dust under her bed.

• her cute, hideous glasses always slide off her nose when she catches you near her in a mini skirt (or she pushes them up to get a better look at my tits) and because of this, she can quite literally draw your tits from pure memory. no reference. no glances. just pure gay brain storage. she knows the exact curve, how they rest when you’re sitting vs standing, how they look in that one white top with the scoop neckline that makes her borderline pass out.

• but even though she knows them like the back of her hand, she still sneaks glances when she thinks you’re not looking. sometimes you’re bent over the locker room bathroom mirror, adjusting your necklace or putting on lip gloss, and she’s across the room—pretending to tie her converse back on but she’s staring dead at your tits in the mirror reflection like she’s about to start drooling.

• and she’s memorized every single bra you own. color, fabric, lace pattern, where it cuts on your back, how the straps sit on your shoulders, whether the padding lifts your tits or not. she knows which ones you wear when you want to feel cute and which ones are for laundry day.

• when she’s high? forget about it. she starts rambling about the “artistic gravity” of your tits, how the curve reminds her of renaissance sculptures, and how she wants to sculpt them from memory using clay she found behind the garage. dina and jesse once walked in on this monologue and left in silence.

• she doesn’t even smoke that often—maybe once every couple weeks if someone else has it. but every time she does? she turns into a flushed, squirmy, glassy-eyed mess who gets insanely horny within ten minutes. like clockwork. doesn’t matter if it’s a chill high or a head high—ellie’s already halfway down bad the moment it hits her bloodstream.

• one time she smoked weed in dina’s garage with her and jesse. the three of them snuck out to her garage—lights off, old couch, lava lamp glowing. they pass it around like total amateurs, coughing and giggling and pretending to be cool. ten minutes in, ellie is absolutely done for.

• her knees are pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves over her hands, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed bright pink. she’s quiet, too quiet, until dina looks over and goes: “ellie… you good?” and ellie just mumbles, “mhm… i’m chillin’…” while clearly not chillin’.

• she’s thinking about you in a miniskirt. she’s thinking about your glossed-up lips. she’s thinking about your thighs on either side of her head. jesse’s rambling about alien conspiracies meanwhile ellie’s gripping the edge of the blanket, vibrating with how badly she needs to excuse herself. she finally blurts out “i’m gonna go… uh… bathroom. real quick.”

• she bolts toward the house, slamming the bathroom door shut. she barely locks it before her hand’s down her boxers—moaning softly into her arm, her mind spiraling with nothing but you. how pretty you are, how good you smell, how soft your thighs would feel wrapped around her flushed face.

• and her sketchbook is a problem. deep in her sketchbook, the parts she refuses to let anyone else see, are filthy. you sitting on her face, moaning. you spread open with your fingers, juice dripping down your thighs, her name scratched onto your skin. you with hickeys on your chest, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and the exact position your mouth makes when you’re cumming.

• she’s drawn close-ups of your tits in her sketchbook more times than she can count. like full-studies. the shading, the softness, how the nipples perk when you’re cold. she knows which way they tilt when you’re laying on your side. she draws them squished under her hands. she draws them from memory and gets mad when it’s not perfect.

• and some of her sketches are drawn from scenarios she wishes happened. you sitting in her lap in just your mini skirt with your hand around her neck, you pulling her by the collar into bed with a kiss, you in the school bathroom kissing her against a stall door.

• in which ellie draws herself completely cornered against the stall door. her cheeks are flushed bright red, glasses fogged up, and her lips are shiny from your lip gloss—because you kissed it off her. in the corner of the page, ellie scribbled: “she wore juicy perfume. i could smell it all over me after.”

• remember ellie’s medieval fantasies? well let’s just say they’re not all innocent… a specific one is where she drew you pressed to the castle wall, dress lifted, bent over. ellie’s behind you, armor still on, her gauntlet clamped around your mouth while she takes you with a thick medieval strap—drawn with detailed curve and shimmer of neon green (yes, she draws the neon green strap even in fantasy).

• you’re moaning through her hand, crown slipping, legs shaking while your heels dig into the stone. she adds notes like: “told her to be quiet. she couldn’t.”, “her moans echoed through the halls.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #nerd!ellie #ellie williams texts #bbf!ellie #lesbian #fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #loser!ellie #2000s au #latina oc #black oc #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams #ellie tlou #the last of us #ellie x fem reader

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