After your best friend's parents divorce, you find yourself being the confidant and stress relief of your best friend's dad. He's double your age, rich and mean in bed. But when feelings get involved and it turns into something much more than a cruel hookup, the pair see how complicated life can really be. This contains the Complicated Freak Series and it's Extras ━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━ Warnings: strong sexual themes. It is an agegap romance, if you don't like it don't read it. Specific warnings will be provided before each individual chapter.

in which y/n and harry embark on a daddy dom/submissive relationship, but things get messy - both in and out of the bedroom. content warnings: smut! so much of it! included but not limited to: daddy kink, squirting, overstimulation, dumbification, anal play, y/n in her subspace, bondage, use of toys, dirty talk, cum play

In which you've got textbook daddy issues and when your tool of a younger brother brings a sweet doe eyed girlfriend home for Thanksgiving and you end up offering her a ride home, you meet just the man to fix them. Warning: smut, daddy kink, age gap (older male/younger female), slow burn, angst, childhood trauma regarding domestic violence (non-sexual) COMPLETED

⚠️smut warning⚠️ different scenarios with another Cod favorite 😍 These are descriptive sex scenes, please don't surprised at what you'll read it's why there's a warning. Konig is feral here Please note that these aren't perfect, there is going to be spelling mishaps mainly with certain German words but understand I am dyslexic. I know it's "liebe" not "leibe" like I said I have dyslexia I genuinely cannot fucking help if it's messed up sometimes I don't do it carelessly or purposely. Dyslexia! Lol I have to address that bc im tired of the comments Female reader Size kink! Some dub/con Stalking Violence Light degradation And unless you're 6'10, he's taller than you js I have many fan art pics, so if you recognize the artist of any pictures lmk and I'll credit them!! Cover is my interpretation of könig 👑

Harry didn't plan for it to become a recurring motif. It was never intended, from his perspective, to anchor him, and it certainly wasn't there to define him. At the time, he'd thought it was a one-time thing, like waxing his chest, or trying hot yoga, or letting someone gaslight him into believing that olives don't just taste like someone preserved despair in brine. At best, he'd figured it would be a strange, mildly entertaining story to pull out after drinks with a select, close-knit group of attendees. It'd fall in line somewhere between the one about the dentist with the singular nipple piercing and the time he'd mistakenly crashed a wake because the GPS rerouted him through a church parking lot. And then she called him Sir. One minute he was perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed he'd snagged off of facebook marketplace (suspiciously low price tag- maybe haunted), wondering if tilting her too far would result in blunt force trauma via nightstand, and the next, she was twisting her chin to look at him over her shoulder, voice low and syrupy-sweet, eyes half-lidded as she was saying it- Sir- with this kind of reverence that made him feel like someone with gravity. Purpose. Like he was something more than a financially unstable, sleep-deprived undergrad sporting a semi; like something cracked open in her ribs every time she used it, and he was the only one who could crawl inside. Retrospectively, that was the beginning of the end. - OR The one in which there's an interesting blog focused on a niche genre of soft-core pornography, two next-door neighbors in an apartment complex with paper-thin walls, a simple case of misinterpretation, a man that runs from intimacy like there's an award waiting at the invisible finish line, and a pet bunny called Snuggles. - (reader-insert/ Y/N - early access patreon fic)

*[EDITING]* When Harry was twenty two, if a dangerously overconfident, time-hopping doppelgänger had pulled up in a freaky, rubber balaclava ('listen, mate' - hand on the shoulder and everything, like the reenactment of a cliché, time-honored rite of passage), and told him that in the very near future, his Friday nights would be indefinitely spent wearing a Greek moniker in the form of a fetishized allusion, that he'd be garbed by a latex mask to protect the sacred, fragile veil of secrecy- Well. He'd probably get a head start for padded walls and a straight jacket. Consider he was doing himself a favor with that one. But if he were told the same thing at twenty three, he'd probably choose to overlook the minor detail of reality imploding and sit back in his armchair, swirling his whiskey with excitement. Twenty three was an eventful year. He'd started casually enjoying whiskey after a long workday (honestly, a palate milestone in and of itself) and became enlightened on the fine art of tactically-applied suffering (and with it, gained a whole new appreciation for high-quality restraints). Because sometimes, a well-placed bruise and bliss just happened to go hand-in-hand. - OR the one in which there's a sex club, Greek stage names, an exploration of boundaries, an open house, a pair of dress shoes, and two evident sides to the same coin.

extras for my story gravity --------- you can find me on my Tumblr at moonchildstyles.tumblr.com