#Don’t have a blow dryer

[lonaami]

I have really fine, curly hair (basically defaults to tight ringlets) so most times when I wash my hair I gotta twirl pieces round and round just to keep them in shape and not frizz out of my control however…. I have to fan dry them…. feel like if my hair was thicker this would be easier to shape….

[unbound-space-trash]

I’m very seriously considering writing “skrunkly” in rhinestones on the back of the jacket I dyed for this dance routine because it refuses to flatten out even the tiniest bit

[feraecor]

I rescheduled my last two dogs cause the air con went out at work.

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

gonna do mini twists tomorrow

[brunetterightsactivist]

Lmao the ends of my hair are TRAGIC but I don’t wanna get it cut like my hair is almost at a decent length 😭 they could look decent if I took the time to blow dry my hair but seriously who has the motivation for that

[euphoricfilter]

☆

[fairyysoup]

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore. 

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?” 

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with. 

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.” 

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?” 

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.” 

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind. 

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open. 

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it. 

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter. 

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.” 

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look. 

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens. 

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies. 

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again. 

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible. 

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.” 

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?” 

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit. 

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.” 

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head. 

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat. 

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror. 

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it. 

Cocky bastard.  

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?” 

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places. 

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation. 

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.  

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for. 

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time. 

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back. 

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?” 

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?” 

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?” 

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right. 

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander. 

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all. 

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.” 

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.” 

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.” 

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?” 

“Yeah, not too flashy.” 

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.” 

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up. 

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you. 

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven. 

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room. 

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” 

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck. 

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh. 

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?” 

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.” 

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you. 

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat. 

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more. 

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather. 

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already. 

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same. 

“Good girl.” 

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume. 

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling. 

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.” 

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours. 

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.” 

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes. 

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down. 

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.” 

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it. 

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Hail to the Princess - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: Halloween is here and all of the Munson children are excited. Putting a little makeup on your husband gets you excited as well.

Note: Happy Halloween!

Warnings: pregnant!reader

Words: 3.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Autumn was always the best season in Indiana. There’s a chill in the air, but there’s no bitter cold. The leaves turn beautiful colors and float down gently to meet the earth. All the spiced scents and soft clothes make it such a cozy time. Not to mention…Halloween.

The spooky holiday was always a favorite in the Munson household. You can still remember the very first Halloween after you met Eddie and the boys. You dressed up as a fairy, Ryan as Scooby Doo, Luke as a pirate, and Eddie decided to be boring and not don a costume. He also wasn’t planning on wearing one tonight when he takes Luke and Eliza out. 

Usually, both of you liked to go out with the kids—it was always fun to see them so excited and to check out the costumes of other trick-or-treaters darting from house to house. But this year, the end of your first trimester has you exhausted. This pregnancy seems to be making you even more tired than the first one did. Some days you barely have the energy to keep up with your rambunctious four-year-old when she gets home from school. 

This year, Ryan is going to a Halloween party at one of his friend’s houses. Eddie was a little nervous when he first heard the news, but you calmed him down by reminding him that Ryan is a good kid. It’s not that Eddie doesn’t trust Ryan, though–it’s that he doesn’t trust the other kids. But he has to let his son be a teenager.

Luke’s best friend has the flu, so instead of Sean joining your kids to go around your neighborhood, it’s just going to be the brother and sister duo. Plus Eddie, of course. 

Since you don’t get to go out and see Eliza and Luke in action (or Ryan, for that matter) this time around, you all decided that you will help them with any hair or makeup that needs to be done as part of their costumes. 

The moment she steps foot in the house after school, Eliza wants to start getting ready. After a quick shared snack of cut up grapes and pretzels, the transformation begins.

The first step for Eliza is to take a bath and wash her hair. Your headstrong daughter told you that she wanted straight hair because she doesn’t want her crown to snag in her curls. You can’t blame her honestly—you remember the tiara debacle from her second birthday. 

But to achieve your little girl’s request, you have to use a blow dryer to give her a proper blow out. You had no clue how to do this, so thank God for YouTube. You must’ve watched every tutorial you could find—which was not a lot, honestly—on blow drying a child’s spiral curls. 

Surprisingly, Eliza is calm and patient while you do your best to remember advice from the videos. The four-year-old sits in a chair parked in front of your vanity as you buzz around behind her. The plethora of clips you have prepared to section off the hair lay in front of Eliza, practically begging for her to pick them up and play with them. And being four, that’s exactly what she does.

“Okay, here we go,” you say once you have every section of hair parted like you want. “Ready?”

Eliza gives you a thumbs up in the mirror, a neon green hair clip on the tip of her finger. 

Drying the first few chunks of hair makes you feel a bit uncoordinated and wish you had a few more hands to help out, but once you get into the groove, you find the blowing out pretty easy. It also makes Eliza’s hair soft and silky, the strands running through your fingers like a cool breeze. 

“It feels so pretty!” Eliza exclaims once you’ve finished her entire head. She laughs as she runs her fingers through her straightened hair. Neither of you have seen it this way before. Of course she looks absolutely beautiful, but you do miss her curls. 

Eliza hops down from the chair and looks up at you, batting her unfairly long eyelashes. 

“Now makeup?” she asks, voice syrupy sweet.

You let out a bark of laughter as you put your hair dryer away.

“Do you want your father to divorce me?” you joke. 

“It’s Halloween!” Eliza argues.

“I know, I know,” you say. You’re too tired to argue with her and if Eddie wants to argue later, he can say whatever he wants to your sleeping body. 

“Just a little?” Eliza holds her thumb and forefinger half an inch away from one another. 

“Just a little,” you acquiesce. 

You pat the seat in front of your vanity and Eliza climbs back up. She continues to admire her straight locks as you dig out your makeup bag. 

“Okay,” you say as you rifle through it. A pale blush catches your eye and you scoop that out along with a coral lipstick. You’re not going to put any eye makeup on her though—you need to save your eyeliner for Luke, anyway. You hold up the two items you plucked out and show them to Eliza. “Good?”

She stretches her neck to give them the best inspection she possibly can. What she’s trying to determine, you have no idea. Eventually though, she must find it.

“Good,” she affirms with a nod of her head. 

Dusting the blush on the tops of her round cheeks makes you smile. You’re having fun with this. Sure, you and girlfriends would have fun getting all dolled up when you were younger, but that doesn’t hold a candle to being able to do that with your daughter now. 

“My goodness,” you say, mostly to yourself, as you finish applying the blush. “Next thing I know you’ll be going to prom.”

Eliza giggles at this.

“Mooooom! That’s Ryan!”

You smile and nod your head in concession. Ryan will be going to his junior prom this year. 

“Alright,” you say to Eliza. “Put your lips like this.” You open your mouth, showing your daughter how to position herself best for you to apply lipstick. “This will probably come off when we have dinner, but we can reapply.”

Once you’re finished and capping the small golden tube of lipstick, Eliza examines herself in the mirror. Not just her straightened hair now, but her doe brown eyes study her face as well. An adorable, dimpled grin grows on her face, and it makes your heart swell. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Eliza Marie Munson?” 

You pick her up from the chair and hold her on your hip. She’s getting too old for this—plus, you probably shouldn’t be doing this since you’re pregnant—but you want to hold your baby girl. 

“I don’t mean just right now. Always so beautiful,” you say. “Your smile, your eyes, your hair. Your adorable little nose that I just wanna bite.” You teasingly scrape your front teeth over the tip of her nose. She giggles and pulls her face away. 

“I’m pretty like Mama,” Eliza says. 

Even if you didn’t have pregnancy hormones coursing through your body, her words would have caused the same effect. Warm tears flood your eyes, and it takes maximum effort to keep them from spilling. 

“Maybe I’m pretty like Eliza,” you say once you’re able to speak.

The little girl shakes her head, straight hair swaying like a sleek silk sheet in the wind.

“You were first!” she says.  

“You’re such a smarty.”

“I know!”

Eliza is practically vibrating in excitement when you pull her Halloween costume out of the closet. She gasps with joy when her eyes land on the pink Sleeping Beauty dress. You slip the polyester over her head and she’s quick to pull her soft, straight hair out of the way. As soon as you have the back zipped up, the little girl starts galloping around her room.

“I’m a princess, I’m a princess!”

“We’ll save the crown for later, okay, Your Majesty?” you say as you close her closet.

“Kay!”

Eliza’s galloping turns to skipping as she goes through her bedroom door and down the hallway. There’s a smile on your face as you follow her out—walking slowly in your case, though. 

“Mama? Can we watch Sleeping Beauty?” she asks once you’re in the living room with her.

“Sure thing, sweet pea.”

You pop in the DVD, then plop down on the couch, your body thankful for the rest after you’ve been so active the last hour or so with Eliza. 

You’re expecting your daughter to climb up on the couch with you, but instead, she starts marching in circles between the coffee table and the television. Her costume goes schwick, schwick, schwick with every step she takes; the polyester rubbing up against itself and her short legs. 

The movie opens upon the kingdom celebrating the birth of the new princess, and Eliza begins to sing along, her step never faltering. 

Hail to the Princess Aurora

All of her subjects adore her

Hail to the King, hail to the Queen

Hail to the Princess Aurora

Health to the Princess

Wealth to the Princess

Long live the Princess Aurora

As the narrator comes back to speak, Eliza comes over and settles herself next to you on the worn couch. She sits on her knees, facing you. It’s silent for a minute—unusual for this household. Then, the small girl leans forward and rests one hand on your swollen belly.

“Mommy?” she asks.

“Yes, my love?” You tuck a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

“Ryan named me, right?”

“Well, he was the first one who suggested the name. Daddy and I are the ones who decided on it,” you explain.

She nods her head in understanding, the piece of hair you put behind her ear falling forward again with the motion. 

“Can I sugges…uh, uhjest, zuh…”

“Suggest?” you offer kindly.

“Yeah, that. Can I suh-gest a name?” she asks.

“Go ahead, sweet pea.”

Eliza leans in closer to your belly. She rubs her small hand from side to side; it almost looks like she’s a waitress trying to wipe down a table. 

“If the baby’s a girl, I think you should name her Aurora,” she declares. 

You watch as Eliza stares at your bump, like if she looks hard enough, she’ll see the baby growing beneath your layers of skin and muscles. It brings a smile to your face, how much she already cares about her little sibling. 

“I think that’s a beautiful name.” And you do, you’re not just patronizing her.

“Yeah?” Eliza’s head tilts up and she looks at you with wide eyes. Eyes so much like her father’s that it sometimes takes your breath away. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a nod. “I’ll bring it up to Daddy.” 

A proud smile grows on your daughter’s coral-painted lips. She gives one last loving pat to your belly before situating herself so she’s sitting next to you, hip to hip.

“We’re not going to know if the baby is a boy or girl until they’re born, though,” you explain before the four-year-old gets caught up in the movie again. “I have the doctors soon and they’re going to let us see a picture of the baby. But Daddy and I decided we want to be surprised.” 

“Did you know me?” Eliza asks, her head tilting to the side like an inquisitive puppy. 

“Yep! They told us you’re a girl and Daddy and I were so happy.”

A thoughtful hum emanates from the small girl as she turns her attention back to the movie. A minute later, she lifts your arm so she can snuggle into your side. You happily wrap your arm around her and enjoy the cuddles. 

When it’s time for dinner, Eliza does not want to change out of her princess costume. So, in order to keep it stain-free through the meal, you wrap her up in her fluffy pink bathrobe. She finds this hilarious and waddles to the dinner table like a pink Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. 

The moment her bottom lands in her chair, Eddie is looking at the little girl with a raised eyebrow. His gaze then shifts to you. When he pointedly looks back at Eliza, then you, you realize it’s about the makeup. But you’re going to make him say it out loud.

“What?” you ask, spearing a green bean with your fork.

“I didn’t know we had Tammy Faye coming to dinner tonight,” he says. 

You roll your eyes as all three of your kids chime in with, “Who?”

“Eliza is a princess, Eddie. She deserves the royal treatment,” you say. 

“Uh huh,” he hums before taking a sip of his water.

“What time is Chase’s mom picking you up tonight, Ryan?” you ask.

Your eldest wipes his mouth off with an already messy napkin before responding.

“Like, eight, I think.”

“Make sure his mom takes pictures of you all!” you add.

“Whatchu gonna be?” Eliza asks, twirling a green bean around on her fork.

“Me and my friends are going as The Beatles,” he tells her.

“You’re gonna be bugs?” Eliza’s eyes practically pop out of her tiny skull. 

“No,” Ryan says with a chuckle. “The Beatles are a band.”

“Yeah, you like that one song they sing,” Luke chimes in. “Desmond takes a trolley to the jeweller's store. Buys a twenty-carat golden ring. Takes it back to Molly waiting at the door and as he gives it to her, she begins to sing!”

Eliza’s eyes light up.

“Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! La-la, how their life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah. La-la, how their life goes on!”

She wiggles in her seat as she sings, using her fork as an impromptu microphone. 

“Which Beatle are you?” Luke asks.

“George,” Ryan replies.

“Aw, is that because everyone always forgets about you, too?” Luke jokes, a smirk on his face.

Ryan shoves Luke, which only makes the younger brother laugh harder.

After dinner and once you’ve reapplied Eliza’s lipstick, the little girl sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches you do Luke’s makeup. You’re no makeup artist, but you know more than the teenage boy does, so he puts his trust in you to make him look like an authentic zombie.

It mostly consists of making his face look as sickly pale as possible and contrasting that with dark eyes. You’re pretty sure you’ve put so much eyeliner on your son that it will take him all night to scrub off. Or, knowing Luke, he’ll just leave it and try to sneak out of the house like that in the morning. Somehow, you don’t think his school would appreciate that. 

“Do you have any green stuff?” Luke asks as you cap the eyeliner.

“Green stuff? What do you mean? Like, eyeshadow?”

“Yeah! I wanna look kind of moldy.” His eager grin makes you chuckle as you rifle through your makeup bag.  

“Eww!” Eliza wrinkles up her nose.

“Well, sorry, Your Highness.” Luke says as you pull out a palette of eyeshadow containing a forest green shade. “We zombies can’t be as clean and fancy as you princesses!”

Your four-year-old stands up and smooths out the ruffles of her skirt with an air of someone five times her age. 

“Try,” is all the little girl says before walking out of the bathroom. 

You and Luke look at one another before bursting into laughter.

“How do I look?” Luke slides into the room on his socked feet with his arms held out at his sides. He’s changed into a pair of jeans that incidentally are ripped almost all the way down the left side after he tore them trying to hop over a fence. Luckily, it was only a few weeks ago, so Luke knew he could keep them for this very night. On top he’s wearing an old grease and oil-stained white t-shirt that Eddie will throw on under his coveralls for work, and an old blue and green flannel of Wayne’s that he took a pair of scissors to, so it looks ripped and ragged. 

“Wait, where’s your costume?” Ryan asks sarcastically, adjusting the black skinny tie he’s wearing. “I thought you were going to put on makeup?”

“Ha ha,” Luke deadpans while Eliza’s brow furrows.

“He does got makeup on,” she says.

“Ryan was just trying to be mean and say Luke looks like this all the time,” Eddie leans down to her on the couch to explain.

“Oh. Mean, Ryan!”

“Well, you look lovely, Your Majesty,” Ryan replies, bowing down before her.

The flattery clearly works with his little sister as she smiles proudly and kicks her feet excitedly. 

You stroll into the room just as there’s a knock on the front door.

“That’s probably Chase,” Ryan says before heading in that direction.

“Looks good, Luke,” Eddie tells his younger son. 

“I have a good makeup artist,” he replies. 

“What about Daddy?” Eliza pipes up.

“What do you mean, sweet pea?” he asks her. 

“You don’t got a costume or makeup.”

“I don’t need any,” Eddie tells her with a shake of his head.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “I kinda agree with her.”

Your husband cocks an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Luke, can you go grab the eyeliner from my makeup bag?”

The zombie salutes you before heading back down the hall.

As you start to slowly walk towards the couch, Eddie looks at you with an unamused expression. 

“Do I really need makeup, babe?” His voice is as flat as his interest.

“I guess you don’t need it,” you say, shrugging one shoulder. When you come to stand in front of him, you place one knee on each side of Eddie’s hips, straddling his lap. “I think you’d look really good in some eyeliner, though.” Your hands slip up into his hair, where you give a gentle tug. “Since I don’t get to go trick-or-treating, maybe that could be my treat tonight?”

Eddie’s look of disinterest quickly morphs into excitement. 

“Whatever my princess wants,” Eddie croons.

“Uh, Daddy!” Eliza complains from the cushion next to you. “I am the princess!”

“Right,” Eddie says, turning his head to look at her. “Silly me. I forgot I have two princesses tonight.”

Ryan pops back into the room, his friend Chase right on his heels, when he sees you sitting in his dad’s lap with your hands in his hair. He automatically skids to a stop and begins to turn around.

“Nope,” he says, pushing his friend back towards the front door. “Don’t wanna be here for whatever this is. I’ll be back later!”

“Be careful,” you shout after him, while Eddie calls out, “Have fun!”

Luke returns with your eyeliner, and you happily accept it from him. Eliza stands up on the couch cushion and leans against your shoulder as you take the cap off the black pencil.

“I wanna watch,” the little princess says. 

“You can be my supervisor,” you say as you adjust yourself in Eddie’s lap. “Look up,” you tell him.

Eddie lifts his chin to look at the ceiling, but you guide his head back down where it was. 

“With just your eyeballs, please,” you clarify.

Following your instructions, Eddie’s eyes look skyward as you gently pull down on the lower lid of his left eye. Your hand is steady as you run the pencil back and forth against his waterline. 

It’s a good thing two of your kids are in the room because, just having a little bit of eyeliner on, you’re already eager to jump your husband’s bones. 

“It’s a crime you don’t wear this more,” you murmur as you move your concentration to his upper eyelid.

“Well, maybe after tonight I will,” Eddie answers in a velvety tone.

“Dad, why would you—ugh, gross.” 

Eddie smirks as Luke catches on to what the two of you are alluding to. You let out a soft chuckle as you move to his other eye.

“Why don’t you have Luke put your crown on you?” You suggest to Eliza.

“Yes!” 

She quickly hops off the couch and runs over to Luke, grabs his hand, and attempts to drag him down the hallway with her. 

Eddie rests his hands on your hips as you finish up, rubbing his thumbs against the material of your sweatpants. 

“Want me to be your rockstar tonight?” Eddie asks.

“And I will be your groupie,” you say as you pop the cap back on the pencil. Arousal kicks up in you as you take in the sight of your already-sexy husband in eyeliner. “Your groupie who will let you do whatever you want to her,” you purr.

“Happy Halloween, indeed,” Eddie says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“You done?” Eliza asks as she bursts back into the room, her plastic golden crown perched on top of her head. “Good! Let’s go, Daddy!”

“But Mommy’s on my lap,” Eddie says.

“Mamaaaaa,” Eliza whines. “Get up!”

“Excuse me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Please,” she adds softly.

“Yeah. Please,” Luke adds as he follows his little sister back in the room.

Both you and Eddie chuckle as you slide off his lap. You press a kiss to his lips.

“Alright, you guys,” you say to all three of them, “be safe and have a good time.”

“We will!” Eliza assures you.

She picks up her pink pumpkin bucket from the coffee table and hands her older brother his blue one.

“Let’s go!”

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as the little girl marches towards the front door in her pink princess dress.

“I guess we’re going,” Luke says as he follows after her. 

Eddie presses one last kiss to your lips.

“Maybe I’ll be wearing something different when you get home,” you tease. “Something…lacier, perhaps.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back.

“I’m about to make these kids get their candy in record time,” he says.

You giggle and shove him towards the front door.

“Alright, Mr. Rockstar. Go have fun.”

“Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too.”

Once the door closes behind the three of them, you let out a deep sigh and grab a handful of candy from the bowl that’s prepared for the trick-or-treaters. 

“How about it?” you ask your baby, looking down at your stomach. “We deserve some candy too, right? Right.”

The small batch of fun-sized candy bars fall into your lap as you plop down on the couch and grab the remote.

“Ooh, Beetlejuice,” you say as you come upon a channel playing the movie. “You’re in for a treat, kiddo. This is a good one.”

[daddydixonscrossbow]

Just a short little blurb about how you finally let your hair down after keeping it up for most of the years, and Daryl notices.

You never really left your hair down, literally speaking.

Ever since the dead started wreaking havoc on this planet, your hair has been a messy bun or ponytail, which was knotted to no extent from being up, being rinsed with lake or river water.

That was until Alexandria.

Alexandria allowed you to finally be able to let your hair down. You had a brush, shampoo and conditioner, and even a hair dryer.

You never thought you’d see the day to where your hair was clean, knot free and down. It actually shocked you the first time you saw it, how long it had gotten.

You got dressed and went back to blow dry it.

As soon as you walked outside, the people in your group, the ones you were with from the start, were shocked as well.

“Wow, look at that head of hair.” Carol teases, “It’s pretty. You should wear it down more often.”

You smile and shrug, “Yeah, I hope I’m able to.”

You walk away and someone else would say something, then finally, you saw Daryl. He had to do a double take, because to him, you looked like a whole other person.

“Whoa, look at you.” He smirks as you walk up to him, his eyes scanning you, “Y’look like you actually belong here.” Of course he couldn’t just give you a compliment, “Y’look ridiculous.”

You laugh, tilting your head as you flick your hair off of your shoulder, “Yeah, I feel ridiculous.”

“No, no, I didn’t-“

You cut him off, “I’m screwing with you, Dixon.”

He laughs and nods, “uh huh.” He reaches up, twirling the ends of your hair with his fingers, “s’really pretty. Y’got a lot of it, though.”

“I know. I have to learn how to braid it so it doesn’t get knotted.” You look up at him, “It was bad.”

“M’sure, I don’t think I ever seen ya let it down.” He drops his hand, “I like it like this.”

A week later, he shows up and offers to braid it for you, all thanks to Carol for teaching him how to do so.

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’💋

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! First of all, congratulations on your 7k!

For the bake sale, could you please write “³¹⁾ three people sat on a two-seater sofa” with wolfstar x reader, please?

Thank you!!

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 790 words

There are lots of things to love about your new apartment. It’s charming, not too expensive, almost perfectly equidistant between your work and the boys’. Remus is really pleased about the in-unit washer and dryer, and Sirius is obsessed with the kitchen backsplash. But you think your favorite part is this view. 

You have a TV but you’d argue you hardly need it, what with the spellbinding appeal of your own sitting room window. You have your legs crossed on the loveseat, your knee spilling over Remus’ thigh while both of you sip coffee and watch the sun rise over the sidewalk. 

Yours is a quaint neighborhood, far enough from the hustle and bustle of town that you still have trees and quiet but close enough that you get to see people walking by. With the new chill in the air it’s a fun time to people watch. Remus enjoys it nearly as much as you do. 

“Fucking hell, there he goes again,” murmurs Remus, frowning at the man running on the sidewalk down below. 

“Do you think he owns a longer pair of shorts?” you wonder. 

“I don’t see how he can survive the winter without one.” 

“That girl looks like she’s freezing her tits off.” 

Remus hums. “It’s one of those days. Bring a jacket and you might end up carrying it around all afternoon, but don’t and in the morning you’ll suffer for it.” 

“Maybe her guy friend will lend her his.” 

“Likely. He’s more interested in putting his arm around her. He’s not going to give up that chance.” 

“Wouldn’t he want the gentleman points for giving her his jacket, though?”

“That would be the smart choice, but he doesn’t strike me as a smart bloke. She can do better, I think.” 

You blow on your coffee, letting the steam blow back onto your face. “I bet by the time he walks her home, she’s got his jacket.” 

You hear the groan of the bedsprings, and then a human one louder than that. A minute later Sirius is padding into the sitting room with your comforter drawn around his shoulders. His eyes look half open. 

“How could you do this to me?” he whines. 

“Morning, love,” Remus says placidly as Sirius crawls over the arm of your loveseat, spilling onto Remus’ lap and wriggling his way over until his head lies in the nest of your crossed legs. He turns his face into your stomach, the picture of tortured misery. 

“What are you both doing up?” 

“I was awake,” you explain. 

“And I wanted coffee,” says Remus.

“There was no need to abandon me like this,” Sirius goes on as if neither of you have spoken. His voice pitches with a yawn. “It’s Saturday, you masochists.”

You hold your mug in one hand to put the other in his hair. This seems to mollify him somewhat. He pushes his face harder into your tummy, making a disgruntled whining sound. 

“Would you like some coffee?” you ask him. 

“Coffee is only a balm for having to get out of bed, which neither of you had to do, because it’s Saturday.” 

“But now that you’re out of bed, would you like some?” 

“Yes, please.” 

You ease out from under him. You top yourself off and make Sirius’ the way you both like it, with copious amounts of cream and sugar. When you get back he’s taken your spot, so you pass him his cup and sit half on his lap, squished between him and the armrest. 

You’d have a bigger couch if the room allowed for it. Instead, you’ve put a chair along the wall that Remus usually prefers to sit in, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move now and you don’t want him to. You derive more contentment than is reasonable from all of you smushing together like this, touchy and close in a way that’d be awkward if there weren’t so much love between you. 

“Is that very comfortable?” Remus looks over at you, concerned. “Why don’t you come sit over here, sweetheart?” 

“I’ve got her just fine,” Sirius argues, adjusting so that you’re entirely on his lap, his arm possessively around your waist. 

You turn agreeably, pivoting until you’re sitting sideways with your back against the armrest. Remus pulls your feet into his lap. 

“There he goes again,” you say, looking out the window. Both of your boyfriends follow your gaze. 

“Bloody hell.” Sirius’ face screws up like his coffee is bitterer than he’d expected. “Are those children’s shorts?” 

“This is what you’re treated to when you wake up,” Remus teases. “Not worth it. And now that I know you’re out here ogling men that aren’t me, I’m tying you both to the bed.”

[northsealight]

...and dry it off with care

summary: you're tired and not sure how to receive comfort. jason helps you relax :)

notes: a quick little imagine to tide MYSELF over while i try to grow the balls to post my insane jason related project soon (hint hint its medieval).. but this is my first post.. yahoo!

彡𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 彡

The past couple of weeks had little to look forward to. You, an unfortunate slave to your degree, had subscribed to the Sisyphean cycle of waking up at 6:00 AM, eating stale leftovers, and killing yourself at lectures until you dragged yourself home at 8:00 PM. The part of your miserable routine that stung the most was the fact that you barely had time to see Jason. 

This night was no different. Dead on your feet with a head of freshly showered hair, you painfully clambered into bed with your slumbering boyfriend. Unfortunately, the hopes of drying your scalp died long ago with the remainders of your arm strength. 

As you try to get settled quietly between the sheets, Jason, being a horrifically light sleeper, blinks awake to your dismay. He groans, and lifts one sleepy eye open. Secretly, you think to yourself how cat-like your boyfriend is. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, reaching over to brush the soft strands of hair from his eyes, “Go back to sleep.”

Jason only hums, and traces your hair with his outstretched fingers. He yawns. “Your hair’s still wet.”

“Astute observation. Now go back to sleep.”

“Mm. No,” Without warning, he arises from bed, padding off to the bathroom. You snort incredulously when he comes back with a blow dryer.

“Sit up,” He gently commands, sitting on your side of the bed now. “Gonna catch a cold if you sleep like that.” 

Your brain stalls, for a second. “What?”

Jason rolls his eyes and motions for you to scoot over, the remnants of sleep previously clinging to his face dissipating by the second. “I’m not letting you go to bed like that. Up.”

Oh. Your chest, in your half-sleep haze, instantly melts at his tenderness. 

You almost feel like a third party observer as your body folds into a sitting position, leaning flush against Jason’s chest without your control. You don’t miss the way how one his comically giant hands is always on you, touching your thigh, or resting on your waist.

Jason begins to gently dry your hair with the machine on the lowest setting. Maybe it was how emotionally draining your day was, or the sentimentality of the late evening, but your eyes became mysteriously damp at the way he handled you– took care of you. In the quiet darkness of your shared room, his movements felt languid, almost delayed. It felt wrong, distorted in some form. Each careless movement of his body against your own wasn’t deserved, like your body should dissipate at the touch of another. 

Wanting to push him away, your muscles tense, the vulnerability and sheer closeness overwhelming you. Jason in turn, still gently drying your damp scalp, notices the stiff movement. 

“Relax. What, you’ve got a crush on me or something?” he teases. You almost snap out of your stupor at Jason’s stupid jab, but you humor him anyway.

“In your dreams,” you sniff. “ I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be teased. He plays along, and you can almost envision his small grin with his response. “Now who’s this mystery man? He’s lucky to have a pretty thing like you.” 

You sniff again. “He’s a big idiot. He sings off-key Cher to piss off my neighbors and keeps forgetting where he left his glasses. And he always insists on staying up for me when he should be resting up for tomorrow.”

“Hey.” Jason warns you, waving around the blow dryer. “Need I remind you who's wielding the potentially lethal electric device?”

You only snort and push at him. When it falls quiet, you break the silence with an unsure apology. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Jason only shushes you. “Don’t apologize for that. S’no bother.”

You close your eyes and lean back, further into him, to anchor yourself. Jason only presses a gentle kiss to your neck, and continues drying your hair.

You fall asleep that way. Morning comes to find you with a dry head of hair, an aching heart, and a gentle giant curled around your figure.

[lacy-oh-lacy]

Property of Jennifer ･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Jennifer's Body Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Jennifer Check x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Jennifer fingers you under the table while you're on a date... with someone else.

CW: DubCon, Toxic!Jennifer, Jealous!Jennifer, hidden-public, exhibitionism?, fingering, mention of spanking, reader goes on a date with a guy (the scene still makes sense if you're not into guys though)

Adam was the worst kind of jock stereotype. A total idiot. Somewhat charming until anything didn’t go his way. A guy who made it his goal in life to sleep with as many women as possible and then slut-shamed the few he actually got under his belt.

He wasn’t your type in more ways then one, yet on a Friday night you could’ve spent doing anything else… you were sitting across from him at a shitty diner, helping him stumble through small talk.

You blamed Jennifer entirely.

If she hadn’t of fucked and ghosted you AGAIN, you wouldn’t of been so desperate to get her out of your system that you’d say yes to the first loser to ask you out.

Adam wasn’t your main concern at that moment though. Your main concern was the devil herself, striding into the diner you knew she hated in the shortest skirt she owned …and for the first time in a week she was looking right at you.

Your attention had been wavering all night but you must of been obvious that time because Adam checked over his shoulder, following your gaze  and catching sight of Jennifer a second before she arrived at your booth.

“Oh my god, hi!”

That valley-girl voice of hers made your heart flutter but you knew to raise your guard.

“Jennifer, hi… what are you doing here?”

She laughed, a plastic sound. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The thought of deflecting as skilfully as she had done was appealing, but instead you ripped the Band-Aid off. You were done caring about what she thought.

“I’m on a date actually.”

The strain in her smile wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t watching her reaction so carefully.

“Oh, where’s your date?” She looked around, eyes very obviously passing over the man in front of you.

Oof. You didn’t exactly like the guy but you felt a secondhand sting at that. Cringing, you shot Adam an apologetic look as he waved a hand to get her attention.

“Uhh that’d be me.” 

“Oh!” 

Despite her passive-aggressive tone, her big glossed smile softened the blow. It made it hard to be mad at her. At least it did until she turned her head away from him to mouth “yikes.”

Suddenly she sat down cramped against you, hand dropping to your thigh. “Well I’m just waiting on my own date. Mind if I sit with you guys for a few minutes?”

You didn’t know what made you tenser, wondering where the hell she was going with this or the hand caressing your thigh.

“Well, like I said we’re on a date. So actually-“

Said date cut you off as he leered, slack-jawed at Jennifer. “It’s fine. What’s a few minutes?“

You gritted your teeth, mind badgering you with images of all the other places you could’ve been that night. “Why do you even want to sit here?”

She groaned. “He said it’s fine. Take a chill pill.”

Jennifer’s words were accompanied by a squeeze to your thigh and you jumped. It didn’t hurt but you felt your skin buzz under her touch, heat spreading low in your stomach.

Jennifer’s attention seemed to go back to Adam but that didn’t stop her from keeping yours with her hand inching up your skirt.

“So, I didn’t catch your name.”

He frowned, a crack in his horny haze. “Are you serious? Adam… We sat together in chem?”

“Okay, geez, don’t go stalker-boy on me.”

Her tone was just light enough to let the comment slide, but you could almost physically feel the mood slowly sinking.

She turned to you, face too innocent to have her hand so close to your privates. “What about you, how’d you two meet? Was he hanging outside your house with binoculars and a stiffy?”

“We also met in chem.” He answered for you. His tone was dryer, welcome already wearing thin. 

Apparently Adam’s ego was the one thing stronger than his libido. 

Unlike yours. Jennifer’s wandering hand was dangerously close to making you forget that you were even mad at her.

“I’m sorry, was I asking you?” She leant into you, ‘whispering’ at a volume you were sure the next table over could hear. “Does he always talk over you like that?”

The question and the underlying insult went over your head. Feeling Jennifer’s breath on your neck clouded your brain and feeling the tip of her finger begin dragging up your slit through your panties short-circuited it.

Fortunately a waitress came over, putting a pause on the tension at the table. Unfortunately that was when Jennifer’s finger reached your clit.

Your eyelashes fluttered and you bit your lip to keep back a moan. This was way too risky. The waitress would move on from Adam to one of you any second.

“What are you doing?” You hissed against Jennifer’s ear.

Unfazed she whispered back. “You’re lucky I’m not bending you over my knee.”

Then she turned back, looking the picture of innocence when the waitress addressed her.

“Anything for you, Dear?”

The woman looked so demure and unassuming. You had no idea how Jennifer could look her in the eye while drawing circles on your clit.

“Actually she’s only staying a few-“ Adam started.

“I’ll take a coffee.” Jennifer interrupted, smiling brightly.

“It’s a little late. Do you want that decaf?”

“No. I’m not planning on doing much sleeping tonight.” The subtext in that sentence embarrassed you enough but then Jennifer turned to you. “You want anything else? My treat.”

That sent the waitresses gaze your way and your face burned. You really didn’t want a stranger looking at you right now.

“No thanks.”

You cursed your squeaky, cracking voice and averted your eyes as quickly as possible.

Even with your awkward position limiting her, it was like Jennifer’s touch electrified you. An overwhelming pleasure followed her fingertips and you could only swallow your reactions to it for so long.

As the waitress went on her way Jennifer tugged at your panties and mindlessly taking the cue you raised your hips just enough for her to pull them to your knees.

That was when Adam’s focus returned to the two of you and you startled, realising what the fuck you were doing.

He was totally gonna catch you!

But then Jennifer’s fingers pushed inside of you, curving and making you see stars, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You could only spread your legs wider and silently pray you didn’t look as wrecked as you felt.

“Okay, I’m sorry, how long were you planning on staying? Don’t you have a date coming?” Adam huffed.

“Yeah.” She looked slyly at you “any second now.”

You writhed in your seat. Embarrassment, guilt and so much lust created a boiling hot cocktail inside of you.

“Whatever.” He sighed, leaning back in his seat and staring at the ceiling.

Jennifer snuck her other hand under the table and you gasped loudly at sudden, rough friction against your clit. 

Sure enough that caught other patrons attention. As people glanced at you you didn’t know what you wanted more… to cum or for the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

“Hey, you good?” Adam asked.

“Yeah… yeah, just um, water went down the wrong pipe.”

You hadn’t touched your glass since Jennifer showed up but you trusted he wouldn’t of payed enough attention to know that.

“You should be more careful.” Jennifer said, tone loaded in way that made you squirm.

It was really, really hard to be careful with the high she was working you into. It was too much, the way she massaged your g-spot while three flat fingers rubbed quickly over your pussy. 

Hellish heat overtook you as she brought you over the edge. It took everything in your power to keep your mouth shut, face pointing down to hide your shame.

You gripped the table like a lifeline as pulse after pulse of pleasure rocked your body. Her touch became almost overstimulating.

You felt Jennifer’s breath on your ear before you heard her silky, hushed voice “You’re mine. Got it? Don’t forget that again.”

Cool air hit your warm centre as she pulled out and you nodded eagerly. Thrumming with the aftershocks of orgasm you barely registered Adam’s voice.

“Hey what’s up with all the whispering? I swear, you’d think you were on a date with Jennifer.”

[pinksfloydss]

i like the way you kiss me 

Pairings: erik lehnsherr x afab reader (she/her pronoun use)

Warnings: smut, 18+. praise kink, mirror kink, insecurity, toxic (?) relationship. fwb of sorts. takes place after Days of Future Past. first time writing smut so be nice!

She knew her position in all of this, and she didn’t dare step over the boundaries. She knew Erik was not interested in a relationship, that he was looking for a warm body to press up against on the cold nights. At first she didn’t mind it. Just like him, she wanted a distraction from all of this tragedy and ostracisation in her life. Being a Mutant on the run from law enforcements was not an easy task, especially when nearly every Government agency was after Erik, and her by association. There was that understanding between them. An understanding that they were in this together. But not together, together.

She stood in the motel’s bathroom, a thin door separating her from Erik who was sitting on the bed. Sighing deeply, she tossed the empty box of hair dye in the trash can along with a pair of stained gloves. Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, she glanced down at her gold watch, taking note of the time. After 45 minutes, she stripped out of her clothing and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water rush down her body. She used the shampoo and conditioner set she purchased alongside the hair dye. Erik argued that it was nonsensical, since the motel would have complimentary shampoo and conditioner for them to use. She fought back with the fact she was already changing the color of her hair, she wasn’t going to damage it anymore with cheap motel products. 

After drying off her body with the rough towel and blow drying her hair with the motel-given dryer that made the lights flicker when she turned it on, she slipped into a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. There was a knock on the bathroom door. 

“One second,” she replied, raising her voice only slightly. 

“Come on, you’ve been in there forever,” Erik retorted through the door. “The suspense is killing me.”

She rolled her eyes and unlocked the door, allowing him to turn the knob and step in. She wasn’t ready to look at him directly yet, so she continued to nit-pick her appearance in the mirror. Erik came up behind her, gazing at her in the mirror as well. He gathered her waist length hair into his hands, holding it up like a ponytail. 

“I think it suits you,” he murmured. “It's a shame there wasn’t any extra to share.”

She smiled at him in the reflection. “I can go back to the store tomorrow.”

“I’ll pass.”

Erik pressed himself against the back of her, dropping her hair down over one shoulder as he leaned in. He pressed soft kisses into the kiss of her neck, his scruff scratching her soft skin. 

“Erik,” she muttered. “I just got out of the shower.”

“You can take another one.”

He grasped her jaw, turning her head so that they could kiss. It was soft, almost convincing. He kept her body pointed at the mirror. Sighing softly, he pulled himself away from her, looking down at her with dark eyes. 

“I like the way you kiss me,” he whispered. 

Her breath shook as she exhaled. She grabbed his hands that were planted at hips and started tugging on them. Placing one of his hands on her chest, she pulled the second one further down. He cupped her through her pajama shorts. 

“Eager, are we?” he teased. 

“Don’t make me beg,” she pleaded. “It’s embarrassing.”

He smiled against her neck. “You sound so beautiful when you beg.”

She closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to look at herself in the reflection. “Erik,” she whispered. “I need you. Please.”

Erik removed his hands from her body and grabbed the hem of her tank top, guiding her through it and off her body. Next, he moved to her shorts, pushing them off her hips and down the legs. She supported herself up by placing her palms on the sink counter. Her legs were weak, pliable. She kept her eyes closed. 

She always considered herself to be a modern-woman, not in the need of a man to help her with anything. But at this moment, she needed Erik’s help. He was the only one who could make her feel better. The feeling of embarrassment with desperation kept her eyes sealed shut.

Erik pulled her back up against him, and she could feel the fact he just removed his own clothes. He groaned when she shifted weight, her soft skin rubbing against his growing hardness. One of his hands reached around her to her chest, rubbing his thumb across her hard nipple. His lips found the spot right under her ear, kissing it softly. Next, his other hand ran over her stomach and down between her thighs. His two innermost fingers slid between her folds, slipping inside her.

A gasp left her lips as he worked at her. The heel of his palm rubbed at her clit, making her tighten around his fingers even more. 

“Erik,” she sighed. 

“Say it,” he groaned. 

“Please,” she choked out. “I want you. I – fuck – please, Erik.”

Erik complied to her pleads. He removed his hand from her and shuffled behind her, finding the right spot to stand. Finding it, he lined himself up with her and slowly slid in, giving her time to adjust. Perhaps the lewdest sound she has ever made came out of her. Perhaps the people in the neighboring rooms could hear her. Perhaps she was feeding into his ego. Any of it, she did not care. All she cared about was the way he was making her feel in this moment. 

Erik grabbed both of her wrist, holding them behind her at the small of her back with one hand. The other grasped the base of the back of her neck, pushing the upper part of her body flat against the sink counter. She turned her head to the side, one cheek flushed against the cool counter. Erik made sure to collect all of her hair away from that side of her face, even placing it so it was off the back of her neck. His thrusts started out slow, patient with her body. But they soon picked up speed. With every moan she let out, he felt more of a responsibility to make the next one better. 

“Is this what you’re too embarrassed to say you like?” he murmured, his one hand still gripping both of her wrists while the other braces himself on the back of her shoulder. “Do you like giving yourself completely over to me? Do you like the way I make you feel?”

She choked out a cry. She was never going to admit it out loud, she couldn’t. But the way his words – the truth she was afraid to confess – made her feel, sent shock waves through her body. He grabbed a fistful of hair with his hand, pulling her face up high enough to be seen in the mirror. 

“Open your eyes, sweet girl,” he groaned. “Look at yourself.”

At first, she shook her head, but then he tightened her grip on her hair. Not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to send a message. Her eyes fluttered open, and she finally saw what she was so worried about seeing. Her face was flushed, her eyes hazed over, her lips slightly bruised from where she was biting down on and didn’t even realize it.

“I wish you could see all that I could see,” Erik groaned. “So beautiful, taking me so well.”

She unknowingly backed her hips up at him mid-thrust, electing a soft chuckle from him. Her eyes left her own reflection and stared at his, seeing the way he gazed down at her. She didn’t want to convince herself of anything. Not now, not here. 

He let go of her wrist and her hair, pulling her body back up to be flushed up against his chest. She turned her head so she could actually look at him and not his reflection. His hand cupped her breast as he continued to move inside her.

“Tell..” she stopped herself. 

He stopped moving. “Tell what?” he asked. 

She shook her head, rocking herself back and front and trying the mimic the way it felt only a few seconds ago. “Ignore me,” she replied.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, sweet girl,” he said softly. “Say it.”

She closed her eyes again, turning her face away from him. “Erik, not now.”

He pulled out of her entirely, whirling her around to face him. “I can’t enjoy this if I think you’re not.”

She grabbed his face with both of her hands. “I am enjoying this,” she said, pulling his face down to kiss him. He kissed her back, hesitantly. Slowly, she started shuffling her way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. One bed. It was the only vacant room in the motel. 

She crawled onto the bed, stopping when her face met the soft pillow. She was on her knees, her back arched, showing herself to him. This could be her most vulnerable, but when she felt Erik move into bed behind her, grab her hips, and flip her onto her back, she felt more exposed than ever before.

“I want to see you,” he explained. “I want you to tell me what you want.”

She pulled him down so that he was hovering on top of her, forearms boxing in her head. Her hand pulled him down to kiss her while the other hand grabbed him and lined himself back up with her. He sank in completely, and she moaned into his mouth. 

“Please tell me, my girl,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss. 

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. “Tell me you like me, Erik. Tell me how good…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence before his hips snapped against hers. He grabbed a spare pillow and shoved it under her hips, creating a different angle that she could feel. 

“You’re squeezing me just right,” he groaned. “So perfect. You’re taking me so well, sweet girl.”

Her back arched involuntarily, her chest meeting his with ragged breaths. She wanted more, and he could tell.

“You want to make me proud, don't you?” he teased. “I can see it in everything you do. Look at what I’m seeing.”

He brought her gaze to between their bodies, where he was hovering enough over her that they could watch him disappear into her with every thrust. 

“You don’t know how perfect you feel,” he groaned. “Wrapped around me like you were made for me. Only for me. Your mine.”

She cried out, digging her fingernails into the skin of his shoulders. Erik dipped down to kiss her, helping her through her orgasm. With the way she was tightening around him, he didn’t last that much longer. Groaning, he quickly pulled himself out of her, letting himself finish on her stomach. She was panting, her thighs that were tight against his hips were shaking. After a moment to catch their breaths, he dropped himself onto the bed next to her. He took one look at her stomach and got out of bed, walking to the bathroom. He grabbed her clothes and a wash cloth he ran under warm water. Before walking back out, he quickly pulled on his boxers. 

When he came back into the bedroom, she had pulled at the sheets enough to cover her breasts and thighs. Erik chuckled softly, making a teasing remark on her modesty at this point. He wiped her stomach clean and helped her back into her clothes. She sighed at the feeling of his rough hands against her skin. 

He climbed back into bed beside her, pulling the blankets up over both of them. He noticed her hesitancy and how frozen she seemed under the blankets, so he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled him against him.

“I may not be telepathic, but I can see when you’re thinking,” he commented. “What is it?”

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expressions. “I know what we are, Erik. But sometimes it still stings.”

“And what do you think we are?” he asked, his eyes burning into her. 

“It’s just sex between us,” she replied, taking a deep breath. “I know that.”

He signed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Quietly, he said her name, and then repeated it so that she would look at him for once. “It’s not just sex, sweet girl. I could spend every waking moment with you, not even touching, and that would be enough to keep me content. I just happen to like the way you kiss me.”

Her eyes were almost sad. “Erik,” she whispered. “If I didn’t side with you, and we weren’t on the run..”

“I would risk arrest if that meant catching a sight of you.”

She chuckled softly, closing her eyes as she felt his nose brush against her cheek. “You don’t mean that. You’re just saying that ‘cause you were just inside me 5 minutes ago.”

Erik pressed a kiss against her lips. “No, I’m saying that because I mean it.”

[daddyslilchickenfingers2]

Shower Sex (Chris)

Request: none

Warnings: getting caught masturbating, shower sex (obvi), super cringe, daddy kink

A/N: this was one of the fics i wrote very early on so I apologize if it’s bad. SO SORRY ITS POSTED SO LATE IVE BEEN SO BUSY TODAY

Y/n’s pov

I had just taken a shower and got out, going to grab my blow dryer brush to dry my hair but yet again Chris had stolen it. I rolled my eyes and put my robe on as I went down the hall to Chris’ room to get it back. I could hear his music playing and I assumed he’d be in the corner gaming, so I just walked straight into his bathroom but I was met by sight I was most definitely not expecting to see, all I can say is thank god for glass showers.

There Chris was in the shower, dick in hand as he leaned against the wall. “Oh shit, yeah just like that baby, suck my fucking dick Y/n!” I was shocked to hear him moaning my name. I gasped making his hand still and eyes shoot open “Y/n! What the fuck are you doing, how long have you been standing there!? Get out!” I looked down at his hard cock before looking up at his flushed face with a cheesy grin. “Do you really want me to get out? Because it sure didn’t sound like that a second ago.” I teased as I walked closer to the shower door.

“St-stop, why are you here?” he nervously asked “Well I was coming to get my blow dryer but I think I like this distraction better.” I said as I loosened my short robe. “Shut up.” Chris opened the shower door, no longer embarrassed but 10x hornier “You know my name sounds pretty good coming out of your mouth, wonder how it would sound coming from above me.” I loosened my robe a little more, so it was now barely covering my tits.

Chris unties my robe and pushes it off my shoulders, grabbing my arm and yanking me it to shower. He closes the shower door before wrapping his hand around my throat and slamming me against the cold tile wall of the shower. “I thought I told you to fucking shut up. God, you’re such a whore, standing there watching me jack off.” he pressed himself against me and let go of my throat.

I quickly flipped us around catching him by surprise. “Wha-“ I smashed our lips together before he could finish. I pulled away quickly getting down on my knees “You wanted me to suck your dick, now’s your chance, slutty boy.” Chris’ dick visibly twitched at my words. He took his dick in his hand, tapping his tip against my lips, saying “Put your hands behind your back and open your fucking mouth.” I did as he said, sticking my tongue out. He roughly shoved his large cock into my mouth making me gag when the tip hit the back of my throat. I started bobbing my head up and down, sucking hard on the tip when Chris’ hand came to the back of my head forcing me to take the whole thing and holding me there for a moment. He started using his hand to decide the speed he wanted but quickly ended up using both hands to hold my head in place “Gonna fuck that slutty little mouth of yours princess.” he told me before thrusting his cock in and out of my mouth.

The sounds of Chris’ groans and me gagging quickly filled the shower as his tip kept hitting the back of my throat. “Fuck, just like that baby mhm sucking daddy’s cock so well!” His dirty talk caused me to moan around him causing his hips to sputter for a second before he pulled me off. “I don’t wanna cum just yet princess.” he told me while pulling me up by my hair. I was quickly pressed against the cold tile wall as Chris aggressively pressed his lips to mine in a hot and sloppy kiss. He brought my left leg up around his waist, running two fingers through my folds before shoving them inside. Chris’ fingers moved quickly in and out of me while he rubbed my clit and started sucking hickies onto my neck making me whine. “You think you’re for the real thing yet baby?” He whispered in my ear, “Please daddy, need your cock now!” I moaned.

Chris wasted no time, pulling his fingers out and shoving them into my mouth, “Go ahead baby, put daddy’s cock in you.” he instructed me. I lined Chris’ cock up with my hole before he thrust into me, his free hand helping me keep my left leg up. He started slowly thrusting into me as he left sloppy kisses along my neck and chest.

“You’re s-so big daddy, f-faster please.”I moaned making Chris pull away from my neck to look at me. He placed his lips onto mine, slightly biting my lip while squeezing hip tightly before he pulled away. “You want me to go faster baby?” he murmured against my lips.

I let out a whimper due to his slow trusts as an answer, “Yeah? Okay jump and I’ll fuck you faster.” I jumped and Chris caught me. He used the wall to help hold me up and started thrusting faster and harder making me a moan mess.

“Like that? God you’re such a fucking whore, my brothers are gonna hear you! Bet that’s what you want huh? You want Nick and Matt to hear you being fucked like a slut don’t you?” He said seductively while groaning. My moans and whines were pretty loud so the other two brothers had definitely heard me at this point. “Yes daddy, want them to hear you making me feel so good.” I whine/moaned out, Chris’ hand snaked between our body’s and he rubbed my clit.

My nails scratched down his back before I brought one up to pull on his hair, “Kiss me, please.” I begged. Chris quickly obliged as we started having a rough makeout session, licking and biting at each other’s mouths. His thrusts were getting more aggressive as both our moans grew increasingly louder “Fuck, you’re so tight for me baby! Gonna let me cum in that tight little cunt of yours?” he spoke against my ear.

“S-So close ca-can I please cum daddy? I’ve been a good girl for you, please!” I begged him in a whiny moan. “Go ahead, cum on my cock like the good little whore you are.” Chris responded with a smirk as his fingers rubbed my clit faster. I hid my head in Chris’ neck in an attempt to suppress my moans, failing as they were loud either way.

“Thank you daddy- ohh fuck I’m cumming!” I announced as a came around his cock. Chris was still chasing his own high, no longer rubbing my clit as he held onto my hips. Too focused on making himself cum he didn’t realize I was being overstimulated until I tightened around him again. “Fuck, I’m cumming again- mhm yes, shit!” I cried out.

I came for a second time “That’s my good girl, cumming on my cock twice tonight- fuck.” he praised in a growl as he came inside me. His hip’s stilled for a moment as we caught our breath before slowly pulling out. We both hissed at the feeling of being sensitive as he send me down onto my feet. My legs were slightly shaking and sore so I wrapped my arms around Chris’ neck for support.

His hands were still firmly planted on my waist as he pulled us away from the wall. Capturing my lips in a passionate kiss, full of so many emotions. “God, I love you Y/n! I’m not just saying that because we had sex, I mean I’m literally in love with you. I always have been and I always will be.” Chris confessed as we pulled away. “I love you too Chris, so fucking much.” I replied as I placed a soft kiss on his lips. This was definitely going to become more than we thought it would as after that we were basically inseparable.

All work is subject to copyright

©Daddyschickenfingers 2024

Do not steal, use, or reupload my work

[strang3lov3]

A Favor

You’re on your period and needy. Roman takes advantage. (4k)

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, unprotected piv, period sex, free bleeding, nipple stim and titty play, dirty talk, creampie, blow jobs, fingering, daddy kink, aftercare that healed something in me, needy reader, typical Roman sexism, weird mix of roman being manipulative and dominant and condescending but tender and soft all at the same time,,,don’t give me that look. Fic Help - @endlessthxxghts and @ovaryacted thanks for your eyeballs! A/N - Let’s just indulge ourselves, okay? Let’s have daddy romey do a little bit of manipulating and teasing before fucking us while we’re bleeding our guts out.

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

It’s midday and you’re finally showering. After lying in bed for a little too long, you did a workout in the home gym Roman had built for his home - just a little walking on the treadmill, some stretching too. You felt a little crappy, so you kept it light. You wash and condition your hair and then scrub your body, letting the hot, steady stream of water soothe all of your aches. After this, you’ll probably nap. It’s the perfect day for it, after all. Dark and overcast, a little rainy. You’ll waste the day away in bed, listening to the distant sound of What We Do In The Shadows playing quietly on your TV as you doze in and out of sleep. 

After shutting off the water, you reach for your towel and begin to dry off, squeezing the water out of your hair, patting beads of water off of your skin with the terry cloth. When you take the towel off of your body to hang back up, you notice splotches of red on the fabric where you dried the area between your thighs. Well, that explains why you’ve been feeling under the weather.

You look in the cabinet under your sink for a pad or tampon or something. You’ve got a hair dryer and a diffuser attachment that doesn’t match it, cleaning supplies, expired Bath & Body Works sprays, but no menstrual products, which makes sense. You tend to overbuy, thinking you won’t need to buy again for a while. And so you don’t, but you burn through supplies quicker than you ever anticipate. It’s not the first time this has happened.

You pause your shower playlist on Spotify and check your purse first - surely you’ve got some year-old tampon in there, probably covered in granola bar crumbs and melted lip balm. Nothing. You gave that last tampon to a stranger in a public bathroom last week. You call your mother next, but you’re met with no answer, leaving you with one last option: Roman. 

Do you really wanna call him right now while he’s at work? And have him make fun of you, or call you dramatic? Or worse yet, make some sick and perverted jokes? You’ve been trying to put distance between yourself and him, and the last thing you need is to invite any more opportunities for him to have his way with you. But then, what other choice do you have? You know that day one of your period you can’t exactly get away with a bunch of toilet paper rolled over the gusset of your panties. Your flow is way too heavy for that.

Your thumb hovers over his name in your phone as you contemplate the decision. You feel a warm rush of blood between your thighs, then quickly reach for the toilet paper to avoid a mess on the floor or another shower. Fuck it, you’ll call Roman. You press Roman’s name on your phone, flush your toilet paper and grab another towel, laying it out on your bed as you wait for him to pick up. 

“Hey, you.”

You hesitate before answering, “Um…hi,” Your voice shakes and wavers.

“Yeah, hi.” Roman picks up on your nervousness immediately and sounds concerned. “You sound - I don’t know. Is - is everything okay?” You hear him shutting what’s probably his office door. 

“Yeah, no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

“If everything’s fine, what are you calling me for, then?”

 You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I started my period and I don’t have any pads or tampons here at home.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, “Oh.”

“So what, you’re hoping I’ll come home from work just to bring you some?”

“…Kind of.” 

“Kind of…I see. Yeah, it just kind of sounds like a you problem, is the thing, though,” Roman murmurs in a teasing voice. He waits for your laugh, but he’s met with an awkward silence. “Kidding, I’m kidd- it’s a joke. You can laugh.”

“Don’t be weird.” 

“I’m not being weird. You’re we- you’re being weird.” 

You sigh. Leave it to Roman to make a phone call awkward and longer than it has to be. “Can you just come…” 

“Yeah, yeah. I was just about to go to lunch anyway. Do you have a preferred brand or flavor or–” 

“Gross, Roman. See? You’re being weird. Just pads. Regular fucking pads.” 

“I was gonna say ice cream if you’d have let me finish, you fuckin’ smartass. But I guess I’ll forget the Ben and Jerry’s, since you insist.”

“No, wait. Please. I want ice cream.” You feel a little bad for thinking the worst of Roman. He’s gonna get you ice cream? “Please,” you repeat.

“Nope. You’re shit out of luck, baby girl,” Roman says. “Ship has sailed.” 

“Please?”

Roman hums on the other end of the phone, pretending to contemplate. The act doesn’t last long, though. “Fuck you, you make me soft. What flavor?”

You smile. “Gimme S’mores.”

“Got it. Phish Food. Hang tight, I’ll be home soon.”

You chuckle after he hangs up. Asshole. 

After stopping at a CVS and picking up a basic box of pads and a variety pack of tampons, as well as making a special trip to find your Gimme S’mores Ben and Jerry’s at the Walgreen’s across the street, Roman comes home. He kicks off his shoes, then puts the ice cream in the freezer before heading upstairs, knees cracking as he walks up the steps. He knocks on your door, “It’s Roman. Your knight in shining armor.” 

“It’s open.” 

Roman opens the door and finds you in bed wrapped in a towel, lying on another towel as you bleed freely. “My stepdaughter, withering away into nothing in a pool of her own blood. How grotesque. You look like hell. Like- like, straight out of The Exorcist.” 

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off. I’m dying.” 

“Oh, always with the dramatics. You’re not gonna get any sympathy points from me, you know,” Roman says, lifting his brows as he points at you. “Not a one.” 

“Can you just put the stuff in my bathroom, Roman?” 

“So impatient,” Roman murmurs, walking into your bathroom where he opens the cabinet under the sink and tosses the bag inside. He comes back out to see you lying on your side, your towel stained and hiked up past your thighs, exposing just the slightest sliver of your bleeding pussy to him. He bites his lip and presses down on his half-hard erection.

Roman rounds the bed to look at your face all scrunched in pain, moaning softly. “Is it cramps?”

“Mhm.”

“And a headache, maybe?”

“Mhm. You’re the headache.” 

“Charming as always, sweetheart. Never change.”

Short hums are all you’re able to vocalize as the pain begins to worsen. It always works this way when you’re on your period. It’s nothing, then all the pain at once. 

“Wow. So you’re uh…really not feeling too hot, are you?” 

You shake your head slightly. “Mm-mm. No, I’m not.” 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Roman says softly, reaching for you. He strokes your hair, rubs his thumb along your cheekbone. What he wouldn’t give to fuck you like this right now, all wet and bleeding and pliant. He’d make it all better. “Poor thing. What can I do?” 

You open your eyes and look up at Roman, who’s frowning in concern above you. “Are you serious? You wanna help?”

“I can’t promise I don’t have ulterior motives, but yeah. So put me to work, what can I do? Want me to kiss it all better?”

 His eyes are dark and hungry like they usually are when he looks at you, but there’s a gentleness to them, too. Roman’s rubbing his hand up and down your bare shoulder, the simple touch calming you. “Can you just be with me?” Your voice is more desperate than you want it to be when it comes out. 

“Just like, be with you? Like, you want me to lay down with you?” 

You nod. 

Roman’s heart swells a little. “Yeah, okay. Fuck it. I have a few minutes,” he says after a second, as if he had to think about the choice at all. “Move your ass. Fucking bed hog.”  

You scoot closer to the edge of the bed and Roman climbs over you, hushing your whines with an I know, I know, when his movements disrupt you. He pulls you close to himself, soft middle pressed against you, his body heat soothing the aching in your back. It catches Roman off guard when you unwrap your towel and take his hand, then press his palm flat against your tummy. Fuck it, you think. He’s seen it, felt it all anyway. 

Roman traces his fingertips over your soft belly, rubs you with gentle circles. “You like that?” he asks, “Does that help a little?” You hum in response, relief evident in your voice. “S’warm,” you mumble. “Feels nice.” 

How vulnerable you are right now. Roman’s seen you at your most vulnerable before, albeit forcefully. He loves taking what he wants from you but fuck, the way you’re giving himself over to him on a silver platter right now has him aroused in a way he’s not yet experienced. You belong to him; Roman’s made that undeniably clear and you’ve been obedient to that. But he wonders if without the obvious circumstances of the age gap and being tied through family, without the wrongness of it all, if maybe the relationship could be just as special. If it’d make him feel the same, feel that raw, animalistic power. Maybe you’d still be his to do with what he wants and there’d be no guilt, no anxiety. But then again, maybe the discomfort is what makes this what it is in the first place.  

Roman’s hand slides up, up your torso, between your breasts. He palms one of them and squeezes, loving the way your soft skin feels in his hand. You moan, and Roman squeezes harder. “Little sore here, huh?” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you answer. “But you don’t have t–”

“Don’t,” he says. “Just let me.” 

You sigh and resign yourself to his touch. The pressure hurts, but feels relieving too. Roman has a strength to his hands that you do not, and he’s able to work out all the soreness, melt it all away with just his fingertips. 

Roman peers over your shoulder as he massages your breasts. He watches your flesh move and billow beneath his fingers, he loves their softness and their warmth under his palm. Intentionally, Roman rubs his thumb across one of your nipples. You gasp his name and back into his body and god, he never gets tired of working you up like this. You sigh in more than just relief, but pleasure too. Good.  Roman licks his fingertips and circles your areolas, watching your nipples pebble into small peaks as your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. “Roman, Roman…I…” 

Quick and easy, you’re too easy for your own good. Roman loves the effect a little bit of his teasing has on you. “What’s that, huh? Are you moaning for me?” he taunts, like he’s not the one with his fingers gently twisting and pinching your nipples. 

“Roman,” you breathe as he continues his teasing.

“Spit it out, sweetheart. What are you trying to tell me?” 

“I d- I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. I think you do know, but you’re shy,” Roman purrs. “C’mon. Don’t beat around the bush, just tell me what you need. Use your big girl words and tell your daddy.” 

You’re always horny on your period, and you know what he’s doing to you is intentional, probably calculated too. He was probably stroking his cock on his way home thinking of doing this to you. Pulling your strings just to watch you move for him - and yet you fall for it all the same, what with your squirming and your moaning. But can you even ask for this? If it weren’t for Roman’s deliberate teasing, could you really ask for what you want? He’s taken what he wanted from you before, given you what you needed without your say in the matter. It feels unnatural to have a hand on the wheel with him, even if just for a brief second.

“You’re not getting out of this, baby girl, I know you want me to make you come. Just ask me,” Roman says, pulling on your shoulder to lay you flat on your back. He crawls on top of you, caging you in as he closes his lips around one of your nipples, his fingers working the other. “It’ll fix your cramps, too. Win-win.” 

“You’re - fuck - you’re full of shit, Roman.” You hold Roman’s head, tugging on his hair as his tongue flicks and swirls around your sensitive bud.

“Yeah, you’re right. Guilty,” he shrugs. Roman pulls away momentarily to shuck off his shirt and pants, tossing them on the floor. He’s back at your chest in an instant, the head of his swollen cock rubbing against your hip fills you with need. “Bet it’d still feel good though, huh?” You bite your lip and nod, unable to conjure the words. “Still not gonna say it, are you?” Roman waits for your answer, his eyebrows raised. “That’s fine,” he says, “But one of us is coming here and I guess that makes it me.”

Roman pulls you by your feet down the bed, then plays with his cock as he climbs up it, each of his knees on either side of your chest. He taps it against your breasts a couple of times and then moves up even further, his knees snugly fitting against your armpits. He leans over you and takes both of your wrists in his hands, then slides them up the mattress so that he’s got you pinned beneath him. With one hand holding your wrists together, he grips the base of his cock with the other. “Open your mouth.” 

You open your mouth and Roman taps his thick head against your tongue, then slides it toward the back of your throat, causing you to gag. “That’s it, yeah. Fuckin’ choke on it.” Roman reaches under his heavy balls and holds your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, forcing your lips to stay open for him. He pushes himself into your mouth just a little at first, pulling out before going further. In time, he finds a rhythm he likes. Roman holds both of your wrists again as his hips roll against your face, his warm balls bouncing against your chin as your nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair. 

You breathe him in as he thrusts, his slim, soft belly touching your face. He smells like sweat but clean, too, and comforting. Your eyes close as you relish in the feeling of his hard cock on your tongue, the feel of each little ridge and vein. “Yeah, you’re good for this. Made for sucking my dick, aren’t you?” 

Roman pulls out of your mouth and watches a little string of saliva connecting his shaft and your lips break. He thrusts his hips forward so that his balls drag up your chin to rest between your lips, where you suck one into your mouth, then the other. Roman trails his cock down your cheeks before he shoves himself back down your throat unceremoniously. He folds his hands behind his head and groans long and guttural, drawing in and out of your mouth, savoring all of this - how powerful he feels right now, how pretty and helpless you look on your back and with his cock between your lips. 

Roman pulls out of your mouth for the last time and wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it furiously. “Fuck, I’m gonna - ohhh, god - this is your last chance, sweetheart, or I’m coming all over your face. Don’t you wanna come on my cock?”

You nod. 

“Then fucking ask for it.” 

Roman’s voice is low. He stares at you, eyes piercing and deadly serious. All charm, playfulness, affection - it’s all gone, and it sets you on fire. You’re panting, “Fuck - can I - oh, fuck -” 

“Get to the point.” 

You swallow thickly. “Can I come on your cock?”

“Oh, there it is.” Roman smiles, really, genuinely smiles. He thinks that like a young puppy, you don’t always know when the game ends. The way its mother bites its scruff, a stern reminder from Roman is all that’s needed to push you in the right direction. Poor baby. You’d be lost without him, all helpless and confused. “Yes. You may.”

He moves away from you so you have room, “Spread your legs,” he says, wrapping his hands around your ankles to part your thighs himself anyway. He fits himself in the space between them and pushes his middle and ring finger into your dripping hole, all the way to the knuckle so that you feel his wedding ring, cold against your hot skin. He curls his fingers up repeatedly, stroking that sensitive place inside you. You gasp when Roman presses down on your lower tummy, intensifying the feeling of it all. “I need you now, Roman,” you whine, “Now.” 

Roman pouts mockingly as he pulls his fingers away. “So needy all of a sudden, look at that. God, you are ornery.” 

You push Roman’s hand to the side and lift yourself off the bed a bit, then reach for his cock. It’s the first time you’ve ever really felt it; the weight of him in your palm, the satin-softness of his tip. “Please, daddy,” you whimper sweetly, stroking his length. 

Roman tilts his head back and inhales sharply through his perfect nose as you move your hand up and down. Daddy. The way you say the word never gets old, it’s special each time. Pathetic, needy, sweet. Just as much for him as it is for you. “Ohhhh, you fuckin’-” Roman lets out a breathless laugh, “You play dirty, kiddo. You and that daddy shit. You know what you’re fucking doing.” Roman shakes his head as you bite your lip and squeeze, giving him the gentlest of tugs to urge him closer. I need you. Now. Inside me. “I know, Jesus Christ. Daddy’s gonna make it better. Just like he always does, huh?” 

Roman pries your fingers from around his cock and lowers himself between your legs, hardly taking the time to fit his head in your entrance. He pushes himself inside you, the motion so swift and brutal that it has you gasping, choking on his name. You cling to his body, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he pulls out and peers down at the place where your bodies connect. His cock coated in blood, that same beautiful, crimson mess between your thighs. He slams in again and this time sets a pace, without waiting a single moment for you to adjust to his size. You wanted this, didn’t you?

As Roman rolls his hips into you, his strands of hair tickling your skin, you bury yourself in his neck and inhale his scent while nipping at his collarbones. Roman grunts, “You’re so fuck - fucking desperate, baby girl. You know I’m not going anywhere.” Roman adjusts himself, spreading your legs further apart. He keeps one hand on the back of your thigh, the other by your head as he fucks himself into you. He draws in and out, each rock of his hips into your warm, wet, bleeding pussy has him biting his bottom lip, fighting to keep it together. He could come right now and leave you on the bed, seeping a pretty, pinkish mixture of his spend and your own blood. But Roman’s just as addicted to your pleasure as he is his own. “Yeah, I got you,” he breathes, “Daddy’s here. I’m right here.” 

You whimper as Roman fills your cunt impossibly perfectly each time he thrusts. It’s hard and fast, the head of his cock rubs exactly where you need it to as you grip him tighter, your fingernails scratching up and down his back, leaving little dents in his skin. He’s so close to you right now, exactly where you need him. You take in all of it, committing every little detail to memory - the weight of his torso on yours, his hot skin, his flexing shoulders and biceps, the pleasure building deep in your gut. God, he smells so good and you can almost taste him. You still don’t know the feeling of his soft, pink lips, or his tongue mingling with your own, the feeling of his scruff scratching your cheeks. 

Roman lowers himself further so that he’s resting on his forearm. He wriggles his hand between your bodies and finds your clit, then rubs those tight circles against it. “Come for me,” he whispers as he thrusts. “Right now, sweetheart.” 

You’re there. You come hard on Roman’s cock, walls pulsing around him as you moan freely. Roman fucks you through your orgasm until those sweet noises of yours subside, until he’s drawn out every bit of pleasure from you that he could. He lets himself go then, emptying inside you as he moans, his hot breath tickling your ear. 

Roman pulls out of you, furthering the mess made on the towels. He’s not worried about it. He leaves you lying naked on the bed as he goes to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth with warm water, then returns to gently scrub your skin. He washes between your thighs, he turns you to the side to clean away the blood there, the action so profoundly intimate it sort of stuns you. Roman leaves the dirtied cloth on the towels and goes back to your bathroom to clean himself next, but first grabs a fresh pair of your underwear from the top dresser drawer. After washing his hands and his cock with soap and water, Roman fits one of the pads he bought you onto your panties. There’s a bit of your blood still in his wedding ring. 

Roman returns to you again, panties in hand. He puts one of your feet and then the other through each leg hole, then hikes them up your legs. “C’mon, lazy ass. Up.” he says, and you lift your hips for him to pull your panties on the rest of the way. “It’s like I have to do everything for you. There. That good? Did I do it right?” 

“Nope. It’s crooked.”

“Fuck off. I did good.”

You smile. Roman smiles too, then dresses himself. He draws your curtains shut, then pulls the dirtied towels from under your body, he’ll throw them in the washer downstairs. “Be good. Try not to bleed out or anything, I don’t know how it fuckin’ works,” he says, “I’ll see ya.”

“Wait-”  you grab his arm and toy with the fabric of his sleeves, fingers traveling lower until you’re holding his fingers. “You’re leaving?”

“I mean, yeah. Lunch break isn’t all day, so…” he trails off and laughs awkwardly. “What, you thought I’d-”

“I - sorry. Yeah. I just thought you’d stay with me. I thought you’d…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Roman’s heart breaks a little. You look disappointed, genuinely sad. A small part of him feels delighted; he knows you need him. You always have, and he’s known it this whole time. But you’re getting sloppy again, letting that facade begin to crumble. Letting whatever this is happen. 

“But you’re not gonna stay late tonight, right?” 

“Mmm. I might just have to, if this-” Roman holds your chin in his hands, “-is what I’m coming home to. A whining, bleeding mess…I might be better off in the office. Don’t feel like getting my head bit off, you know? I happen to like having it attached to the rest of–”

“Roman.”

“Chill. I’m fucking with you. I’ll be here and we’ll eat your Phish Food, hm?” Roman kisses your cheek, his lips lingering a little longer than they should. “Take a nap. You’ll feel better.” 

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@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson

@moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @/luiscarrutherss @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow @ovaryacted @/doll-0f-flesh

[sodacowboy]

y’all don’t ever let me dye yarn again

do I say anything or should I not take the risk of jinxing it