Chris hartley’s Wife (real)

Almost everything I write in a no prank AU! But I am totally open to writing something canon compliant, just let me know if that’s what you want :)

My blog is basically: what if the prank never happened and instead everyone was horny? (Mostly Chris) if that’s not your thing this isn’t the UD blog for you lol

What I will write: fluff, smut, angst (probably only if I’m really inspired!)

Please try to specify if your request if you want fluff, smut or angst!

Who I write for: mostly just my bb Chris Hartley right now, I will write blurbs about any of the UD boys but just be aware that any substantial amount of writing will probably be Chris related. He takes up most of the space in my brain and is who I have the most ideas for!

My fave Chris ships are: Josh x Chris (climbing class), Chris x Jess (Chrisjess or drama blondes), Sam x Chris (sharpshooter) Beth x Chris (Bethris) (both of age ofc).

I do not like chrashley I’m sorry! If you send me a chrashley req it will most likely be politely declined (unanswered)

I also shamelessly self-ship with Chris and that inevitably bleeds into my x reader fics about him. If you ever feel any of the descriptions in my writing are exclusive I apologize, it’s only because I am inserting myself while I write it!

You may be wondering: why is my request taking so long? And to that I say: I don’t answer requests in the order I get them, I answer them based on what strikes inspiration for me to write. Sometimes I will answer a request that has been sitting in my inbox for a weeks or months—it just took a long time for me to have the inspo to write for it. Also keep in mind that I am chronically ill and on top of that experience writers block! So be patient with me please 💕

Unfortunately, the UD fandom is pretty dead (11 year old fandom anyone?) so if you like my writing, the best way to motivate me to keep writing/posting for this fandom is reblog and/or comment! (Likes are appreciated too but hold less weight)

*I only feel qualified to write fem! or gn! (afab) reader when it comes to smut. (I could def write fluff for an m reader though!)

(If you would like me to keep it gn! please specify that in your request and I will avoid using any feminine pet names/identifiers) if you don’t specify I will assume fem!reader and continue on with that.

I would love more UD/ Chris Hartley/ Noah Fleiss friends so message me anytime!

The salty breeze sticks to your skin, the afternoon sun beating down in a way that makes the ocean glitter. You’d been hesitant about the beach trip but Chris had begged with those pretty blue eyes behind his glasses, and Josh had simply thrown you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and practically threw you into his truck with your beach bag after you got your bikini on.

Now you’re waist deep in the water, the cold ocean lapping around your ribs. your bikini top is a pale version of your favorite color, more decorative than functional, the straps thin and tied in bows at your neck and back. You’d bought it because Chris had made a noise like a dying animal when you’d tried it on in front of him last week, his gaze snagging on the way the fabric strained against your tits, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato.

“Incoming!” Josh yells from your left, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, skin gleaming bronze and wet. He’s grinning, wicked, already lunging to splash you.

You shriek, turning to dodge, but Chris is right behind you, 5’11” frame of broad, beefy nerd with strong arms and a soft middle that presses warm against your back even through the chill of the water. he catches you around the waist easily, lifting you clean out of the water with a laugh that rumbles through his chest.

“Gotcha!” he crows, but his triumph is short-lived.

a rogue wave comes out of seemingly nowhere, bigger than the rest, rising up like a wall of water and foam. It crashes down with enough force to knock the breathe from your lungs, your feet leave the ground completely, body tumbling in the undertow, and you feel the sharp tug of the current pulling at you, but stronger than that is the sudden, mortifying release of pressure across your chest.

Your bikini top is gone.

You surface the water gasping, sputtering, hands instinctively flying to cover yourself, but the water’s surface level is at your stomach now and you’re exposed from there up, the cool air hitting your wet, bare skin like a slap, your water slick hands are struggling to contain your bare breasts. Panic floods your system.

Then Chris makes a sound, something between a choke and a gasp, like all the air has been punched out of him. His eyes go wide, huge, blue, fixed on you with an expression that is pure, unfiltered shock, before he snaps his gaze up to your face, then down again, then up, like his brain is short circuiting and can’t decide where to look.

"Oh my god—" he says, and his voice cracking. He turns his head sharply to the side, one hand coming up to cover his eyes, but his fingers are spread, and he is absolutely peeking. "O-Oh my god, I'm—sorry, I'm not—"

Josh's reaction is different. He goes quiet. That loud, cocky Josh Washington, who always has a comment, who fills every silence; goes quiet. he’s staring, mouth slightly open, and for a second he looks almost dazed, like he's been hit with something he didn’t expect.

Then the Josh filter kicks back in, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Damn." Just that, but his voice drops an octave, and his eyes are still on your chest, with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

"Stop looking!" You cross your arms over yourself, face burning so hot you think your skin might actually steam. "Both of you, stop—"

"I'm not looking!" Chris says, still covering his eyes… still peeking, his ears are bright red. "I'm not—I mean, I saw—I didn't mean to see—"

"Chris, you're literally looking through your fingers." Josh points out.

"I'M NOT!”

Josh swims closer, and you can see his face now. the smirk, yes, but also something else underneath, something almost appreciative. "You want me to help you find it?"

"I want you to stop staring!" You squeak.

"I'm not staring." Josh shrugs.

He’s definitely staring.

"I'm... assessing the situation. for rescue purposes."

"Josh—" you start.

"Okay, okay." He holds up both hands, backing off a little, but his grin is still there, and his eyes keep flickering down. "I'll look for the top, stay there."

"I'm not going anywhere, Josh, I'm literally—"

But he’s already diving under, disappearing into the blue-green murk.

Leaving you alone with Chris.

Who has given up pretending not to look.

His hand has dropped from his face. He’s just... standing there, water lapping at his hips, staring at you with this expression you can’t fully parse. It’s not just embarrassment or shock anymore.

It’s hunger.

He seems to be deciding on something, looking back towards the shore and then to you, He moves toward you, big body cutting through the water, he wraps around you without a word, the full shadow of his large frame covering you, strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you against him in a desperate, fumbling attempt to hide you from view. His hands are firm against your back, pressing you forward, and the momentum of it makes you stumble, makes you grab onto his arms for balance, and then:

His bare stomach presses flush against your bare breasts.

The contact is electric. His skin is warm despite the cold water, soft with that little squishy middle he’s self-conscious about, but firm underneath with muscle. Your nipples, hard from the shock of the cold ocean and the adrenaline, drag against his abdominal muscles as he pulls you in tighter, trying to hide you. The sensation makes your knees weak, a sudden, inappropriate heat flooding your belly despite the public setting.

“Chris—” you gasp, your voice small and trembling.

"I got you—I'm shielding you—" Chris's voice is strangled, high-pitched, cracking on the words. His arms are still tight around you, and he’s holding you so close that there’s no space between you at all. Your tits are squished against him, your cold nipples poking against his skin, and every tiny movement either of you makes causes the most obscene friction. "I'm just—I'm being a human shield—Josh can't see—no one can see—"

"Chris—" you start.

"I'm protecting you—"

"Chris, my boobs are—"

"I KNOW." His voice cracks again, and you feel his stomach clench under your chest. His eyes are fixed somewhere over your head, deliberately not looking down, and his face is so red. "I know they're—I can feel—I'm not trying to—just until Josh finds your top. I'm not letting anyone see you like—like this—"

"Like what?" Josh's voice cuts through the moment, amused and sharp. You can’t see him past Chris's broad shoulders, but you can hear the smirk in it. "Like topless? Because bro, I already saw. The horse has left the barn on that one."

"Then stop looking!" Chris barks, and his arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. You make a small gasping sound as your breasts press harder into him, the soft flesh squishing against his warm skin. You can feel his heartbeat, fast and frantic, hammering against your cheek where your face is pressed to his chest.

"I'm not looking, I'm looking for her top" You hear a splash as Josh dives under again.

But Chris’s body is betraying him. You can feel his heart hammering as he holds onto you, you can feel the way his breath hitches as he fights his desperate arousal while you both wait for Josh to find—

“Found it!” Josh’s voice cuts through the haze, dry and amused.

You tilt your head to peek around Chris’s frame, he’s rigid, unmoving, a human barricade, and see Josh wading toward you, something pastel dangling from his fingers. Your top. He’d found it in the churning surf, the strings trailing in the water.

Josh stops beside the two of you, his turquoise eyes flicking down to the way Chris is clutching you, the way your body is plastered against his front. One dark eyebrow arches, a slow, knowing smirk curling his mouth. He’s close now, invading the bubble of panic and intimacy Chris has created.

“Still protecting her virtue, Hartley?” Josh asks, voice low and teasing. He lifts the bikini top, twirling it around one finger. “Or just enjoying the feeling?”

“Shut up,” Chris snarls, uncharacteristically sharp, his arms tightening around you. You feel him unmistakably hard against your tummy, trapped in his swim trunks, and he is trying to shift his hips away but only succeeding in grinding you harder against his stomach. “Just—just help her get it on, okay? D-don’t look”

Josh laughs, a rich, cocky sound. “hard to see the goods when they’re squished against you like that, Cochise”

Josh moves behind you, and suddenly you’re sandwiched between them; Chris’s broad, warm chest pressed against your front, his stomach muscles flexing nervous and fast against your nipples, and Josh’s tan, dripping chest hovering inches from your back as he reaches between you and Chris to slip your top between the two of you.

Josh’s fingers brush your shoulder blades as he starts re-tying your bikini strings, his touch is casual but electric. you’re trapped, immobile, caught between Chris’s protective panic and Josh’s amused efficiency.

“You know,” Josh says conversationally, his voice pitched to carry over the rolling waves as he starts tying the neck of your bikini now, his hot breath ghosting over your cool skin, “it’s interesting, we have ‘Sir Modesty’ over here”—he tugs the strings tight, making you gasp as the fabric cups your boobs again—“squashing your tits against him like he’s trying to merge your bodies through osmosis…”

“Josh—” Chris chokes out, his face buried in your wet hair now. he’s still hard, you can feel it, pulsing and insistent against you, your cunt pulsing in a response he can’t feel. He hasn’t moved his hands from your hips, fingers digging in possessively even as he shakes with embarrassment.

“…and then there’s me,” Josh continues, ignoring him, tying the strings with deft movements. His fingers trail down your spine, just for a second, before he secures the knot. “Finding your lost property, returning it to its rightful owner, doing the actual heroic work while he just… stands there…copping a feel.”

Josh steps back, but not before his hand drops to your waist, giving you a squeeze that’s somehow both friendly and possesive, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin on your ribs above Chris’s grip.

“So,” Josh asks, stepping to the side so he can see both of your faces, Chris red and flustered and refusing to let go of you, and you; dizzy and breathless and soaking wet in more ways than one. He crosses his arms, smirk widening, turquoise eyes gleaming. “Who’s really your knight in shining armor here? The guy practically giving you a mammogram, or the guy who actually saved the day?”

Chris makes a sound of exasperation, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to step back a little. You’re facing him still, your hands braced against his heaving chest, your own heart hammering so hard you’re sure he can hear it. He looks down at you, his blue eyes blown wide with arousal and panic and that desperate, adoring obsession that’s become the gravity between you.

“I—I was trying to help,” he stammers, his voice cracking, “I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to—”

He breaks off, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then lower, to where your bikini top is now securely in place but your nipples are still visibly peaked beneath the wet fabric, aching and sensitive from the friction of his skin.

Josh clears his throat, loud and deliberate, and Chris flinches, remembering you’re not alone.

The surf crashes around your waist, Chris’s hands are sliding to cradle your hips again, proprietary and needy, while Josh is watching with that knowing half-smile, waiting to see which one of them you’ll reward with praise.

<3

Josh had been insufferable for the last three hours.

Ever since you’d offhandedly mentioned that one of them might get “a little treat” for helping you straighten up the apartment, he’d been expecting praise for the smallest tasks like he was doing charity work. He’d lazily wiped down the kitchen counters, haphazardly folded your laundry, and even attempted to fix the bathroom sink—badly—while making sure you were watching every heroic twist of his wrench. He kept looking at you like he was waiting for a gold star and a cookie.

Chris, however, had been quiet. He’d tightened the loose hinges on the front door so it no longer squeaked, scrubbed the kitchen counters properly instead of the half ass job Josh had done and when he’d brought you coffee, he’d actually remembered how you took it. He hadn’t demanded applause. He’d just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, mumbled something about it being “no big deal,” and gone back to being useful.

Now the three of you were in the living room, the light was low, Josh was sprawled on the rug, looking up at you with that performative pout, thumbs hooked in his belt loops.

“Okay, seriously,” he said. “I rotated the mattress by myself. Chris got winded taking out the trash”

“I— the bag was heavy,” Chris said from the couch, adjusting his glasses. “It had the broken lamp in it—it had a marble base.”

“It had a marble base,” Josh mocked, rolling his eyes. He kicked his heel against the floor. “C’mon, I clearly won—I did way more than Chris. I want my prize”

You looked at Chris. He was blushing already, pink creeping up his neck, eyes darting to you and then away. He looked terrified and hopeful while Josh looked entitled.

“You didn’t win,” you said simply.

Josh’s mouth fell open in shock, “What?”

“Chris did” you stood up and walked over to the couch. Chris’s eyes went wide behind his lenses. “He didn’t make a big show of it, he just… did it.”

“That’s bullshit,” Josh snapped, sitting up. “That’s—that’s nepotism.”

“I think you mean favoritism—y-you’re actually the one that comes from money—“ Chris started to weakly correct him.

“It’s neither,” You knelt in front of Chris. His knees pressed together instinctively, then fell apart.

“Hi,” Chris breathed.

“Hi” You ran your palms up his thighs and he shuddered. His jeans were old, soft denim, and you could feel the heat of him through the fabric already. “You were good today”

“I— I really wasn’t trying to be,” he stammered, even though you both knew he was trying to be, he’s just not as mush of a showman as Josh is about it. His hand came up to his glasses, pushing them up even though they hadn’t slid. “I just wanted to help”

“I know,” you undid the button on his jeans. His breath hitched. “That’s why you get this,”

Behind you, Josh made a strangled and indignant noise, “are you kidding me?”

You pulled Chris’s cock out. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but the second your fingers wrapped around him, he swelled against your palm. He was thick, slightly curved, flushed pink at the tip. You watched his face as you gave him a slow, testing stroke with your hand and his mouth fell open in pleasure, his full lips parting so beautifully. His head dropped back against the couch cushion.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, fuck,”

His glasses were starting to fog from his own breath, coming in short, hot bursts. You leaned in, your breath ghosted over his already wet slit, and he made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Eyes on me, Chris,” you said.

He forced his head back up, the lenses of his glasses foggy and giving his blue eyes a soft look. He looked fucked out already, and you hadn’t even taken him into your mouth yet.

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his shaft and licked upward, slow, collecting the bitter, salty bead of precum at the tip. He groaned, loud and sharp, his hips bucking up, trying to fuck your mouth before he slammed them back down.

“Sorry— sorry—” he stammered.

“don’t apologize,” you murmured sweetly, and then you took him in your eager mouth.

You sank down until your lips touched your fingers where they were wrapped around his shaft, until he was pulsing on your tongue. Chris let out a broken noise that didn’t even sound like any words, his fingers tangled in your hair to hold on.

You pulled back, letting the saliva string between your lips and his cock, obscene and glistening, before you went down again. the sight alone nearly sent him over the edge.

You set a slow pace that was almost cruel, your tongue swirling around the ridge of his head, leaving him dripping wet before pressing into the sensitive spot underneath, your hand working the base where your mouth couldn’t reach. The slick sound of your saliva lubricating your strokes filled the room.

Chris was unraveling above you, his glasses had slid down his nose and he didn’t bother pushing them up. He stared down at you with something like dumbstruck awe, his chest heaving, the hand that wasn’t in your hair was gripping the arm of the couch so hard his knuckles were white.

“You’re doing so well,” you told him, pulling off with a wet pop. You pumped him, watching more pre-cum leak out, using it as lube. “Such a good boy for me”

He whimpered; high and pathetic and his hips jerked helplessly into your fist.

“Fuck, please— I’m not gonna last, I—” He gasped as you dove back down, hollowing your cheeks, sucking hard. “Oh, god—”

He came with a shout that probably carried through the apartment building. His cock twitched on your tongue and then he was spilling into your mouth, thick ropes of cum, salty and warm, pulsing against the back of your throat. You kept sucking, milking him, letting the mess spill out around your lips and coat his shaft because you knew it would make him twitchy, oversensitive. He shuddered and shook, his grip in your hair going slack, his whole body sagging into the couch, his glasses were completely askew, one earpiece falling off his ear.

You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Chris was panting, eyes half-closed, utterly fucked out.

Then you turned to Josh.

He was still on the floor, but he’d sat up fully. His knees were drawn to his chest, but you could see the obvious, painful tent in his jeans. His face was flushed with frustrated arousal, his jaw was tight, his cock so hard it had to hurt.

“Don’t even,” he said, voice rough.

“‘Don’t even’ what?” you asked, standing up and walking over to him.

“You can’t— you can’t just blow him like that in front of me and then—” he cut off as you dropped to your knees in front of him, his eyes going wide. “Oh”

“You wanted something too?” you asked, teasingly.

“Yes,” he gritted out. “I fucking earned— fuck—”

You’d already started palming him through his jeans, too lightly. He hissed, hips pushing up into your hand, then you undid his fly with one hand and shoved down his boxers with the other. His cock sprang out, angry and aching, slick already with precum that had been leaking into his underwear for far too long. He was hard enough that his skin was silky smooth and stretched tight.

“Look at you,” you said, giving him one lazy, too-loose stroke. “messy already.”

“Just— fuck, just touch me properly,” Josh begged, losing all his bravado, he thrust up into your grip, but you kept your hand light, teasing, fingers barely grazing the throbbing vein on the underside.

You started jerking him off with a rhythm that was bad on purpose; too fast and too loose, no friction at the head where he needed it, your thumb only occasionally brushing the tip just enough to make him whine but never enough to get him off. You edged him; you’d bring him right to the cusp, watching his balls tighten, his thighs shake, his mouth fall open with his quickened breathing and then you’d slow down, squeeze the base hard to stop him, or let go entirely.

“You’re kidding,” he panted after the third time. His cock was leaking a constant, thin stream of precum now, making your hand slick. “you’re actually fucking kidding me. Please”

“Please what?” you asked, giving him a firm stroke that had his eyes rolling back, then immediately going back to feather light touches.

“Let me cum,” he whined. “Please, I’ll— I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet, just—”

“You’re never quiet,” you said, jerking him fast for a few seconds, just enough for his hips to lose their rhythm, for his breath to catch, for his cock to throb in your hand, and then you stopped completely.

Josh let out a strangled cry that was pure anguish, his cock twitched against his stomach, needy, weeping precum, so hard it must have ached deep in his stomach. He grabbed your wrist, but you pulled away easily.

“That’s not fair,” he said, voice cracking with a whine. He looked at Chris, who was still dazed on the couch, cock finally tucked into his boxers, looking thoroughly debauched. “That’s not fucking fair. He got your mouth—He got to cum. All I get is this lousy hand job??”

“Lousy?” you gasp in feigned disbelief “well then I’ll spare you having to suffer through any more of it,” you removed your hand, wiping it on his thigh and standing up. Josh stared up at you, chest heaving, cock standing straight up against his toned stomach, aching and pulsing.

“Wait—no I didn’t mean—you can’t just leave me like this,” he said, but it was half a whimper.

You looked down at him. “I can”

Chris made a small, satiated noise from the couch, pushing his fogged glasses up his nose with a trembling hand. Josh’s hands fisted at his sides, his whole body coiled tight with denied release, his cock slick and heavy against his stomach.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, baby, please” Josh begged “it’s so good—I just wanna cum and I’ll be good I swear—“

You gave him a look and then your eyes swept over to Chris. All big and broad and sprawled on the couch because he was melty from the pleasure.

“What do you think, angel?” You asked Chris, “does Josh deserve to cum?”

Chris stiffened with the responsibility of making a decision. His eyes snapped to Josh, who was giving him a silent, pleading look for his help.

“I mean,” Chris cleared his throat “he did do a pretty good job with his chores.” It wasn’t true of course but Chris nodded along with his words anyways, his eyes shifting nervously between yours and Josh’s look of desperation, “and—I think he’s sorry for saying ‘lousy’, he’—he’s just frustrated—“ Chris nodded again, looking to Josh to make sure he was saying the right thing. Chris is always like this, trying to be good for both of you at the same time, always getting put in the middle.

“I am sorry,” Josh agreed quickly “I’m just so close—and I didn’t mean it—“ Josh shook his head quickly.

“Is that a yes then, Chris?” You ask him curiously.

Chris’s eyes go from Josh’s to yours again, making sure he’s saying the right thing. “yes, he deserves it,” Chris nods weakly.

You smile softly and look back at Josh, slowly kneeling down to his level again, “you’re lucky he came to your rescue” you tell him with a smirk.

Josh just swallows in nervous anticipation and just nods in agreement.

You crawl over to him on your hands and knees, gripping the base of his aching erection in your hand. You lower your mouth to hover just over the swollen head and for one beautiful and agonizing second, Josh thinks he’s going to feel your hot mouth envelope him, but instead—you let your lips come together and you spit onto his cock, your saliva running down in a thick drip down his length.

He groans in pleasure and frustration simultaneously.

“Just this for now,” you coo “you’ll get my mouth when you’re on your best behavior.”

Josh knows better now than to argue, especially when your firm stroke slides over his cock, slick with your saliva and his precum and the pressure is so exquisite now that he knows it won’t be long until he cums.

“Yes, ma’am” he breathes.

“Good boy” you murmur in approval as you stroke him faster. His head falls back, little ah—ah—ah’s leaving his mouth on every downstroke.

You’re pumping his cock in a steady rhythm, your thumb coming up to slide over the underside of the head where he’s sensitive and he hisses like he’s in pain, but you know he’s not. His fingers are digging into the carpet, his knuckles turning white.

“Yes! Fuck, please—please I need to cum, I’ll be a good boy—fuck please” he whines, his head thrown back and you hear Chris gasp behind you, the sound of Josh’s begging clearly affecting him too.

You shift uncomfortably in your soaked panties as you keep up your rhythm. one of them will have to help you with your problem soon. Or both of them.

“You can cum now, sweetheart” you tell him gently. as if he was waiting for permission; he wasn’t, he was begging for you to give him the stimuli to finally go over the edge that he’d gladly go over with or without your permission—the brat.

“Thank you—thank you—“ he gasped “fuck I’m cumming—oh fuck” he groaned and your movements slowed as your felt him swell, his hips bucking forward as his cock jerked violently and spurted the first rope of his release over your fingers. He made strangled sounds of pleasure as the following pulses of his release shot across the denim of his jeans, his boxers, your wrist.

“So much,” you said in awe “all this for me?” You asked as you marveled at the mess he’d made.

“For you” he breathed softly “all for you”, he collapsed back onto the rug, his body falling limp after being pent-up for so long. He felt himself melt into the plush rug with a satisfying buzz of pleasure, his cock softening, his mess all over him.

<3