#PULLS you onto his lap and rucks up your skirt just like that and there are a few moments - a hitched breath | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years ago

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Eddie Munson x fem!reader [6.7k] just smut, really. soft, sweet eddie, who finally gets a chance to take you home. a friends with benefits situation.

Eddie Munson was a really good kisser. He was really good at eating you out too. He had nice hands, big, heavy, with guitar string scars that felt rough and lovely on your bare skin. He liked it when you tugged his curls, he liked it even better when you got a little loud.

He fucking loved it when you told him what to do.

You weren’t sure how your situation with the boy started, but it had been a few months now.. He went from a pretty face you knew in school, to a friend of Steve’s, introduced to you at a party. Then there was a rolled joint offered to you in the woods behind school, shoulders bumping, eyes interested, laughter exchanged.

Knowing eyes gazing over the other by the lockers, the offer of a ride home one day when it rained and didn’t stop. It went from there, more looks, heated and heavy, a hand on a knee, fingers that brushed back hair.

And then you were on his lap, dress gathered in one of Eddie’s hands as he held it out of his way so he could watch the way his cock slid in and out of you. He was noisy, encouraging you to do the same with low, rough moans and teeth that nipped at your jaw, your neck.

That was it, an addiction that needed to be fed, kisses that you couldn’t really go without for more than a day or two and after the last bell rang, you found his van in the school parking lot. Eddie could never make it further than past the old sports fields, pulling over somewhere private so he could get his hands on you, needy and greedy and all consuming.

It’s where you found yourself now, parked behind the old building that used to house the soccer teams changing rooms, hidden from view from the school, its students, the main roads. You were comfy in Eddie’s lap, a familiar weight on his thighs, your skirt already rucked up around your hips.

His lips were that maddening touch of soft, slow, fast, deep, lazy, needy, teeth, tongue, fuck, god.

It turned heated fast, the same way it always did and it was fine, it was good. It always was. It didn’t matter if Eddie had you in his lap for five hours or five minutes, the boy always made you come. He had a way of making it creep up on you, hard and fast, eyes rolling, white flashes of heat rippling through your body and then there were stars. Stars everywhere.

The boy kissed constellations onto your lips, dripping gold dust over your skin.

He had his hands under your skirt, palms squeezing at the flesh of your ass, kneading each cheek in a way that made your skin prickle with heat ‘cause he was spreading you over his thighs and it that made you feel real fucking dirty.

You were breathless, hands in his curls, pulling him closer, eyes fluttering at the way he sucked another bruise you couldn’t explain onto your neck.

You felt close enough to fall apart without him even touching you, underwear still on, lace slick and wet already, but Jesus Christ, he hadn’t put his hands on you yet. Not really. You were a livewire, body electric, the air around you both buzzing.

It wouldn’t last long when you were both like this, pent up from not seeing each other for five days, school and homework and jobs and hellfire meetings keeping you apart. And well, a five minute fuck wasn’t going to do. No, not anymore.

So you pushed at his chest, firm enough that his head fell back onto the headrest and Eddie’s hair was a mess and his brown eyes were wide. He was staring, chest heaving, palms still squeezing at the curve of your ass, fingers grazing over the lace edges of your underwear.

"Slow down," you tell him, voice a whisper.

You were sure you heard him whine, a pretty noise that got stuck at the back of his throat. You plucked the chain that lay there, shiny against his collar bones, and you twisted it between your fingers. It was sinful the way you used it to pull him a little closer again, nose brushing against the bridge of his own, lips hovering just out of reach.

He could’ve moved him he wanted to, surged forward and took control, kissed the commands right off your lips. But he didn’t.

“You can have me all night, if you want."

He whined, whimpered. You heard it that time.

"Be a little soft about it, huh? Nice and slow, for me, please?"

And then Eddie was nodding, eyes turning to burnt caramel, hooded and staring at you. His jaw was slack, lips parted and glossy from your kisses and suddenly his hands were skimming over your thighs, climbing up to hold at your waist instead. He touched you a little softer, sweeter than before and it made your stomach twist.

Fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, his heavy gaze taking in every feature, like he’d suddenly been told he could have you forever, like he wanted to commit you to memory in case you changed your mind.

Then he was kissing you again, slower like you asked, like he’d never kissed you before. Sweet and soft, his mouth a gentle push against your own and you so desperately wanted to lick into him, to tug on his pretty hair and make him grunt into you but that’s not what you asked for.

So you let Eddie set the pace, sighed into him, wriggled in his lap when he sucked the curve of your bottom lip between his own, and god were you going to regret this?

He tasted sweet, like the blue raspberry jolly rancher you’d seen Lucas hand him in the hallway, a little smoky underneath it, entirely like Eddie. He took his time with you, did as you asked him and the way he slowly curled his tongue around yours made your legs tingle, your heart skip a beat before racing a little faster than before.

His hand found your face, curving at your jaw, his thumb on your chin and he tap, tap, tapped at it until you let Eddie drag your mouth open a little more, whining when it resulted in him licking into you a little deeper.

He pulled away quicker than you would’ve liked, smiling all pretty at you when you gazed at him wide eyed. But then Eddie was nodding at the passenger seat, giving your ass a cute little smack.

“C’mon, sweetheart, seat belt on.”

You let his chain fall from your fingers, unsure you understood. But Eddie was surprisingly strong, wide hands clutching at your waist to lift you back over the console, dropping you a little clumsily onto the seat next to him.

“Eddie?” your voice was soft, a little worried, like maybe you’d crossed a line you weren’t sure the boy had.

But he was starting the engine, the van rumbling underneath you and then he was gazing over at you, bottom lip sucked between his teeth and god, he looked sinful, he looked like he wanted to eat you up. You’d let him, without hesitation.

“You said I could have you all night, yeah?” Eddie prompted, big eyes shining earnestly, his voice so sincere, like he couldn’t quite believe you’d told him such a thing. “Did you mean it?”

You nodded, suddenly shy and then Eddie was smiling, that wide, slow stretch of his lips that made you feel so many things. The van started moving, the boy tsked and nodded to your belt again, which you quickly pulled across your lap.

“Okay,” he nodded too, final in his decision. “Let’s go back to mine then, sweetheart.”

—————

You hadn’t been to Eddie’s before, not really. You knew which trailer was his, had seen in across from Max’s when you dropped her off with Steve, waved shyly and with warm cheeks when you saw the curly headed boy out of the front window.

You knew enough to realise his uncle Wayne was out, the older man’s car gone from the grassy makeshift drive. The park was quiet when Eddie parked up, making a noise of protest when you went to open the door for yourself. So you sat still, smiled hidden between pressed lips as you watched him bounce around the front of the van.

He opened your door with a shy grin, bright eyes and a hand that was ready to clasp your own. Eddie helped you down, wet grass brushing your ankles and it felt like a storm was coming with the way the air was buzzing.

Maybe it was just you and Eddie. Maybe it was just anticipation.

He opened the door to the trailer for you too, unusually quiet as his fingertips found the small of your back, guiding you inside the small house that was much cosier than you expected. It smelled a little smoky, like coffee and boyish cologne.

And then Eddie was rocking on the balls of his feet, fidgeting and pulling at a curl as he watched you take in his home.

“D’you, uh, want a drink or-?”

You turned, smiling soft like you wanted to show him you weren’t judging anything about the trailer. How could you? It was all Eddie.

“Do I not get to see your room, Munson?”

Eddie looked like he had all the air punched out of his lungs. The curl he’d pulled to brush against his mouth sprung back, his hands dropping to his sides as his eyes went wide.

He cleared his throat, nodding, giving a little bow and a wave of his arm, showing you down the narrow hallway. It was sweet, you thought, the way he was acting. Like he hadn’t been balls deep inside you countless times, as if he didn’t know the exact way you liked his fingers on your clit.

So you grinned at him, walked down the hall with your hands clasped coyly behind your back and you knew he was watching you, he always was. You could feel his eyes on you, a familiar burn that tickled your skin.

Eddie’s room was exactly like him, dark and warm, a little messy, littered with music posters, guitars on the walls, amps piled in the corner. His bed was unmade, pillows squint and sheets rumbled but they looked surprisingly fresh, the smell of laundry detergent, cologne and little smoke taking up space in the air.

You knew you’d asked for slow, for soft, for the boy to take his time with you. But suddenly you didn’t know what to do now you had Eddie all alone, all to yourself. Maybe for the whole night. The thought made you swallow hard and you were overcome, overwhelmed with how the boy was surrounding you without even touching you.

You never usually get Eddie for more than half an hour, a full sixty minutes at most, if you decided you could afford to be a little late for work that day. You never got to pull more than his belt off of him, jeans shucked down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. Likewise, you were confined to shirts and pulled up skirts, underwear hanging off one ankle or pushed to the side, Eddie’s fingers quick and concise against you.

So you huffed out a little laugh, nervous, but Eddie was smiling down at you and you liked the way the pulse in his neck jumped when you grabbed his hands and pushed him backwards to his bed. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he let you nudge him down to sit, playing pretend with you, as if he couldn’t easily overpower you if he wanted.

He leaned back, weight spread on the palms of his hands as he looked up at you, silver chain and big, brown eyes shining in the low light that came through the crack of his closed curtains.

“What’re you up to, trouble?”

You shrugged, playing coy, lips twisted into a pretty smile you tried to hide but then your hands were toying with the buttons on your shirt, your cardigan long lost to the floor of Eddie’s van. But the boy was enraptured, gaze trained on the way your fingers were popping each button, trailing downdowndown, until the soft material hung open and your lilac bra was on show.

It wasn’t anything fancy, soft cotton triangles with ring straps and god, you knew for a fact that your light green underwear certainly didn’t match. But looking at Eddie, you had the realisation that he probably would care, no, not at all. ‘Cause his eyes were wide and his lips were parted, sitting the most still you’d ever seen him.

There wasn’t any music, just the quiet sounds of the town outside, the hum of a generator, the chirp of some birds nearby in a tear, the wind rushing softly over the metal roof. Eddie’s soft breathing, a little choked noise he caught in the back of his throat when you let your shirt slip off your shoulders, let it pool at your feet.

You toed off your shoes, eyes on Eddie’s the whole time and you wondered if this is what he imagined, what he thought about because all of sudden you were only in your skirt and bra and it was the most bare skin he’d seen on you.

Was your tummy too soft? Were your boobs too small? Did he see the scar on your bicep from when you fell over when you were five?

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he breathed out, eyes trailing over every inch of you. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

You flushed, cheeks and chest warm under his gaze but you didn’t stop, didn’t want to. Your fingers hooked into the band of your skirt, teased along the edges of it and you grinned when Eddie swore again, under his breath, hands fisting the comforter in a way that made your own breath hitch.

“Yeah?” you asked, blinking prettily, looking at the boy from under your lashes, fingers still slipped underneath the waist of your skirt. “Y’think so?”

You were playing up, you knew that, Eddie knew that. Neither of you cared though, because Eddie was grinning, nodding as he let out a low whistle.

“Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

You lit up at his words, cheeks rosy, lip tucked between your teeth to hide your grin but Eddie was still smiling enough for both of you. You rewarded him by putting on a little show, body turned to the side so you could pop your ass out a little, arch your back real nice and slide your skirt down your hips all slow.

You didn’t let go of the material until you smoothed it down your thighs, letting it fall to the floor once it reached your knees and you were bent over for him. Nice and slow, you eased back up, almost scared to look at the boy who’d been hidden behind the mess of your hair as you eased your skirt off. But when you stood back up, pushed your hair back and pressed your thumb nervously to your lips, you saw how the boy looked a little wild.

A little wrecked.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie breathed, sitting up to catch your hands in his, coaxing you to stand between his knees. He licked his lips, smoothed his palms over the dip in your waist and drew a line up your stomach with the tip of his nose. “Look at you.”

He certainly was, taking his time to gaze over every part of you, hands following suit, fingers trailing across the soft curve of your stomach, snapping the lace edge of your underwear against your hip. He pressed a kiss to your sternum, an open mouthed and lazy drag of his mouth over the swell of your breast.

“Y’wanna tell me what you want? Hmm?”

Your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of the boy so close, all this new bare skin for him to explore. His hands were so big, wide and warm and rough, scratching lovely at your waist, over the tops of your thighs, his mouth trailing down until his tongue licked at the edge of your underwear, flicking a little dirty at the cute little bow there.

“Eddie,” you didn’t mean to whine, not already. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, disappointingly still covered by his shirt but you felt a little unsteady, dizzy. “Told you what I wanted.”

You felt rather than saw his smile, pressed to your tummy and you let out a sharp gasp when his hands spun you, catching you when you turned, facing the other way so his nose was pressed to the curve of your spine.

You suddenly felt a lot more naked than before.

He tutted, close enough to you that you felt his lips move against you, his curls tickling the curve of your ass, his hands keeping you between his knees.

“Wanna hear it again, sweet thing,” a kiss, on the dimple of your lower back, another on the lace edge of your underwear. You squirmed. “That alright?”

You let out the breath you’d been holding, hands making fists by your sides and uncurling your hands again and again, at a loss with what to do with them because you’d never not been facing Eddie, tucked into his lap, able to watch him gasp and curse for you, fingers tangled in his hair.

He seemed to notice this, caught your hands in his own and soothed this thumb over your palms.

“This okay?” he asked you and the boy peered up to see your head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted, chest heaving. You nodded and he smiled. “Yeah, baby? Lemme hear you?”

“Yeah, Eddie,” you murmured. “S’good.”

He rewarded you with a kiss to your hand, planted where his thumb was and then his mouth was trailing along your arm, lips pressed to the sensitive skin inside the crook of your elbow and he didn’t stop until his teeth were catching on the clasp of your bra.

He fingered the band, ghosted a touch over the metal hooks and you were gasping, nodding again so he didn’t have to ask permission and the flimsy fabric was soon joining the rest of your clothes on Eddie Munson’s bedroom floor.

Fuck.

“Pretty girl,” he cooed, “my sweet little thing, huh?”

Your heart stuttered over the possessive remark, your thighs rubbing together because you were still standing facing away from the boy and he wasn’t touching you where you wanted him to.

You couldn’t see what he was doing, couldn’t guess his next move and when you groaned and tried to spin back around, Eddie ah ah ah’d and gave your hip a little tap.

“You’ve not answered my question,” he tried to sound scolding, but he was sweet enough to kiss the spot he’d given you a little smack. “Gonna tell me what you want? Comin’ into my bedroom and givin’ me a little show? Then you can’t even tell me what you want me to do with you?”

He traced a line down your spine, tucked his index finger into the edge of your underwear, rings cold against your skin and he pulled the elastic back until it snapped back against you. You jumped, whimpered, pushed your ass further into his wide hands.

“C’mon now trouble, what did you tell me in the van, huh? You were so bossy then, what happened to that girl? Got you all fucked out already?” Eddie laughed, not meanly, but unkind enough to make your toes curl. “Hardly touched you, sweetheart, Christ.”

You loved and hated the way the boy could run his mouth, in and out of the bedroom. He could have you wet with just his mouth at your ear, spinning tales of exactly what he was going to do with you when he got you alone, sneaking away from your locker before anyone else had a chance to spot you both. Eddie was loud, brash, too confident, dramatic to boot. He was dirty, unashamed, hot with it, teasing.

You loved it.

But the boy couldn’t fucking handle it when you gave it back to him.

“Eddie.”

Another cooing noise, almost sympathetic, but you knew him better than that. “Yeah, baby?”

“Want you to take care of me,” your voice was sticky soft, sweet like honey, just as easy to get stuck in. “Can you do that? Please?”

You heard his breath hitch, a hard swallow, a wrecked sigh he tried to hide.

“Want you to take your time with me,” your hands found his, small on top of large, but you were the one taking control. You smoothed them up your hips, along the ridges of your ribs until both rough hands were cupping at your tits and you were lowering yourself into his lap. “Be nice to me, slow and sweet, baby.”

He was already hard against you, the length of him sitting stiff between your ass cheeks and you knew for a fact he’d been that way since the van. He’d admit it to you too, completely unashamedly letting you know the effect you had on him.

Eddie liked to take your hand in his, cup his hard dick through his jeans and whisper to you, asking you if you knew what you did to him.

So you stole his move, brought your joined hands to the heat of your lace covered cunt and leant back into his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder so he could watch. His eyes were dark, almost black, hooded and staring through the line of his lashes.

“Fuck.”

You nodded as if you were agreeing with him, coaxing one of his fingers to draw a line up the length of your folds, gathering enough slick under the lace that it stuck to you, showing off every outline of you for Eddie to see.

“Eddie,” you couldn’t manage more than a whisper, but your lips found his ear under his messy curls easily, your head thrown back onto his shoulder. “Feel that? You’ve got me so wet.”

“Fucking, Christ, sweetheart.” He moaned, loud and wanting, his other hand grabbing a little roughly at your thigh, hooking it over his knee so he could spread you wider for him. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You pouted. “That’s no good to me.”

He huffed out a laugh, fingers kneading into the soft of your thigh as he kept you open for him. You let go of his other hand, happy to lay slack against him, propped up by his solid chest, arms holding you in as he touched and touched and touched.

“Like this?” He whispered, his finger tracing up and down, up and down through your folds, bumping against your clit on every pass. He was impossibly slow with it, gentle and soft, a maddening tease that had you pushing the tips of your toes into his carpet so you could try and chase the friction of his touch. “Slow like this, sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes clenched shut, mewling and then his middle and index finger were swiping over your bottom lip, tapping until you opened.

“Suck,” he told you. “Good girl, hmm?”

If your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he didn’t see from the way he sat behind you. But you did as you were asked - no, told - laving your tongue under his fingers, enjoying the slight weight of them in your mouth, the cool silver of his rings at your lips, whining when he took them away from you, slicker than before.

But then his hand was down the front of your underwear and his fingers were sliding through you. You keened, squeaked at the sudden touch and tried to clamp your thighs around his wrist but Eddie was shushing you, soft noises in your ear as his other hand held your thigh, spreading you back open for him.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” Eddie quietened you, “y’okay? I’ve got you, can I touch you, baby? Yeah? Gonna squeeze that pretty cunt around my fingers?”

You were nodding frantically, hips thrust out to him in offering, desperate to feel a little more full than you were.

“Eddie, please.”

He was the same boy as always, running his mouth, talking to you dirty, hands knowing every inch of you. He was just slower with it, softer, like you’d asked. It turned him into something you’d never seen before, this quieter version of himself. Just as cocky, just as eager to please, but Jesus fucking Christ, his touch was making you dizzy and the way he was whispering to you all soft made you want to cry.

He was bordering on mean with it, a little condescending, hands petting at you to try and get you to settle.

“Baby, c’mon, sit nice,” he tsked, grinning at the way you were wriggling on his lap. If the grind of your ass against his hard dick was doing anything to him, he did well not to show it. “I know, I know, just a greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

And then his palm was running flat down the front of you, spreading your folds so the heel of his palm could grind against your clit as he slipped two fingers into you. It was all so easy with you wet you were, the slick sounds of your cunt almost as embarrassing as the ones falling from your mouth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured low, lips against your ear. Your head was thrown back, laying against his shoulders and at his words, you cried out and pressed your face into his curls. You couldn’t do anything but let him fuck his fingers into you, a slow, wet drag in and out, in and out, in and out. “That’s it, sweet little thing, look at you.”

But then it wasn’t deep enough, it wasn’t fast enough and Eddie was still wearing far too many clothes, and suddenly, you were starting to regret everything you’d asked of the boy.

Your hands reached up, finding his curls, fingers twisting in the soft strands as your nails scratched against his scalp and you rugged, moaning for more.

Eddie stopped. Let go of your thigh and slid his hand out from your underwear, dragging wet and warmth up your tummy as he did so. You whined and you heard him laugh, a soft huff into your neck before he kissed your shoulder and patted your hip to make you stand up.

You climbed from his lap, a little unsteady on your feet because the maddening push and pull of his fingers had made you dizzy, white spots floating in your vision and you turned to him with a pout.

“Eddie, what the fu-”

But then he was pulling off his shirt, hands gripping the back of his collar to rip it over his head and it joined your clothes on his floor. He popped the button of his jeans but didn’t do much else, groaning slightly at the small relief it brought him as he palmed his hard cock through his boxers.

“On the bed, baby,” he nodded to the space beside him, a pile of pillows that probably smelled like him and when you let yourself crawl into them, you found out you were right. “Good girl.”

He laughed when your fingers curled into fists, an honest to god visceral reaction to his words.

Then he was moving over you, kneeling between your spread legs and crowding into you. It was a familiar sight, if not for the fact that you were horizontal this time. Nose to nose with the boy, lips within reach, big, brown eyes staring hotly back at you.

So you did what you always done, pushed your hands greedily into his hair and arched up to him, tugging a little when he didn’t comply and suddenly it felt like a fucking month had passed since Eddie had kissed you.

You whined, and you couldn’t deny you sounded like a brat. “Eddie!”

His hands wrapped around your wrists, gently pulling your fingers from his curls. He tutted, tried to look disappointed but he was hiding his smile by biting at his lip and then, fuck, he gathered both of your hands in one of his and pinned them to the pillow above your head.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed softly, “you said you wanted me to take my time with you.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, so close to where you wanted him. “Nice and slow, is that not what you said?”

You whimpered, turned your head to chase his lips with your own but he was pulling back just slightly. His hold on you was strong enough that you could pull away, couldn’t get close enough and the realisation made you moan out.

“C’mon pretty girl, that’s what you asked for, right? For me to take my time?” Another kiss, under the line of your jaw this time, his lips parted and wet and warm. “Can’t do that if you’re gonna yank at my hair, hmm? Like a dirty little thing? Can’t have that.”

A kiss again, anywhere but your lips, his mouth trailing over your throat, a sweet peck pressed to your chin. You wanted to cry, eyes glassy, overwhelmed at all the soft, lovely touches he was giving you, all whilst he had you pinned and pressed down underneath him.

“Baby,” Eddie tutted, eyes on yours, watching the way wetness brimmed at your lash line, threatening to spill over when you gave him a watery smile. “Baby, too much? Y’alright?”

You could feel the way his hand around your wrist let up, slackening just a little but you were crying out, a babble of noise that had him raising his brows and you were nodding furiously.

“M’good, Eddie, so good,” you could hardly catch a breath. What the fuck had he done to you? “Want this, want you.”

That seemed to appease him, his hand pushing yours back down into the pillows and he smiled, all lovely just for you, dimple showing. “Yeah? You do? Oh, good girl, what d’you want, huh?”

Another fucking kiss, the cutest little peck, right by the corner of your lips. He knew what you wanted, he was just being a dick about it.

“A kiss,” you huffed, shivering when his chest dragged across yours, the hang of his chain coke against your tits, a moan bubbling in your throat when he deliberately let it graze and catch against a peaked nipple.

“That’s all?” Eddie asked you, “better make it a good one for my girl then.”

His girl.

You didn’t have time to process that before he was on you, free hand curving around your jaw, thumb on your chin to tug at your mouth, licking into you almost immediately. It was like he’d went too long without it too, like not kissing you was the worst thing imaginable because it had been at least half an hour since he had his mouth on yours and well, that just wouldn’t fucking do.

He kissed you like he missed you, like someone was going to take you away from him, mouth and hands greedy on you, tongue curling around yours. His lips were always soft, so impossibly soft and every stroke of his tongue over yours made you whine, hands flexing in his hold because holy shit, you wanted to grab and scratch and pull at him for making you feel so damn good.

You were gasping against him when he pulled away, eyes still glassy, lips swollen and rosy and Eddie’s hand was getting greedy, trailing down your sides to hook into your underwear, pulling at them until they slid down your hips.

His nose nudged yours to grab your attention, unable to help himself when you pressed another, quick, sweet kiss to your still parted lips.

“You listening’ sweetheart?”

You nodded, blinking up at him.

“There’s my girl,” Eddie cooed, “good, ‘cause I need you to keep your hands up here for me, ‘kay?”

You whined, ready to argue back but then Eddie was pulling off lace from around your ankles and kissing his way down your naked body, hands bracketing your hips, curls tickling your stomach.

You clenched down on nothing.

He was eye level with your cunt, eyes shining, lips smirking as he pushed at your thighs, spreading you out in front of him, grinning when you wiggled against his palms.

“Nuhuh,” he told you, “let me see you, yeah?”

He’d never done this before, was never able to, with the logistics of a quickie in the front of his van. Sure, you’d gone down on him before, a much easier task over the console, his dick heavy on the flat of your tongue and Eddie always promised you that next time, he’d return the favour, get you spread out in back but, well.

Next time would come and you’d be too pent up and he’d be too impatient and before you both knew it you’d be sinking down on his cock in the driver's seat of the van, bouncing up and down whilst Eddie could only watch, fucked out in minutes at the sight of you.

So this? Eddie blowing warm air over your already hot cunt? This was new.

“So pretty,” he told you, voice awed. “Can I taste you baby? Would you like that?”

You couldn’t do anything but whimper, moans catching in your throat until they came out like needy little gasps and it took everything you had to follow Eddie’s orders and keep your hands to yourself. You fisted them in his pillow, gripped on tight because his lips were ghosting over your folds, butterfly kisses pressed to the outside of you, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips like he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he groaned, hips rutting into the bed as he palmed at your ass, tugging you down the bed so he could settle himself closer to you. “Could just eat you up, pretty girl.”

His tongue was swiping through you before you could answer, before you could beg. And despite the way he was grinding himself down into the bed, Eddie took his time with you, licked through your folds real slow with the flat of his tongue, pushing the soft of it over your clit at the end.

He kept you spread wide, hands on the inside of your thighs, fingers splayed over you, thumbs pulling gently at your folds so he could push you open for him. His nose hit your clit when his tongue dipped inside of you, and fucking hell, Eddie was moaning almost as loud as you were, his lips wet with you, getting himself messy as he sucked and kissed his way across your cunt.

“Can’t get enough of you,” the boy groaned into your thigh, kissing the soft skin there too, a reminder of how fucking sweet he was. “Christ, sweetheart, look at you, so pretty, all fucked out, huh? Look at those eyes, fucking hell.”

He was babbling, talking sweet in between licks, dirty flicks of his tongue that had your stomach clenching, your chest heaving. You were pushed onto your elbows to watch, a move that Eddie had given you in trouble for because your hands were still twisted in his sheets, kept to yourself.

Your eyes were glassy, tears pooling at the corners, kissing your lashes that couldn’t stop fluttering at every kiss he gave you clit, every soft suck. You were sure you looked a mess, wrecked, ruined. Hair a riot, cheeks blooming with heat, lips still swollen and slick from his kisses and when Eddie slid one finger, two fingers back inside of you, you fell back with a wail.

You were close, so close already, the thickness of his digits dragging in and out of your cunt was enough to throw you onto the edge but then the boy smiled against your stomach and dipped his head back down. His lips wrapped around your clit and suckled, soft and gentle, enough to keep you hanging.

“Can feel you,” Eddie whispered, placing soft, quick kisses around your folds, across your tummy, one on your hip bone, followed by a scrape of his teeth. “Can feel you gettin’ tight around me, sweetheart. S’fucking hot, so fuckin’ hot.”

The boy sounded as wrecked as you felt, his voice shot, lips slick with you as you looked back down the length of your stretched out frame, eyes rolling at the sight of him between your thighs. He was watching you, brown eyes dark and hooded as he held your gaze and licked back over your clit.

“Oh, fucking hell,” you moaned, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-”

“That’s it baby,” he encouraged, wrist twisting, fingers moving in and out of you a little faster. His rings weren’t cold anymore, but you could feel the hard nudge of them against your cunt, the feeling making you clench down. “Christ, that’s it, yeah, you gonna come for me?”

You couldn’t help it, not anymore.

You grabbed at Eddie’s hair as your back arched, pushing your hips further into him, his fingers reaching places inside of you that had you seeing fucking stars. You tugged at his curls, unable to stop yourself but Eddie groaned at your toughness, letting you pull him into you, his hips rutting against the bed as he hooked his digits up and rubbed, tongue circling around your clit relentlessly at the same time.

You broke, shattered, fell apart, cried out. Your eyes clenched shut, your body curling in on itself as you clamped your thighs around Eddie’s poor head, his mouth still sucking and kissing over you as you came.

And then you were whimpering, patting at the mess of curls you’d created on his head, trying to shimmy away from the overstimulation and Eddie took pity, dragging himself up your bottom, laying kisses on your damp skin as he went.

He was grinning when he reached your face, kissing your neck to let you catch your breath, looking entirely proud of himself. You shined at the drag of his denim jeans over the inside of your thighs, laughed weakly when Eddie snorted at your shivers.

Then he was pushing himself up on his elbows to hover over you, a palm smoothing back the hair that was clinging to your forehead. He looked down at you with eyes that were shining, so full of affection and fondness and something that it made your heart ache, made fresh tears spring to the corners of your eyes again and you huffed out a watery sigh.

“That good, huh?“ Eddie asked smugly, smiling when you nodded, still a little dazed. He thumbed at your mouth, squished at the soft of your cheeks with his fingers and rubbed his nose against yours. “Gimme a kiss, sweetheart.“

You obliged happily, humming a pretty sound against his lips when Eddie kissed you soft and sweet, his mouth a gentle slide over your own.

“Love your little noises,” he whispered, kissing you between words. “Sound so fucking cute when you’re coming for me.”

Your body burned at his words, another ache creeping across your cunt and despite the way he’d made you fall apart, you wanted nothing more than Eddie to be buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Eds,” you whispered, hand palming at the front of his jeans, groaning when you felt him straining against the denim, the hardest he’d ever been. “Let me help you.”

But he took your hand in his, kissed your palm before you could feel the sting of rejection and he was crowding you back into his pillows, curls falling in a curtain on either sideed of you, lips back on your neck.

“Give yourself a second, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “You said it yourself, I’ve got you all night.”

PART TWO

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fic

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sanisse · 3 years ago

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Thranduil x Fem!Reader - Tryst

Pairing: fem!reader x Thranduil in an established relationship

Spice level: 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 (beware: ghost pepper hot)

Warnings/tags: fingering, dom/sub undertones, quickie. I don’t have an excuse for this. It wasn’t requested. I just came here to sin today 😏

Minors DNI. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

You know it’s unwise. This isn’t the most private place in Mirkwood, but it does have one of the best views.

It’s fairly late. Thranduil’s throne room is empty. You’re not positioned quite where you want to be— you’d love to be kneeling in front of the throne, looking up at it, imagining Thranduil on it, imagining the way his eyes would darken and pool with lust as you touch yourself like this in front of him.

You gasp, giving yourself a particularly hard thrust with your fingers.

You’ve settled for skulking in a shadowy corner. Still close enough to the empty throne for your own fantasy’s sake, but safely out of sight.

Or so you think.

You close your eyes and get lost again —lost in the pressure building as you slide your fingers in and out of yourself, lost in the image of Thranduil in all his kingly splendor commanding you to touch yourself for him. Would he summon you there? Make you kneel for him? Drag you into his lap and slip inside you where anyone might see?

That thought draws a moan out of you that you can’t manage to suppress.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

The voice makes you freeze. Your eyes open to see Thranduil gliding through the shadows. He’s there faster than could be believed, black evening gown trailing out behind him, stalking up to you like some great cat.

“Meleth,” you say a bit weakly. You’re breathless.

He closes the distance, crowding you up step-by-step until your back hits the wall.

“I must confess I did not expect to see you here,” he says. His eyes glint in the dim light of the throne room, flicking to the towering throne, then back to your face. He trails his hand down to where yours is buried in your skirts, rucks the fabric up around your thighs, and touches you.

You gasp and buck into his hand. His grin is wolfish.

“You are soaked. What were you thinking about, I wonder?” he leans in, commanding your space. It sends a thrill down your spine. You love it when he gets like this: imperious and insatiable. “I know what I’m thinking about,” he purrs hotly in your ear.

You make another strangled sort of sound as he starts to stroke your clit with the pad of his thumb, just little light circles. Thranduil covers your mouth and teases, “Wanton little creature. I want to devour you.”

He pushes two fingers inside you and fucks you on them. Thranduil doesn’t pull any punches. It’s hard and fast and punishing, making you writhe and mewl into the hand he’s clamped down on your mouth, making you fight to catch your breath. You’ve been on edge all day, thinking about him, and you’ve already pushed yourself so close—

“Tell me,” he commands, releasing his grip so you can suck in air. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

You have to grab onto his shoulder just for something to hold onto. He hasn’t let up, pounding into you, adding a third finger until your head’s spinning. With a gasp, you admit: “I wanted— I wanted to kneel in front of you. At your throne—“ Thranduil growls something half feral in your ear at that. You go on: “Touching myself for you—“

“—I’d fuck you on it,” he interrupts in a hiss, adding a third finger, pumping in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot again and again and again, “They would all hear how you scream for your king.”

Stars spark behind your eyelids. You explode. Thranduil pins you in place and fucks you right through it, drawing it out while you shake and cry and grab onto any part of his gown that you can for purchase as your legs buckle beneath you.

When you stop spinning, he feeds you his fingers, making you lick them clean, then he dips in to suck a bruise onto your neck.

You’re breathless as your hands wander to the fastenings of his gown. “Let me return the favor.”

Thranduil doesn’t argue. He just fists a hand in your hair and pushes you to your knees, right where he likes you best.

#spicy #Thranduil #thranduil x reader #Thranduil imagine

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bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

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MUCH TOO MUCH

RATING: R/smut (some sex, some alcohol/drugs, cursing, the usual)

WORD COUNT: 9.7k

CATEGORIES: college!harry, roommate!harry

MASTERLIST | ASK ME QUESTIONS

a/n: this is my entry for my beloved @stellarboystyles‘s 3 year anniversary challenge!!!!! it was so fun to write these two and i hope you like it! a bit on the shorter side, but delicious all the same. come talk to me about them when you’re done, i want to hear what you think! (also this was named for the song by lennon stella in case u were curious lol)

Currently, he had you pressed against the wall of a house party, his fingers clenched in the hem of your skin-tight crop top, a knee propped between your legs, and his lips attached to your neck. Your hands were threading through his hair, those locks that curled at the ends and you’d always thought about tugging on, and now that you had the chance you weren’t passing it by.

“Fuck, Harry,” you mumbled, your head spinning from the alcohol in your veins and the feeling of Harry this close to you. To be completely honest, you knew what was happening was probably not the best idea. But considering how many cups of jungle juice you’d had and the fact that you were definitely crossed, you frankly couldn’t find a care in the world.

Harry and Y/N live together and one night they hook up and things get complicated

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

Harry living with you wasn’t planned. At least, not in the way where you guys were best friends and decided to live together way. More in the way of neither of you had anyone else to live with and had the same price range kind of way. You happened to be at a mutual friend’s party mid-way through your sophomore spring and you’d mentioned in passing that you were looking for a roommate, and Harry’s head had popped up.

Somewhere along the way, though, you’d decided you quite liked living with him.

Even if he was obnoxious sometimes, was absolutely shit at doing chores, and couldn’t properly load the dishwasher.

He had a charm to him, you had to admit. He was good at getting on your good side—texting you when you were on the library and he was just leaving to head over, asking if you wanted anything to snack on. One time, he’d brought you a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos without being asked because he knew you hadn’t eaten in hours and needed your favorite foods.

His charms were what made you overlook the nights that he had people over and you had to listen to the sound of his bed frame hitting the wall, or had to creep into the bathroom in the early hours of the morning before he and whoever he’d brought back woke up, pretending to not even live in your apartment for fear of being embarrassed. Although, you never quite knew what you should be embarrassed about—but you were. Maybe it was because you frequently ended up listening to his sounds and trying not to think about how good he sounded or wondering what it was like to be in bed with him.

But that wasn’t something you would tell anyone, not even your friends who pestered you about what it was like living with Harry. Harry, the party-goer who always had three types of hard liquor in your kitchen but was also your go-to person to edit your papers and help you study for exams. Harry, who was your partner in crime on a night out and on a night in, someone who you could be yourself with no matter the context. It was something you’d never expected from him, but now that you had it, you couldn’t image losing it.

Which was why the current situation you were in was not the best.

Besides, it wasn’t like you hadn’t literally dreamed of this happening. In fact, you wanted this with every fiber of your being. You just didn’t have your brain stopping you now.

His tongue danced up the column of your neck, dipping into the crevice under your ear and his lips formed a circle on your skin and pulled gently, your fingers tugging on the strands of his hair. Your heart was beating wildly and so was his—you could feel it against your body—or maybe that was the thrum of the bass? You weren’t sure. When he tugged on your earlobe you wrapped your hands in the bottom of his graphic t-shirt, some random streetwear company that he was obsessed with lately and you thought was weird, but didn’t comment on.

One of your legs slid up his, ankle hooking around his knee and pulling his pelvis into yours, and the surprised grunt that left Harry’s mouth made you smile. “Y/N,” he groaned, fingers pressing harder into your skin. “What are you doing?”

“I’d ask you the same,” you answered, a devilish smile on your lips that Harry kissed away, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip and pulling your jaw down just enough so that he could earn access. It was brutal, kissing him. And not because it was bad, but because it was so good and you’d robbed yourself of this for a year and a half.

Your lips intertwined and fought for dominance, Harry’s sliding between yours and sucking and pulling just enough for you to move closer for more. Your wrists ended up behind his neck, holding him close to you, and you used the pressure to gain an advantage, grinding in his hips and kissing him with a passion burning in your heart.

Harry, meanwhile, was losing his fucking mind. He’d been thinking of this forever, and somehow tonight’s combination of alcohol and weed had led you two here: to a position that neither of your quite knew how it started, but you weren’t stopping it. In fact, Harry caged you in, his hands moving from your body to wall behind you, palms pressed to the worn white paint. He didn’t want to lose you, to lose this moment, to pretend like it never happened. Instead, he wanted to keep you tight against him, to memorize how it felt when the heel of your boots dragged along the inside seam of his denim jeans, the warmth spreading across his neck when you gently scratch at his skin as he suckled on your bottom lip and kissed a line across your jaw. He wanted to remember the sound of your soft breaths in his ears, how they increased in tempo as he sucked a hickey onto your neck, doubling his effort when you didn’t move to stop him. He’d seen you with them before and now that you were his—at least for the night—he wanted to give you one to remember him by.

Not that you could forget him. Not with Some Kind of Drug pounding in the speakers, his hips grinding into yours in the low lighting, his teeth nipping at your skin as you exhaled his name and a curse. He was unforgettable, that Harry Styles. Especially when he had your gripping his skin through his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as he pushed you higher and higher into the clouds, your mind a haze of just nothing but him.

Harry pulled away a hair, mainly because he was getting tired of just having you against a wall with people everywhere—he either wanted to move this into a private space or call this off. Although he didn’t really want the latter, not really. That was only if you didn’t want him. But from the way you stared at him as he created a half foot of distance between you, your chest heaving, lace edge of your bra peeking out from underneath your cropped tank top, he didn’t think that’s what you wanted.

“Do you want to stay or go?” He asked, one of his hands lingering at the wall next to you and the other moving to move a piece of your hair out of your face.

“Go,” you answered, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “If—if you want to.”

He didn’t even take a breath before he answered, “Yeah, I want to.”

Which was how you two ended up making out in the Uber back to your apartment, you straddling his lap and twisting over him as he kissed you, his hands cupping your ass. Neither of you were sober enough to think about the fact that you were in someone else’s car, but then again, neither of you would probably care. Especially when you sucked on the edge of Harry’s jaw and he tugged your hips down on his and groaned low and rough in your ear, the sound making you smile against his skin.

The radio was playing the background, but in the haze you didn’t hear anything, all you could take in was Harry: his touch, his smell, the soft sounds he made as you moved on him, the feeling of his jeans against your tights-clad skin. It was chilly out and you had a thin pair of stockings on, sheer enough for your skin to show through, but enough to give you a bit of protection from the nip of the cold. His hands had already rucked up the edge of your favorite leather skirt, and your bra was poking out of the top of your cropped tank top that was tight over the swell of your breasts.

You were a sight in Harry’s eyes, something he couldn’t get enough of. Even though he lived with you, saw you in every outfit, especially the ones involving mismatched sweats and tired eyes, he never thought you were anything other than beautiful. Sometimes a bit rough around the edges, but who wasn’t? But now, with you like this, on top of him, he didn’t know if he’d ever seen you quite this gorgeous. This delicious, even though he hated describing people that way. But how else could he describe you when you stared down at him, lips red from his kisses and eyes blazing for him, chest heaving and cleavage demanding his attention. His hands couldn’t stop curving over your legs, smoothing up and down your thighs. It was sin, he decided, how he felt right now, because he couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts in his brain.

The things he wanted to do to you.

The things he wanted you to do to him.

The things he wanted to see.

The things he wanted you to see.

The things he wanted to hear.

The things he wanted you to hear.

The things he wanted to feel.

The things he wanted you to feel.

It was like a freight train running through his head, all of the images and thoughts and concepts barreling into his thoughts. It made the swirl of your hips over his and the way you curled your fingers into the thin fabric covering his shoulders particularly hard to resist.

Realistically, the drive to your shared off-campus apartment wasn’t that long, but in your heads, it seemed like ages. Ages of waiting for a bed and privacy, ages of waiting to shed layers and know what endless bare skin looked like. So when your driver arrived at your building, you pushed open the door, narrowly missing banging your head on the roof of the car.

Harry chuckled as he tumbled out after you, thanking the driver and wrapping his arm around your waist. You wasted no time before you curled your arm around him and danced your fingers up his opposite side, your lips sucking delicately on the fabric of his t-shirt closest to you. It made Harry’s eyes flutter shut and his breath jump.

Was this what you were always like? This was the thing about this situation—you two knew one another, but not like this. You’d never made out in the back of an Uber or made out on your doorstep while one of you fumbled for the keys like you were now, or felt your hands dig into exposed skin and singe of hot breath on your neck. This was new territory, and perhaps if you both weren’t quite so drunk you would’ve stopped to talk about it.

But instead, Harry was leading you to his bedroom with your legs around his waist and your fingers in his hair, his lips crawling up your throat, walking blindly because he knew the way.

The thing about hooking up with someone you’d been close friends with for over a year was that there wasn’t a layer of awkwardness because you didn’t know the person. Instead, it was a hint of unassuredness whenever clothes started coming off, a hint of awe, but nothing uncomfortable. You’d never felt quite this comfortable with someone, in fact. You’d never trusted someone you hooked up with quite as much as you trusted Harry. And he felt the same way. When you pushed his shirt up his torso and scratched your nails softly down his skin he had never felt so alive, so full of desire.

It was why he fell back on his bed and let you stand between his knees in a desperate attempt to get your clothes off so he could feel your bare skin. He’d been waiting all night to see you—to finally see you—and now that he had you, he didn’t want to let you go.

“They’re tights,” you mumbled against his lips when he tried to pull on the material on your legs, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

“I know,” he replied, smirking. “Not an idiot.”

“Never said you were.” You stepped away, deciding you could do this part by yourself with more ease, and unzipped your leather skirt, the zip down the front meaning it was easy access, and let the material fall to the ground. Harry’s eyes swept up your legs and to the place where the band of your tights dug into your waist, gaze flaming black with desire. Then, you hooked your fingers in the tight band and tugged it down, peeling the thin material off of your skin, hopping on one foot to get them off your feet.

Harry resisted the urge to laugh, and instead reached out to hold you steady, a smile winding onto your face from the action. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered, standing up straight in just your purple underwear and your shirt and bra. His hands held fast to your hips, palms curving around your skin and gaze dancing up your body. And when you pulled your tight shirt up and over your heads, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties, his heart about stopped.

You had on a set that didn’t match, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop looking at your breasts—it was cliche, that he loved boobs, but how could he not? Especially when you were breathing this fast and looking at him like that and you were wearing a red bra that barely held you in. How as he supposed to not lose his goddamned mind?

“What?” You asked, stepping back in between his legs, hands falling to his shoulders, sliding up the slope to cup his neck.

“You—you just,” he choked out, the words rough and dry in his mouth. “You’re so gorgeous.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just moved. You kissed him, lips caught between his, and pulled at his shirt, tugging it up until he shifted back to tug it off his body and let it fall to the ground. You stopped thinking, stopped using any sense in your body, and instead just felt. Felt how he made your skin sing and your body thrum with pleasure, how he made the worries at the back of your head fall away with each pass of his hands, focused on the way he kissed across your clavicle and sighed when you harshly gripped his hair. You let yourself drown in those feelings because you knew if you used your head that somehow you would succumb to your fears and lose this moment, and that was the utter last thing you wanted.

Instead, you wanted to drown in him.

And he felt the same way. He fell back onto the duvet and took you with him, flipping you onto your back so that your hair was pressed against the pillowcase, a cheap one from Target he’d brought at the beginning of the year that you’d convinced him was a good color. You looked up at him with awe and temptation in your irises, and Harry took only a minute to rip off his jeans and his t-shirt, leaving his boxers on only because he didn’t want to seem like an asshole. Then, he was back hovering over you, his curls falling into his face, your fingers reaching up to push them back.

A smile drifted across your face and he dropped to his elbows, peppering kisses down your neck and falling back to his knees as he made his way down your body. When he heard a chuckle rip from your throat, he glanced up at you. “Distracted?”

“No,” you said, poking his temple. “Thinking about how when we first met I teased you about how you must fuck girls with your snapback on because you wore it so much.”

Harry hummed a laugh into your chest, dimples peeking out and you thought it was downright adorable. “I was a bit of a whore when we met, huh?”

“Maybe a bit,” you answered, a teasing lilt to your words that Harry knew well. “Don’t worry, you’re only just a bit less of one now. Didn’t lose that title, I don’t think.”

“That’s a bit rude,” he said, sucking harshly at your nipple through your bra. “Bullying me while I’m tryin’ to go down on you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Couldn’t tell since you hadn’t quite made it there yet.”

You were taunting him like you always did, the alcohol in your veins making it more sexual in nature, and Harry loved it. It made it feel like the two of you, not like something that would be completely forgotten in the morning. “Am I too slow for you?” He asked, scratching gently at your sides and making you squirm as he fell farther down the length of your body. “I was trying to take my time but if you’re impatient, then—“

“Harry, please, fuck, just—“ A gasp fell from parted lips when he finally licked at the hood of your clit, your hands gripping his hair within another breath. Your words were nothing but pants, dry and heaving sounds that filled Harry’s head. He’d heard you through the walls before—it was a college-priced apartment, after all. Thick walls weren’t exactly something that fit in your price range. But hearing you this close, this sharp, the sound this crisp in his ears, it was making his hips rut into the duvet. It was his wet dream actualized, as horrible as that sounded.

Yes, he had wet dreams about you.

Yes, he knew that was probably horrible.

And no, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

Your mind, on the other hand, was blank. Like, literally blank. That was the thing about sex when you were drunk, all the thinking and nerves and walls dropped away and you just let your body feel. There wasn’t that niggling thought at the back of your head that questioned if you looked good like this, you just let go and let your back arch and hips circle and arms quiver. Your hands drifted from the duvet to his hair and then the pillow behind your head, trying to figure out what would hold your grip best as Harry absolutely devoured you.

So far, you hadn’t settled on your favorite thing to hold on to, but his hair was in the running for first place. The sight of his eyes peeking up at yours, an image you only got every once in a while because you could barely keep your eyes open to look at him, was enough to send you spiraling. But you were trying to hold yourself together because you didn’t want this to end. You’d just gotten him like this and you didn’t want the night to be over because who knew what the morning held?

Thankfully, though, your drunk mind didn’t let those disruptive thoughts linger. Instead, they focused on the orgasm rising as he curled his tongue over your panties and then under them, the heat of his breath on your sensitive skin making you moan deeply, his ring-clad fingers pressing into your hips. Harry loved watching you almost as much as he loved tasting you, doing this to you. There was a power in oral sex, Harry couldn’t deny that, and he loved it not because of the power it gave him, but the gratification of making someone else feel good. He loved watching women finish, and you were no different. In fact, you were blowing every woman before you out of the water.

Maybe that was the alcohol talking. He couldn’t tell. But either way, when he sucked on your clit and you squeaked out his name, he didn’t know how he could do this with another person for at least a month or two. Getting you out of his head would be his full-time job for a while, especially while living with you.

Your fingers threaded through his brown curls, eyes fluttering open, mind swirling and trying to focus somehow on the sight below you and the feeling swirling through your body, a tightness spreading up your legs, your toes curling and feet pressing down towards the duvet, scrabbling for something to hold onto. They ended up hooking around Harry’s shoulders, his hands holding your thighs close, as if not worried in the slightest about them getting too tight. Instead, he held you close and your breath came out in short pants, airways drying from not being able to even close your mouth and breathe.

His tongue was just so wet. There wasn’t really a better way to describe it. Oral while you were like this always felt this way—just overwhelming in the most basic sense. It was wet and warm and overwhelming and you never wanted it to end. You didn’t even know how long he was down there, his head tucked between your thighs, alternating between sucking on your clit and licking up and down your slit, poking his tongue into your hole for a second—just long enough to make you groan, deep and unabashed.

“I’m close,” you murmured, words broken and Harry could only understand them because he had heard you talk in the morning after you’d just gotten up and your mind wasn’t quite working yet. He parsed your words together with ease, and the result made him grin, and suck harshly on your clit, before dropping his chin and licking into you with fervor. “Fuck, Harry.”

“That’s it,” he mumbled, words garbled because he didn’t even raise his head to speak, he kept his lips right on your skin which meant the vibrations of his words flowed through your veins.

His fingertips pressed harshly on the outside of your thighs, holding you close, and somehow the combination of the pressure and the heat of his tongue had you tumbling over the edge, your chest rising and falling quickly as you struggled to catch a breath, your orgasm overtaking you. Harry watched as your fingers clenched the duvet, legs tightening and then loosening around his shoulders, before dropping to the bed with a satisfied sigh from your lips.

He could watch you for days.

“Come here,” you said, glancing down at him with a fucked out look on your face, eyes glassy and lips red from chewing on them, your hair a mess from thrashing your head back and forth. He’d never seen you quite like this and he liked the sight.

Liked it a lot, in fact. He moved up your body with ease, the soft skin of his legs rubbing against yours. Once he was at your eye level, you sealed the distance with a kiss that made Harry’s mind fumble for stable ground, desperate for you. When you ran your toes up his calf, though, the soft touch making him moan, he knew he was fucked. “You—need you,” he said, breathless against your lips.

You pushed his underwear down without question, sliding your fingers under the band so you could feel his warm skin under your palms. When he bucked up into you as your nails brushed against his butt cheeks, you smiled against his lips, loving how obvious he was. He didn’t hide anything, pretend like he wasn’t affected. You liked that in a guy. “Condom?” You said, tweaking his skin between your thumb and forefinger.

Harry lifted his head, blinking once. “Yeah—yeah, in the drawer. One sec.” He shifted, rolling off of you so he could do two things. The first was find a condom in the drawer, the second was push down his briefs. Well, technically three things, because after that he rolled the condom on with focus, lip caught between his teeth as you watched, head turned to take in the sight of his side profile.

He was gorgeous. You’d known that for a long while, but seeing him like this, under the glow of the bedside table light and the sweaty curls sticking to his forehead, his chest rising rapidly. You were even attracted to his smattering of chest hair, and especially liked the way his skin purged at his sides. In fact, you reached out and grabbed it gently, drawing his attention back to you.

With one look back at you, he rolled back over you, your legs parting with ease. You wound your fingers through his hair and appreciated that he didn’t ask you questions, that he didn’t try to talk about it because you didn’t want to. You wanted this, it was obvious in how you gazed at him with desire and kneaded at his skin, tugging his pelvis closer and closer. The talk, you thought, would’ve ruined it, made you question it. And you didn’t want to question, you just wanted him.

So when he pushed one of your knees up to your waist and brushed his condom-covered tip over your slit, the skin nudging the hood of your clit, your hips moved without thought. Circled up for him, trying to get the angle for him to slip inside properly. Because you were craving it, feeling him. Needed him in a way you never had before and you didn’t want to linger on it, just wanted it to happen finally.

Harry’s eyes caught on yours, and as if scared of what he found, he looked back down at where your bodies met, before pushing inside. A moan ripped from your throat, fingernails digging into his biceps which you were gripping as he slid in slowly.

“Shit,” you cursed as you felt yourself adjusting to him, “Shit, fuck, shit, Harry.”

“Sorry,” he said, a trace of what you could’ve sworn was a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, squeezing at his arms. “Go.”

And he did.

Holy fuck did he go.

Harry held nothing back when he fucked you. He found a rhythm almost immediately, one that had your torso moving up the duvet and your head raising from the pillow and slamming back down again, eyes fluttering shut and then open again when he hit a deep spot. It was hard to describe how good it felt to have him inside of you, but god, it felt divine. Something you’d been missing. And not that it was him you’d been missing, but sex in general, you’d missed it. Missed this feeling of just losing yourself in it, in the movement of bodies and the sounds and the sweat and that feeling of closeness when Harry’s head dropped down to your neck and he thrusted deep inside of you, an echo of your name on his lips.

Your ankles hooked above his bum, and the impact of his hips on your inner thighs you knew would leave a bruise in the morning and you relished the prospect of it. Of remembering this feeling, of reliving it every time you squatted down. Although the thought of being empty of him was something you were not looking forward to, you were excited about the aftermath on your body.

And Harry was losing his fucking mind as he moved inside of you. Not only because you were squeezing him tight and thought he was going to come within seconds, but because of the way you were wrapped around his body, your hands holding onto his biceps so tightly he was sure there’d be marks tomorrow. It was how your legs sat above his hips, the backs of your heels digging into his ass to make sure he drove into you with a depth and a speed that you needed. Your head tipped back and your mouth was open slightly, tufts of air and moans of pleasure floating from them and through the air, sending sparks down his spine.

When he dropped his head to your neck it was because he missed smelling you, being that close to you. So he lost himself on the column of your neck, leaving mark after mark as he drove into you, as you swallowed him whole—body and mind. This sex was consuming in a way he wasn’t used to and he didn’t think it was the alcohol and the marijuana. He didn’t know why.

Well, he did, but he pretended not to.

Especially when you pulled on his hair and murmured, “Faster, please, H—fuck, please,” in his ear.

Yes, he decided as he sped up and reached a depth that made both of you choke on air, it was a far better idea to pretend that what he was feeling right now was completely normal.

Usually you liked to be on top, to set the pace and keep control when you hooked up with guys, but right now, Harry was doing so good on his own that the last thing you wanted was to stop him. So you let him set the pace and instead kept yourself busy by touching every inch of his body available. You fingers ran down the length of his arms, across the black tattoos swirling across his skin, and towards his chest, making a line down to his belly. When you scratched softly over his skin he grunted—and not a weird sound, but one that you could tell meant he liked it.

So you pressed a little harder, experimenting a bit.

To your smug joy, Harry’s fingers curled in the duvet next to your stomach, arms tensing, and his eye snapped to yours. He didn’t even have to say anything—you knew. He wanted you to keep going.

And you did. You brushed your hand to the top of his torso and dragged a torturing path downwards, nails biting into his skin. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave an angry red trail. Harry was panting above you, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted into you.

He was close. Your nails mixed with how you squeezed him tight inside of you and the sounds you were making and the slam of the bed against the wall and your perfume lingering in the air—it all mixed together into a dangerous concoction that had him struggling on the edge. “Are you close?” He asked, words rougher than they had been when he last spoke.

When your chin tipped down ever so slightly, Harry smiled devilishly, the prospect of bringing you over the edge again spurring him on, a second surge of energy coursing through his veins. Any exhaustion he had been feeling before from lingering in the same position, any ache in his knees or tightness in his arms was gone, in favor of pressing your knees farther up towards your chest, earning a new angle that had your hands scrambling up his arms and nails digging into his shoulders.

He hissed at the touch and you panted the word Yes over and over again, eyes screwed shut as the orgasm built inside of you like a tidal wave, threatening to break as he twisted his hips a particular way. You were going to come, you realized only seconds before it happened, the depth Harry was reaching and the brutal pace against your hips creating a deadly combination.

As you did, a shudder of his name falling through the room, you squeezed Harry like a death grip and he choked out a moan before coming mere seconds after, unable to hold himself back any longer.

“Shit,” he said, leaning against your shins as he caught his breath. Your legs were still propped up against your chest, his hands caging in your body as he leaned his weight onto you.

Your eyes opened, the soft bedroom light seeming brighter after what had just happened. “Shit,” you answered simply, not knowing what else to say.

What did you say to your roommate after you fucked them, anyway? The alcohol still lingered, both of you plenty tipsy still. It was enough for your legs to drop open and happily let Harry kiss you senseless as he withdrew from inside of you, your hand cupping his jaw. His lips were fucking sin and you hoped you would be able to forget them. Because as he pulled away and mumbled about throwing away the condom, leaving you breathless on his duvet, you didn’t know if you’d be able to.

Harry woke up to an empty bed and a throbbing headache. He was still naked, but that wasn’t unusual considering he favored sleeping naked, and his duvet cover was around his waist. The side of the bed you had been asleep in when he’d shut his eyes was bare, the duvet cover askew from seemed to be you leaving.

He rolled over and picked up his phone, cursing at the low battery from not charging it last night. Then, he sat up in bed, letting the sheets pool at his waist and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake them up. His eyes were dry, probably from the weed, and his throat was dry, probably from the alcohol and the sex.

The sex.

His mind flipped through it in a series of images, like a slideshow on double time, the sight of you naked below him filling his brain. The thing about drunk sex was that you could remember the overall experience, the general highlights, certain specific moments, but it wasn’t like you could pick through it and remember each detail. But Harry didn’t even need the details to know it was fucking incredible.

Fucking you was literally a dream come true.

What wasn’t was the other half of the bed being empty, especially considering it was only eight AM.

He listened to the apartment, trying to decipher if he could hear you moving around. Usually he could hear your footfalls, considering how small and cheap the place was. But it was silent, meaning either you were still asleep or you weren’t home. Most likely it was the former, since it was still early and you usually slept late after a night out.

Although he didn’t know how you were the night after sex. And when had you gotten up from his bed?

More importantly, why had you gotten up from his bed?

Logically, he knew it was probably to avoid a weird interaction, but it was more weird for him to wake up alone and not know why. To not know how you wanted to handle this. Because his sober mind was increasingly realizing that although last night’s events were sensational, they were on the whole an utterly horrible idea.

The two of you lived together, for Pete’s sake. You were practically best friends. You still had half a year worth of a lease.

He groaned, his chin dropping to his chest as he took a deep breath. He could do this, he told himself as he kicked back the covers and slid his legs out of the bed. He could handle this.

So he put his phone on its charger, slipped on a pair of joggers, and went to find you.

What Harry didn’t know was that in the next room, you were wide awake. You had tried to fall back asleep after you’d crept out of his bed at six AM, and you had for a while. But then you woke up and the reality of last night came crashing back through your brain and you groaned, reminding yourself how fucking stupid you were.

Sure, Harry was hot.

That didn’t mean you had to fuck him, you idiot, you told yourself. He was your roommate, your friend. Not someone to sleep with. And yet, here you were, your thighs sore from his hips crashing against them and your body smelling like sex and his cologne.

You heard his door open—it was a small apartment after all—and your heart stopped for a second. You waited for the sound of his footsteps, praying he would just walk to the kitchen and not stop at your room. Listening closely, you heard him pause outside your room and then continue into the kitchen, where you heard the refrigerator open and close and then the kettle humming as he started a cup of tea. A part of you sighed, but the other part of you remembered that you had to see him eventually.

Why were you hiding, anyway?

It wasn’t like you could avoid him, and what did you have to avoid him about? Sure, you’d seen his naked body, sure he’d seen yours, sure you’d had mind blowing sex. That didn’t mean anything.

Right?

“Shit,” you groaned softly into your pillow and decided you would stay in your room until the last possible second. You never said you weren’t a coward.

Unfortunately, an hour later the desire to pee was overwhelming you and you couldn’t wait any longer. So you huffed out a sigh, threw on a pair of pajamas and pushed open your door, taking a tentative step into the hallway, trying to gauge where in the house Harry was. You’d lost track of him during a scroll through Instagram and couldn’t quite place him anymore and it was making you nervous.

Then, you heard the floorboards creak.

Your head whirled to the side, your eyes meeting his. He was standing not two feet away, looking at you with messy hair and wide eyes, a cup of tea clutched in one hand. “Hi,” you managed to say. “Bathroom.”

All he did was nod. He nodded as if this entire situation was somehow normal and completely not fucking with both of your brains.

So you strolled down the hall to the bathroom and shut yourself inside. If he wanted to pretend like this was normal, you could do that, you decided. You’d give him normal.

For the next two weeks, that was exactly what you did. You were the picture of normalcy—you pretended like nothing had happened, just made jokes in the kitchen and joined him for study hours and brought home takeaway for the two of you on Thursday night as usual. However, you couldn’t ignore how things had changed between the two of you. There was this…air between you. Charged with sexual tension that you couldn’t ignore, mixed with a hint of awkwardness and uncertainty that had you both on edge. Gone were the playful squeezes to your sides and you swatting him upside the head when he was annoying. Gone was any unexpected touch, in fact. It was like the Cold War in your apartment, a détente on both sides.

It was excruciating. So much so that you’d found yourself wondering if you needed to move out, which was a stupid idea considering it was mid-way through the year and you adored your apartment. It would also probably be more awkward to break the lease agreement than keep it, you decided.

So instead, you stayed, and you pushed through the uncomfortable moments and spent more time in your room than ever before, the living room a space you avoided unless you had to be there. Harry did the same, a look of almost panic on his face whenever you walked into the kitchen in the morning for breakfast. Was the idea of being in close quarters with you really that horrible sounding?

Apparently, it was.

Two weeks after the night of your greatest mistake, the two of you ended up meeting up with your friends. In fact, the exact same set of friends who you’d been with at the house party two weeks prior. You’d ended up walking over to Mariah’s apartment together, a case of Whiteclaws tucked under Harry’s arm. You were rambling about your art history course and he was nodding along, offering the occasional thought. It felt decently normal, and you were hoping it would last through the night.

At first, it did. But then, more and more people started showing up—some people in the debate club with Mariah, a few from the club soccer team with James, the entirety of Lilah’s a cappella group, and then some people you and Harry had each invited. The result was a packed apartment, the music blaring from a portable speaker, and alcohol bottles and plastic cups littering every surface. There was the faint smell of marijuana from when some people went to smoke in Mariah’s room, and it felt comfortable.

You were talking in a group of yourself, two of your friends from a summer internship you’d had, Harry, and Wei, a guy Harry knew from freshman year who had stayed close with. It took everything in your body not to let your gaze linger on Harry, the cut of his dark green t-shirt close to his body and his black skinny jeans gripping his thighs. His hair was a mess, as it always was when he’d had a couple drinks because he ran his hands through it nonstop. His green eyes were sparkling as he listened to a story Wei was telling, his full body laugh sounding in your ears. It was torture being this close to him and there being a wall between the two of you.

“Hey,” your friend Deliah said, her soft voice pulling your attention back to her. “You and Harry okay?”

She hadn’t been there two weeks ago and you hadn’t told her about what had happened. “Yeah, we’re fine,” you told her with a slight nod.

She studied you for a beat longer, but then seemed to accept the response. “I’m going to go get another, you want anything?”

“No, go ahead,” you answered, raising your still half-full glass.

Ronnie, who stood next to you, said she’d go along and then Wei pulled away and followed them, saying he needed another beer and wanted to find one of his friends and say hello, and suddenly, it was just you and Harry. You and Harry and both of you were fairly drunk and you couldn’t stop looking at his lips. The memory of how they felt against yours pushing its way into your brain and suddenly overtaking your every thought.

What was worse was how he was looking at you. He was watching you, something you knew because you knew him, knew what every one of his glances meant. This one was backed by thoughts, it was the result of him thinking about you and watching your face for something. What, you didn’t know. But you couldn’t take the way his eyes were trained on your expression, the feeling of his gaze on your skin. The distance between you felt like it was shrinking and you felt like you could smell his cologne even though in reality you couldn’t, and you wondered if your heart was pounding in your chest because of the alcohol in your bloodstream or him.

You couldn’t stand there next to him, you decided. You simply couldn’t.

“I’m going to get some air,” you said, pushing yourself off the wall. “Back in a second.”

He may have said something, but you were gone before you could hear it, threading through the crowd towards the patio door. It was a tiny patio, just enough space for a set of chairs and a narrow table, but it was enough. It was empty and the music was quieter as you shut the sliding door.

You could breathe out here, and you did, resting your cup on the railing and looking out at the street. Mariah’s apartment was nestled closer to campus, a bit more of an expensive place thanks to her parents and a high-paying summer internship. Distantly you heard the chatter of people walking on the street towards frat row, the honk of what were probably Ubers picking people up and dropping them off at parties.

Slowly, you inhaled, trying to calm the fast beat of your heart. Your thoughts drifted back to Harry, though, and how you had just looked at one another, had studied each other, both knowing that you couldn’t continue you like this. Something had to give and you didn’t know what it was. You didn’t know what to do. Mariah had tried to talk to you about it, but you’d pretended like it was fine because you didn’t want her meddling. You knew she would try to talk to Harry and then it would become some big thing for all of your friends to know about, and you didn’t want that. You just wanted it to be solved and done and over with. You didn’t want all of these feelings in your chest or these thoughts in your head, you didn’t want to think about this anymore.

You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to think about how good he’d felt, about how you wished it could happen again, about how you’d had fucking dreams about him, about how every time you heard his voice it sent shivers through your body because it reminded you of the way he’d said your name, rough and deep and rumbling in his chest.

And then you heard it: your name, in that rough and deep voice. “Y/N.”

“I want to be alone for a bit,” you said, not even turning to face him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, obviously ignoring your words and instead shutting the sliding door behind him.

It was quiet now, and because the balcony was narrow he ended up standing right next to you, his elbow mere inches from yours as he leaned on the railing. “Nothing,” you said with a sigh, the lie bitter on your tongue. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry.”

At first, he didn’t say anything, just let your words float in the slight breeze. But then, you heard the crinkle of his thumb pressing into his cup and you knew he was fidgeting, thinking about something, and you knew he was going to break that silence. “Did I mess everything up?” He asked, so soft you barely heard it over the music from inside.

That make you turn your head, eyes meeting his finally. “It’s not your fault. I was there too, we both are responsible.”

“Then, did we mess everything up?”

You sighed, searching for the words. “I don’t think we messed everything up,” you told him finally. “But I don’t know if it can be like it was before.”

“Do you want it to be like it was before?”

His words made your heart jolt. “When we were friends?”

“Aren’t we still friends?” His words were so soft, so full of emotion, you wondered if this was the kind of conversation to be having right now.

“Yes,” you answered. “But…”

“Nothing more,” he finished. You nodded, and both of you were silent for a beat, letting the truth settle between you two. It was the first time you’d even acknowledged that anything had happened. “I don’t want…”

You turned to look at him and saw his tight his jaw was set, how his eyes were trained on the street in front of the building. How he could barely look at you. “H?”

When he turned to meet your gaze, his eyes were glassy, and you realized he was nearly crying. “I don’t want to go back to how it was before,” he said, words broken in his throat. “I want…I want more.”

That made your mind grind to a halt. “You—what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” he whispered.

You realized he didn’t know. He didn’t know how much you felt for him, how much the night you’d spent together had absolutely destroyed any semblance of an ability to pretend like you weren’t into him, that you hadn’t had a crush on him for ages. He had no fucking clue. “Harry,” you said, reaching out and brushing your fingers along his forearm, “I want the same thing.”

His eyes widened, gaze falling to where your fingers touched his skin and back up to your eyes. “You do?” You nodded, a smile spreading across your face that he quickly mirrored. “Have we been absolute idiots?” He asked, turning on his heal so you were facing one another fully. Then, he reached up and ran his forefinger across your jawline, a shudder running through your body at the feeling of his fingers on your skin.

“I think we might have been,” you answered, ducking your head ever so slightly so that his finger ran up to your mouth, brushing across your bottom lip.

He cleared his throat when you dropped your jaw ever so slightly, just enough for his finger to press in-between your lips, a ghost of a touch. “Can’t even think when you’re looking at me like that,” he mumbled, words that same roughness you remembered from your night together.

“Right back at you,” you told him.

He stepped closer to you, closing the distance. “We’re such idiots,” he murmured, hand moving to cup your jaw, his fingers brushing under your ear.

“Such idiots,” you agreed.

And slowly, he closed the space between you two, his lips brushing yours hesitantly. But the second you felt his mouth slot between yours, you moved closer, pressing your body against his and your arms winding around his waist to hold him close. His other hand brushed down your side and the grip made your skin sing, finally being close to him was everything you needed. It healed the ache in your heart that had lingered ever since that morning, that morning when everything had gone so wrong.

His lips parted and he pulled away ever so slightly, just enough so your foreheads stayed touching.

“Why’d you leave?” He asked, his breath on your lips.

“I got scared you would regret it in the morning,” you replied. “I didn’t want to be there when you did.”

He chuckled softly, a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t regret it,” he told you. “I thought you did.”

“I’m so stupid,” you said, one of your hands moving from his back to encircle his wrist that held your face. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

“It’s okay.” He pressed his lips to your nose so sweetly your knees just about gave out. “Got you in the end, right?”

You hummed an affirmation and leaned up so that your lips could reconnect, kissing him with a passion you’d been seeking for two weeks. And when he kissed you back, the tips of his hair brushing your skin and his fingers pressing against your skin, you sighed, finally feeling settled once again. You’d missed this—him, being this close to him. Somehow, that one night had made you permanently miss him.

He’d truly done a number on you.

“Wanna go home?” You asked between kisses, loving the soft moan that feel from his throat at the thought.

“As long as I wake up to you still next to me,” he replied.

“Promise,” you said, kissing him once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The two of you ended up keeping the apartment for the rest of the year, your stuff slowly ending up in his room because the mattress was more comfortable, and eventually your old room became a shared study room. It was where your desks ended up and you’d study there together in the evenings or marathon study sessions on the weekends, music playing from a speaker between you two. Most of the time, you ended up making out, though, and occasionally having sex on one of your desks or on the floor because frankly you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. The sexual tension that had been there that first night had lingered, and it made it so you two truly couldn’t stop touching each other.

It drove your friends crazy, all of them yelling at you whenever you started making out at parties, reminding you that you were in public and you could hold off until you were home, thank you very much. And Harry just would kiss your temple and whisper in your ear about what he wanted to do to you later, and you’d pinch his bum to remind him that he wasn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeves.

Harry had never fallen in love with someone so fast, but with you it was easy. You had been one of his favorite people before you’d started dating, but now it was like you were truly the most incredible people in the world. He’d wake up with you snuggled into his chest, hair tickling his nose, and he’d get a kiss before you left bed since your class schedules started at the same time most days. You’d make his tea just like he liked it and rubbed his back when he got sick after a big night out, and when you laughed at one of his corny jokes your entire face would light up, a beaming smile that made his whole body ache. You were so gorgeous is physically hurt sometimes because he couldn’t stop staring at you, absorbing just how fucking perfect you were.

It was funny, because dating you wasn’t all that different from being your friend. He still got all the shared dinners and movie nights and hilarious stories the morning after a night out, but now he got to hear them while cuddling you on the couch, your head tucked against his neck. And when you teased him about how much of a boy he was (his snapback was your favorite target) you’d kiss him to make him stop pouting. But he was happy. He was so fucking happy with you.

He was thinking about all of that while you sat on the couch together, his head lying in your lap as you read a book for class, your fingers running through his hair absentmindedly. He was watching you, something he did often and you’d grown used to, and suddenly the overwhelming desire to finally tell you how he felt hit him like a truck.

And unlike previous attempts, he couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you,” he said, the words so simple and sure that they made you stop reading and look down at him.

“What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, drawing out the last word and tucking his face into your stomach, peppering kisses over your shirt. For some reason, he wasn’t nervous, knowing you’d say it or not and either way it was okay—he wasn’t expecting you to necessarily be ready. He just couldn’t hide it anymore.

He knew your mind was turning but he just kept kissing you, knowing the action would calm your anxious thoughts. “I love you too,” you finally said after a beat, and he looked up at you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you idiot,” you answered, setting your book down on the couch and smiling at him. “Wasn’t expecting to tell you quite like this, though.”

“How were you planning to tell me?”

You shrugged, rubbing a circle on his forehead. “Dunno. Something more monumental, I guess? I know you like all those romance movies, so I thought maybe something like in one of those.”

He adored the fact that you wanted to make it special, that you’d thought about it, but he just shook his head at you. “I don’t need it to be monumental,” he told you, brushing his fingers along your chin. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Shut up.”

“Never,” he said, sitting up and grabbing your hips, swinging you onto his lap with your laughter raining down on him. “Never going to stop telling you how perfect you are.”

He hooked his fingers on your neck and pulled you in for a kiss, one of those ones that made your thoughts all mushy and his heart pound in his chest because sometimes the way he felt about you just made his whole body go silent except for his heart. Or, at least it felt that way.

“Love you,” he mumbled against your lips, eyes catching yours.

“Love you more,” you replied, kissing his nose softly.

“Are we going to be one of those couples that is constantly competing over who loves the other person more?” He asked, nestling his head in the space between your shoulder and neck, settling there as your fingers swept through his hair. You wrapped around him like this was his favorite place to be.

“Probably,” you answered simply, a tender kiss to the side of his head. “Now, does this mean you’ll make dinner tonight? I’ve got a paper to edit.”

He laughed into your shoulder, picking his head up to look at you. “You make it sound like I don’t make dinner practically every night.”

You shrugged, a playful smile on your face. “You’re just better at it.”

“False, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“God, your ego has got to be massive now,” you mumbled, and he laughed, smile stretching across his face and dimples poking out.

“Alright, go start on your essay and I’ll cook something for us. Sound good?”

You beamed at him. “Perfect.” You bounced off his lap, grabbing your book and heading for your old room. “Love you!”

The words were called over your shoulder and Harry smiled at how perfect they sounded on your lips, how easy it was to answer back simply, “Love you more,” at your receding figure, the thought gracing his mind at how he’d like to be saying those words to you for a very, very long time.

HI I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!!!! COME TALK TO ME IN MY INBOX AND PLEASE REBLOG SO MORE PEOPLE GET TO READ/SEE THIS!!! XOXOXOXO LOVE YOUUUU

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #college harry styles #college!harry #college harry #roommate harry #roommate harry styles

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whumperooni · 4 years ago

Text

Just the two of us

Natsuo Todoroki x Reader

Tags/Warnings: unprotected sex, dubcon, ditzy!virgin!Reader, creampies, manipulation, pseudo incest, big brother/little sister kink, natsuo being a perv

Word count: 7.7k

This was written in response to an anon! It...well, it spiraled out of control so I’m putting this in an actual post. Thank you so much nonny for sending me such a good thirst/prompt!

Reader-chan is aged up!!!!!

It’s not often that Natsuo gets the house to himself. He has a big family- there’s usually someone around to keep him company. Today, though, it’s empty and he’s the only Todoroki on the estate. Fuyumi’s grading papers at a friend’s house. Shoto is training with Deku. Enji is off doing god knows what- Natsuo doesn’t particularly care where his father is. So it’s just him for now. And it’s nice. He’s taken advantage of the solitude and claimed the living room as his own. He’s spread his textbooks and notes all over the floor and brought in a bunch of snacks from the kitchen- some beer and chips and some celery that Fuyumi must have cut up at some point. The tv’s on, but the volume is low so he can concentrate on his work and he’s brought his pillows from his room to make it extra comfy. It’s nice. It’s relaxed. It’s some peace and quiet that Natsuo didn’t realize he needed until he actually received it. Small blessings, he thinks as he munches on some chips and scrawls notes out on a rough draft of an essay. His solitude is only interrupted when the doorbell chimes. Natsuo’s brow raises at the noise and he tilts his head back to look toward the hallway, lets out a soft huff. He doesn’t know who could be visiting- everyone else is still out and about- and he doesn’t remember any of his friends asking to stop by. Maybe it’s a delivery? It’s not that late yet. A hum leaves Natsuo and he stands from he’s been kicked back, wipes his hands on the sides of his sweatpants. He pulls on a discarded hoodie as he goes to answer the door and tugs it on with a yawn right as the bell goes off again. The impatience is a little annoying, but Natsuo manages to keep a frown from his face when he opens the door. Not that it would stay for very long anyway- when he slides the door open he’s greeted by someone that always manages to wipe away his frustration. You smile at him- a finger twirling a lock of your hair- and Natsuo’s heart stops for a moment at the sweet way you chirp out, “Natsuo-nii!” in greeting. Crap, it’s you- sweet, cute, bumbling and adorable you. Shoto’s friend and Natsuo’s shameful lust- a walking, talking fantasy that already has Natsuo swallowing and his self-control slipping. He’s had a thing for you ever since Shoto brought you home for a group study session with some of his other classmates. He’s had a thing for you ever since you started coming over without the other third year UA students accompanying you. He’s had a thing for you ever since you first called him Natsuo-nii in that saccharine voice of yours. You’re his type through and through- cute and clueless and oh so innocent. It’s mean of him to think, but he’s not sure how an airhead like you got into UA- he’s not really even sure how you were the one that managed to claim Shoto’s friendship. It doesn’t matter, really, because you’re here smiling all honey-sweet at him and he’s all too aware that Shoto isn’t- that, for now, the two of you are all alone just like he’s guiltily imagined so many times over these past few months. Natsuo wets his lips and takes a deep breath, offers a smile right back at you. “What’s up?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you looking for Shoto? He’s not here.” You blink and he watches as confusion spreads across your pretty face, as your brows furrow and your lips set into a tiny pout. “He’s not? But he told me that he would be home after training…” Your voice comes out bewildered and cute and Natsuo watches you through his lashes as you dig your phone out of your purse and start to scroll through it. “He’s still training,” Natsuo tells you, eyeing the way your head tilts as you frown at your phone. Temptation pricks at him and Natsuo has to guiltily shove it back before he can give into any bad ideas. “At least, I think he is. I don’t know when he was planning to finish.” “Eh??? But we were gonna watch a movie together,” you pout- voice tilting with a whine that should be more annoying than endearing. Natsuo kind of likes it, the way your voice pitches with your dissatisfaction, and he can’t help wondering how your whines would sound under different circumstances. Like a dream, probably. Natsuo offers you another smile- this one a little apologetic- and he rubs the back of his neck, watches as your hips shift to the side and cause your short skirt to flutter across your thighs. God, he wants to run his hand up them. “Sorry,” Natsuo apologizes to you. “You know how he gets when he’s training- he’s probably gotten caught up in it.” Your lips quirk in disappointment and he watches you sigh- arms folding across your chest and your demeanor wilting as fast as a daisy in a desert. He thinks to say something to you- what he doesn’t know- but then you perk up in an instant and flash him one of your so easily summoned smiles. “It’s not your fault,” you tell him sweetly. “I can wait for him to get back! Oh, if that’s okay, of course. Can I wait for him here, Natsuo-nii? Is that alright?” The temptation he had pushed away comes back with a vengeance and Natsuo has to swallow when several bad ideas flash through his mind. Of course you would ask if you could stay in that adorable voice of yours. Of course you would call him Natsuo-nii and flutter your lashes without thought. Clueless girl- don’t you know how weak he is? Don’t you know the danger of being alone with a grown man with impure impulses? Fuck, he needs to keep it together. He needs to behave. “Natsuo-nii?” Natsuo blinks and he clears his throat, smiles down at you while you look up at him with curious eyes. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, of course you can wait here.” What else is he supposed to say, he reasons. It’s not like he can be rude and deny you, turn you away. Natsuo is a nice guy and he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, rebuff someone important to his little brother- that would be a terrible thing to do. He can’t just be impolite. ...right? You light up in an instant at his agreement- beaming up at him and letting out a pleased little noise before beginning to kick off your shoes. Natsuo watches you, knowing deep down that he’s being a fool, and tells himself that he needs to keep it together. He doesn’t think Shoto would appreciate him trying to get handsy with you. (God, he wants to, though) When your shoes are off, Natsuo steps into the hallway and beckons you inside before closing the door and isolating the two of you from the rest of the world. “I was just studying in the living room,” he tells you. “No one else is home so feel free to do what you want.” Your head tilts with surprise- you’ve never been here with only one Todoroki in the house- and Natsuo watches as you hum and rock on your heels. “Can I hang out with you?” you ask, smiling up at him. “It would be weird wanderin’ around by myself.” That’s true. No one would feel comfortable like that, probably. So there’s nothing wrong with Natsuo agreeing to it- nothing sleazy about that at all, definitely not. It’s not wrong when you were the one to suggest it. ...right? Natsuo blinks and he sweeps his gaze over you, takes in your short skirt and candy-sweet smile. He nods and ignores the faint guilt that flits through him as he smiles back at you. “Yeah, of course. C’mon.” Another pleased noise from you and Natsuo has to turn away before his shame and satisfaction can take over his face. His heart pounds a little as he heads back to the living room- your light footsteps following close behind- and Natsuo immediately grabs his beer and downs the rest of it as soon as he plops back down onto the tatami mat. You take the couch and that’s a relief- a disappointment too. ...it’s probably for the best. Natsuo watches as you get comfortable on the couch- a pillow tucked and hugged underneath your chin and your knee high clad legs lazily kicking and stirring in the air as you pull out your phone. Your shirt has rucked up a little from where you’ve scootched to get more comfortable and there’s just a sliver of lace peeking over the waistband of your too short skirt. Natsuo looks away and pulls a pillow over his lap to hide the way he’s beginning to tent his sweatpants. Pervert, he scolds himself. You’re an absolute pervert. (Even with the self-admonishing, though, he’s still so keenly aware of how it’s just you and him in the house, how adoringly you look up to him, and how easy it would be to get you riding his fingers, squirming and mewling underneath him.) Natsuo swallows hard and he reaches for his drink, takes a deep, annoyed breath when he remembers that, oh yeah, he had just smashed the rest of it. He needs another one. “Hey, do you want anything to drink?” he asks. “I gotta grab something from the kitchen.” You blink at him, head tilting, and then you smile sweetly, nod as your dimples flash his way. “Yes, please,” you tell him so very politely. “Just some water.” Natsuo nods and he gathers up his trash, stands up and heads toward the kitchen. He can’t help throwing a look your way as he passes by the couch and it almost KO’s him when he gets a look at cotton white panties peeking between parted thighs. Natsuo swallows hard and he walks to the kitchen stiffly. Think about something else, he tells himself firmly. Think about Fuyumi in her robe and face masks. Think about Shoto coming home covered in slime after a villain attack. Think about dad. Natsuo’s cock wilts as he imagines his family and he leans against the counter, breathes out a huge sigh of relief. Something’s going to end up happening if someone doesn’t come home soon. (He wants something to happen so bad. You probably wouldn’t mind- you’re such a sweet little ditz and he knows he could make you bliss out with pleasure. You’d like it- little darlings like you always end up loving being on your knees, getting your warm holes bred and your mouth filled with big fingers, hard cocks.) Natsuo sighs and he adjusts himself before grabbing another beer, a bottle of water for you. When he steps back in the living room, Natsuo finds you kneeling on the floor and peeking at his notes- face confused but curious as you skim over them. It’s a little cute and it’s an opportunity to get close- something more innocent than his other urges that he can’t help giving into. Natsuo sits down right beside you- thigh brushing against yours- and smiles at you when you look his way, offers you the water you had requested. “Here,” he tells you. He gets a hummed “thank you” in response and he watches through his lashes as you take a sip of water, traces the movement of your throat with his gaze as you swallow it down. He wants to follow that movement with his mouth, trail his tongue up that soft flesh and make you whimper and cling to him. He wants to do so much. “Natsuo-nii, you’re so smart, you know- I can’t understand half of what your notes say!” Of course charming, simple you can’t understand his notes. It’s adorable that you try, though. Natsuo smiles at the compliment, ego shamefully stroked, and he rubs the back of his neck whenever you smile back. “Thanks,” he says with a little laugh. “But it’s hard for me too- all that jargon makes my brain turn to mush after a while.” You nod sympathetically and Natsuo has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t breathe in sharp whenever your hand reaches out and pats his knee. “You should take a break when that happens,” you advise, voice and face solemn. It’s funny to see you serious, like you’re telling him something that he doesn’t already know- like a little kid instructing their older brother on basic things everyone else already has a grasp on. “Mmm, yeah,” Natsuo agrees, still smiling. Your hand hasn’t moved from his knee; he wants to drag it up higher. “I probably should.” You nod again, face still solemn, and Natsuo wets his lips as an idea pushes past the weak hold he has on his self-control. ...there’s nothing wrong with watching a movie together, he reasons. It’s just a movie- that’s it. It’s completely innocent. You’ve watched movies with her before- this isn’t any different. (Except that the two of you are all alone and movies with two people wrapped up in solitude tend to lead to more salacious activities.) Natsuo licks his lips and he offers you an easy grin, sinks further into temptation. “I could use a break actually,” he tells you. “You wanna watch something with me?” Your eyes light up and crinkle as you smile- enthusiasm radiating from you like an easily pleased child. He almost kisses you then, but he holds back and reaches for the remote instead. “Here,” he offers, “pick something out.” A happy little noise leaves you and that has Natsuo fond, smiling. He moves to get more comfortable and leans his back against the couch, watches as you flip through the channels with a concentrated look on your cute, cute face. An idea strikes him when he sees you squirming to get more comfortable- a bad idea that he absolutely should not give into. An idea that he absolutely gives into. It wouldn’t be that bad, he tells himself. She’s so physical anyways- it’s not like she hasn’t done that before and it’s not like you’re going to actually do anything. Natsuo watches you and then he reaches out, pulls you back without warning to rest between his legs- your back to his chest and his thighs bracketing your body. You tilt your head back to look at him- wide eyed and surprised- and Natsuo just shrugs, grabs a blanket to drape over his shoulders. “This is more comfortable,” he explains as if that can dismiss any of the improper closeness. “And I’m cold.” A lie, but you take it with a smile and a giggle. There’s a noise of something like contentment that leaves you and Natsuo breathes in deep when you wiggle closer against him, when you let out a happy sigh. “Sho-chan never wants to cuddle,” you complain as you snuggle in close. “This is nice.” Hell yeah it is. Natsuo hums and he hesitates for only a moment before chancing wrapping his arms around your waist. The smile you flash up at him gets Natsuo dangerously close to grabbing your chin and kissing you breathless, but he’s able to clumsily grasp his slipping self-control and only gives you a smile in return. Soon enough, you find an old movie to watch and your focus goes to that. Vampires and magic capture your attention fully, but Natsuo ignores it to focus on you instead- soft, pretty, cute you snuggled up against him and radiating nothing but warmth and trust. With you so close he can smell your perfume- a scent of vanilla and peaches that makes his mouth water, a scent that further cements your innocence in his eyes and just makes him want to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathe you in and kiss along your throat until all you can do is moan. Natsuo holds you a little tighter without even realizing and he buries his face in your hair, closes his eyes. He only becomes aware of the action when you let out a curious noise and he has to hold back a groan, mentally scold himself for giving into all his desires without even pretending to put on a fight for the illusion of morality. What’s the point of trying to pretend he’s better than this, though? He’s already gotten off to you before. He’s jerked himself to the thought of you on your knees and your pretty face so innocent as you ask “Natsuo-nii, what’s a blowjob?” He’s cum to the image of you sat in his lap- pleading so sweetly for him to teach you things you’ve been so curious about. He’s fucked his fist to the thought of stuffing your cunny with his cock and making you squeal his name- short skirt flipped up and your soft tits bouncing with each snap of his hips. He’s already thoroughly ruined you in his mind; he’s already came to the thought of losing the grip on his self-control and fucking you speechless. It’s not like he can lie to himself when he’s already spilled his seed over his fist so many times to the thought of you. He knows he’s not better than his impulses and fantasies. And he knows, maybe, that this could be something that’s just meant to happen. Hell, better him than any of the little horny fuckers you call classmates. Natsuo hums and he noses at your hair, skims his fingers along your stomach. “You smell really nice,” he murmurs. “Makes me...hungry.” You giggle a little, dumb and clueless, and you stay still in his hold- not moving even when his hands run down your sides and fall to the tops of your thighs. You don’t seem to mind when he noses down the side of your head and hooks his chin over your shoulder and Natsuo’s lashes lower at the content smile on your face. “You smell nice too, Natsuo-nii,” you chirp, complimenting him in return. Natsuo hums and allows his fingers to trace along your thighs- fingers dipping just over the top to glance along the soft insides. You blink at that, lashes fluttering, and Natsuo doesn’t bother stopping even when you tilt your head his way. You’re not blushing- you just look curious and a little clueless like the naive airhead you are. Even when his hands replace his fingers and his palms cup the insides of your thighs, all you do is smile like the perfect little ditz that you are and lean back further into his chest. Natsuo hums and he accepts your non-reactions as consent, feels the last few threads of his self-control begin to snap and fray. “You’re really cute too, you know,” he murmurs- squeezing your thighs ever so lightly. “Bet all the boys are chasin’ after you.” You do blush a bit this time- pink dusting over your cheeks and your head moving in a tiny little shake. “No?” Natsuo asks, brow raising. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a boyfriend- you’re much too pretty to be single.” Your flush flares oh so sweetly and it’s hard for him not to dig his fingers deep into your thighs, run his hand up high. The “Natsuo-nii” that you half squeak, half whine at the compliment is nothing short of adorable and, really, he’s lucky you’re angled in your lean against his chest, that you can’t feel his hardness against your back. “Come on,” he coaxes- all friendly and teasing like a “big brother” should be. “You can tell me.” You squirm a little and it causes his hands to slide closer to the hem of your skirt, makes his heart beat a little faster. The shy bite to your lip has Natsuo hungry for you and he almost bites his own in want. “I- I don’t have a boyfriend,” you mumble, face turning just a bit like you’re trying to hide a little. “I’ve never...I’ve never had a boyfriend.” Fuck you’re such a sweet, untouched thing. Natsuo swallows a groan and he flexes his fingers against your thighs, tries his best not to just grab onto you. “That’s a shame,” he tells you, voice dipping low. “Cute thing like you should be appreciated and adored.” The pink on your cheeks flare into a darling red and Natsuo feels his lips twitch with a touch of amusement whenever a shy, pleased smile flickers across your face. He’s not really used to you being bashful, but he likes it- likes it a lot, actually. “No boyfriend at all?” he presses with a murmur. “You’ve at least gotten a kiss before, right?” He is, admittedly, disappointed whenever you give a small nod. He is not disappointed, however, when the muscles in your thighs flex and your legs spread just a tiny bit wider, when you only blink whenever his hands dare to smooth down right to the very hem of your skirt. “Kind of?” you tell him- voice uncertain and flush lingering. “Um, Kacchan kissed me on the last school trip but that was only ‘cause Kaminari dared him to.” Your shyness peaks a little, voice growing softer with each word and Natsuo wets his lips when you continue with, “It- It was just a peck. Not a real kiss.” Any disappointment he had fades away and Natsuo leans over you a little bit, cages you more against him and tries not to grin. Careful, a voice whispers in the back of his mind. You don’t want to scare her away. Natsuo hums and he strokes his fingers along your soft thighs, enjoys the small squirm from you that it brings. You still don’t pull away and, god, he’s so certain now that you’d let him do almost anything. “Sounds like a kiss to me,” he muses. “What do you mean by a real kiss?” You squirm more and, god, now his hands are just underneath your skirt. He’s not sure if you notice. He’s not sure if he cares anymore. “Like, um,” you say, a little dumb but still so sweet, “like with tongues and stuff…” You sound like a kid- naive and innocent and without any real knowledge of kisses and intimacy. Maybe it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does but, god, it makes him feel predatory and hungry. “With tongues and stuff?” he asks- unable to help a little tease. You pout at him, but there’s a smile quirking up on the corners of your lips despite your petulance at being teased and, god, he’s really too weak to hold back anymore. “So you mean,” he murmurs and reaches a hand to cup your face, “something like this.” Before you can react, Natsuo leans down and presses his lips against yours. A surprised noise leaves you at the sudden kiss, but it’s nothing that Natsuo hears- his ears are full with the sound of his blood rushing and his heart pounding hard and fast. You don’t pull away from him. You don’t shove him or try to squirm away. You let yourself be kissed and you flush beneath his hand- startled and confused but unoffended by your best friend’s big brother molding his lips against your. It’s only when he traces your bottom lip with his tongue that you react more than being a passive little doll- you gasp, softly, and press forward just a bit against him, let something close to a whimper crawl from your throat. Natsuo’s free hand finds your other cheek then and he slips his tongue between parted lips, lets it brush against yours and swallows a groan when you instinctively start to kiss back. Such a good girl. Your lips are so soft- cherry flavored and sweet. The wavering, whimpering, unsure noises that you make has his mind reeling with greed and need and, honestly, he could kiss you for hours on end. He wants to do so much more, though. He needs to do so much more. Natsuo hums into the kiss and moves a hand down to the middle of your back, pushes you even closer. The way you tremble underneath his hand is so cute, but it’s even cuter when you curl your fingers against his chest, look up at him with half-shut eyes and flushed cheeks whenever he breaks the kiss. Natsuo smiles down at you- boyish and friendly- and he revels in the way you press your face against his palm, how you let out a wanting- if confused and flustered- sound. “Sorry,” he apologizes, not meaning it at all. “You’re just so cute, you know- I couldn’t help myself.” Your blush flares from sakura pink to rose red and Natsuo takes pleasure in the way you squirm shyly, grip onto the fabric of his hoodie. The “Natsuo-nii” you mumble out is soft and bashful, far from the whine he had expected. He likes it, though, and enjoys the sheer haze pulled over your eyes, the nearly dazed look that plays across your face. “Did you like it?” he asks, smoothing his hand from your cheek to your chin and pressing his thumb against the plush flesh of your bottom lip. Your mouth opens automatically, unthinkingly, and it takes all of his weathered down self-control not to slip his fingers inside that wet, warm hole. “Was it real enough for you?” A soft noise and a hitch of your breath, lashes fluttering with some stray embarrassment. This time the “Natsuo-nii” you mumble is trailed after by a small whine and Natsuo hums at it, strokes his thumb along your bottom lip. He doesn’t bother trying to coax you more- your compliance and the way you're still pressed against him is enough consent for him to capture your lips in another kiss, to slip his tongue inside your soft mouth and muffle the whine that sounds from you. Natsuo kisses you hotly, deeply, wetly. He pours all his pent-up hunger into it and lets his self-control slip away completely, groans into your mouth and pulls you into his lap. You let yourself be manhandled like the dumb, docile, good girl you are and Natsuo grips your hips once you’re seated pretty on his lap, groans again whenever he feels your little mound brush against his hard cock. The gasp that you let out whenever he pushes your hips forward and back to hump against him almost has him snarling- something primitive and rough in the back of his mind getting off on the innocent, pure surprise you radiate as your clothed cunny is made to grind against his dick. You whimper, hips moving on their own, and Natsuo breaks the kiss to tangle fingers in your hair, watch you through half-shut eyes as something like wonder flickers over your flushed face. “I- feels good, Natsuo-nii,” you mumble, head dropping to watch as your hips rock against him. “I don’t- why does it…” A mewl leaves you as you trail off and Natsuo places his hand to your neck, makes your head tilt back so he can nose against the soft flesh of your throat. You shudder whenever he kisses you there and Natsuo hums deeply in satisfaction, licks a little stripe and makes you moan so, so, so quietly. “Feels good because you’re grindin’ against my cock,” Natsuo hums out. “Feels good ‘cause your pussy is excited for it.” Your gasp this time is almost scandalized- cheeks flaring in shock at his words and the way your pussy is starting to throb with a slow, honeyed pulse. Natsuo can’t help his amused grin against your neck and he takes pleasure in the way you whimper whenever he rocks his hips to meet yours. You’re so warm even if he’s done so little- clothed cunny radiating heat as it glides over his hard-on. He desperately wants to feel your warmth with his fingers, slide a digit along your surely wet slit and make you fuck yourself on his fingers until you’re leaking and glazed over. Another gasp as you hump against him and Natsuo places a wet, hot kiss to your throat, breathes in deep whenever your hands grip onto his shoulders. “Sit up on your knees, baby,” he orders in a murmur, pulling his head back to take in the glory of your carmine cheeks and parted, trembling lips. You lashes flutter with the command, some disappointment and reluctance flashing across your already fuzzy face. You obey him, though, and Natsuo’s eyes fall half-shut whenever your hands grip his shoulders tighter, when you do what he says without any thought or protest. Such a good girl. When his hands grip your thighs and push them further apart, a confused noise sounds from you. Another follows whenever your skirt gets flipped over your hips, but the sound you make whenever his hand rubs over your cunny is flustered and surprised- a gasp that morphs into a whimper when the heel of his palm grinds down against your clit. The oh so soft whine of “Natsuo-nii” you let out has Natsuo groaning and he grinds his palm harder against you, narrows his eyes in pleasure whenever your hips buck against his hand. “Call me nii-chan,” he orders, voice low with a growl that wants to sound. “Call me big brother.” You whine again and it’s so loud this time, so needy as your back arches and you grind like a well-experienced slut against his palm. “Nii...nii-chan…” Natsuo closes his eyes at the whimper and he smooths his free hand over his dick- grinds up against his palm in a mirrored movement of your own needy little undulations. “Good girl,” he breathes out. “So good for me.” Another whimper and Natsuo hooks his fingers underneath your panties, tugs them to the side. You squeal a little at that, hips moving in a surprised shake, but you’re quick to gasp and settle whenever he glides a finger up your slit, rubs against your clit. “Nii- nii-chan! Feels- it feels good!” Of course it does- he doubts you’ve felt this sort of pleasure before, that you can even comprehend and keep up with the way your body is building and chasing after an orgasm. He’s going to give you your first cum and, fuck, that’s hot- that’s so hot. Natsuo hums and strokes his finger over your clit, circles it with just the tip of the digit and watches with a half-smile as you gasp and start falling apart so sweetly at his touch. You’re warm- just like he had imagined- and Natsuo breathes in deep as he feels his cock twitch at the thought of sinking into your plush heat, stirring up those hot insides. You shake as he teases the wet hole of your pussy and Natsuo realizes that he wants you to come for the very first time on his cock. With a lick of his lips, Natsuo pulls his hand away from you. Disappointment, petulance cross across your pretty, hazy face and Natsuo huffs fondly at the quick panic of desperation that rises in your eyes, the way you let out a needy whine. He pushes you back from him and down onto your laying on the floor and underneath him- legs sprawled and skirt flipped up, panties slicked to the side to show off your wet, swollen cunny. You whimper as he looks over you hungrily and Natsuo is quick to kiss your confusion and embarrassment away. Your kisses are so frantic- clumsy and overwhelmed and needy as your hands cling to his hoodie, scrabble along his back. He adores your inexperienced attempts at kissing him back, but he loves the way your back arches whenever he slots himself between your thighs and grinds down against you. Natsuo swallows and smothers the moan that you let out whenever his hands push up your shirt and squeeze your soft breasts. He breaks from the kiss, though, to hear your mewls and cute little squeals when he teases your nipples. The way you grip his hair whenever he sucks one of those flushed peaks into his mouth almost makes him lose his mind and Natsuo groans into your soft skin, snaps his hips into a hard grind against your soaked pussy. “Natsuo- onii-chan, feels- it feels-” Feels so good, right? A whine leaves you and you interrupt your own babbling, whimper into his mouth whenever he surges up and crushes his hungry lips against yours. You don’t notice whenever he reaches a hand to push his sweatpants down and out of the way and Natsuo groans whenever his dick slides against your wet cunt. The panicked noise that leaves you doesn’t deter him at all- nor does the way you squirm in uncertainty underneath him. He only pulls his face back from the kiss to look over you when you whimper and he smiles at you sweetly- nice and friendly and so, so warm. The way his face softens helps you to relax a little, but nervousness still claims your expression- eyes wide and teeth nibbling on your bottom lip as you tremble underneath him. “Nii- nii-chan, I’m...I can’t...I’m…’m a virgin.” Your embarrassed, anxious mutter only makes him that much harder. Natsuo’s face softens more even as his lust rises- smile nearly beatific, cock aching- and he hums as his hands reach to cup your face- arms hooking your thighs over the crooks of his elbows and pressing them close to your chest. He kisses your forehead and it’s chaste enough to make you nearly melt, flusters you even more with how it juxtaposes against his hard cock laying against your pussy. “That’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek and then your lips. “I’ll be gentle.” “W- wait-!” Another kiss to your forehead and Natsuo cants his hips back and then pushes them forward, sinks into your virgin, wet cunt. You clench down around him immediately- a sob tearing from your lips as your tight, tight insides are forced to stretch open to accommodate his dick. It’s hot in you- honeyed and so fucking sweet, syrupy. Natsuo moans as he slowly fills you inch by aching inch- mind hazing over and face burying into the crook over your neck as your plush insides flutter and squeeze around him oh so desperately. He nuzzles you whenever he hears you sniffle and whimper and lifts his head to smile at you- face drunken with bliss and smile so serene as he cups your cheek, grinds into your tight little cunny. “Shh, baby,” he croons, fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek and comforting you as your face contorts with pain. “Onii-chan’s got you. You’re okay.” It’s horrible, but he gets that much harder whenever you sniffle and whimper, press into his touch in search of consolation. He doesn’t feel bad about it, though- can’t feel bad about it whenever your molten, heady insides squeeze around him in accompaniment to the onii-chan you mumble out. Natsuo hums, satisfied and smiling, and he kisses you sweetly, smiles a bit bigger when he pulls his head back to take in your trembling, pouting lips and wet lashes. Such an innocent little thing. So adorable. Natsuo grinds his hips against you and watches as you squirm underneath him, groans at the hiccuping little sob that sounds from you whenever he rolls his hips back and rocks them forward so he can fill you fully once more. “So tight,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips and sinks into your heat slowly. “So wet. You’re such a good girl.” A soft noise makes its way from your throat and Natsuo revels in how your cunny flutters around his cock, how your body relaxes ever so slightly with the praise. The “nii-san” you sniffle out is sulky- like a kid pouting after scraping their knee- but it’s sweet too- soft and whiny and hot. “Mmm,” Natsuo hums, nuzzling against your cheek, “gonna make you feel so good, I promise.” Another soft noise and then a mewl, your head tilting back and fingers curling into your palms as Natsuo begins to fuck you slowly. He takes the opportunity to latch his lips onto your throat and groans as he starts to suck a dark little bruise, slides his hands up your arms and laces his fingers through yours as you gasp and moan, clench around him. Fuck you feel so good- silken and sweet, scorching with your honeyed heat. You could make a man lose his mind- you are making Natsuo lose his mind. He could stay buried in your pussy forever. Natsuo groans against your throat and snaps his hips against you harder, fucks your pulpy, mushy, perfect insides faster. You gasp and whimper at it, but your cunny clenches around him eagerly- hot insides gripping at his cock likes they’re trying to keep him from pulling out, like they’re trying to suck him in even deeper. “Nii- nii-chan...nii-chan, please- I- feels good…” Look at you- gone from sniffling to begging in just a second. He knew you’d be such a good little girl for him, that a darling like you was made to be fucked. Natsuo hums- low and satisfied- and he noses up your neck and along your jawline, catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth as he fucks you faster. He almost doesn’t want to come- you feel that good around him. He wants to live in this moment forever- this perfect slice of heaven with you moaning and squeezing around his cock, gasping and gripping his hands tight as pleasure starts to build and overwhelm your simple little mind. He doesn’t want to come but, fuck, how can he not? No one could resist your whines and your whimpers, the clench of your pussy. No one could hold back with you mewling “onii-chan, please- more!” No one could keep in control with you panting and unraveling- confused over so much pleasure but so eager for it, so greedy as your mind blanks and all you can do is focus on the feeling of your cunny being fucked and filled by a hard, hard cock. Natsuo grits his teeth as you squeeze around him frantically, struggles to hold back as you whine and look up at him with almost panicked eyes. “Nii- nii-san, feels- feels-” You can’t finish the sentence, can’t even begin to string words together. The way your voice pitches with need and distress has Natsuo’s cheeks flushing as he fucks into your wet, squelching pussy and he groans as you whine, throb around him. “S’okay,” he assures you- drunk on the feeling of your pussy and almost dizzy from your cute, overwhelmed need. “You’re just gonna come, baby. It’s fine; you can do it. Fuck- come for me, baby. Come on my cock.” You sob and your body tries to arch, tenses as you clamp around him tight, tight, tight. He cries out as you begin to come and he fucks into you without thought- primal and frenzied and rough as you cry out his name and dig your nails into the back of his hands, pant and shake and fall apart into a whimpering mess underneath. Natsuo fucks into your pulsing, coming, creaming pussy once, twice, three times and then he trips after you into pleasure- moaning and grinding his hips tight against yours as he fills your cunny with hot, wet, sticky cum. You come again from that like a good girl- pussy fluttering and a sweet mewl slipping from your lips as one orgasm passes into the next- and Natsuo trembles from the overstimulation of your greedy little cunny, groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck as he humps into your cum coated insides. “Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he breathes out- hot and sated and almost lightheaded as you pulse around him sweetly. “So good for me.” A whimper, a mewl. He lifts his head whenever you mumble out a sleepy “onii-chan” and smiles to himself at the dumb, blissed out look on your face, the flush on your cheeks and the soft noise that leaves you whenever he presses a kiss to your lips. “See?” he murmurs to you. “Told you nii-san would take care of you.” Another soft noise- this one nearly thoughtful as you give a tiny little nod. Natsuo hums his satisfaction and kisses you again- slips his tongue into your wet, yielding mouth and coaxes a tired moan from you. He could fuck you again- he’s sure you want him to fuck you again- but he knows that his time is running short, that he doesn’t have enough left to fuck you even more stupid and sweet. Next time though… Anticipation and satisfaction twine through Natsuo’s chest and he grins to himself, runs a hand along your side and kisses you chastely as he slowly, reluctantly slips out from your honeyed insides. The disappointed whine that you let out almost has him sliding back in, but Natsuo steadies himself and slowly backs off of you, strokes his cock as he eyes your leaking cunny oozing out his fat load and then tucks himself away. You don’t move- eyes heavy and cheeks rosy, chest moving with soft little pants as you try to catch your breath. You look like a dream like that- beautiful and tempting; a fucked out doll beckoning even more pleasure. Natsuo licks his lips as his gaze travels over you and he takes a deep, deep breath to try to bolster his self-control, reaches and fixes your panties so your weeping pussy is hidden from sight. “You okay?” Natsuo asks- voice soft and sweet and full of care. A quiet little noise leaves you and he has to hide a smile whenever you sit up- arms trembling and eyes blinking slowly, stupidly before you rub at them with a fist. “I’m...I’m okay,” you mumble- voice faint, drunk with sated pleasure. “Felt...felt good, nii-chan. Was so warm…” Natsuo hums and he smiles as you yawn, looks over you in satisfaction. You blink whenever he touches your face and he can see you practically melt as he pets your flushed cheek. So sweet. Such a good girl. “Why don’t you take a nap in Shoto’s room?” he suggests. “Just until he gets home.” You hum, face turning to nuzzle into his palm, and he takes that as compliance. Natsuo hesitates before sending you off, though, and licks his lips nervously as a bit of panic peeks up through his satiation. “Hey,” he says, voice just a bit louder to grab your attention. You blink over at him, face still so drowsy and sweet, and Natsuo takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he tells you- firm but trying to sound like the nice Natsuo-nii that you’ve always adored. Confusion blossoms over your cute little face and Natsuo swallows as you frown, as your brows furrow in puzzlement. “Why not?” you ask so very innocently. It’s cute, but he can’t quite appreciate it while nerves are jittering under his skin. “Because...because they might get jealous,” he lies- though that could be true as well. “And you might get in trouble with your sensei and your parents if they find out.” Your sleepy eyes widen a little at the thought of getting into trouble and Natsuo watches your frown grow, uneasiness creep over your frame. “I- I don’t wanna get in trouble,” you mumble, lip bitten and voice distressed. “I...I don’t want that.” Natsuo nods, relieved by your reaction, and he pets your cheek as you begin to fret over imagined scolding. “You won’t get in trouble if know one knows,” he reassures you. “You just can’t tell anyone, okay?” You squirm, still nervous and frowning, but you nod just the same, curl your fingers into your skirt. “I won’t tell anyone,” you swear, voice almost eager in its sincerity. “I promise!” Natsuo smiles at you and he feels you relax underneath his hand as he nods. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you and pats your cheek. You blink when he leans closer to you and Natsuo takes one last, stolen second to press his lips to yours. “Don’t tell anyone. And...and maybe some other day we can do this again- if you keep your promise, that is.” Your eyes widen at the thought and something wicked and pleased purrs in Natsuo’s chest when you flush and nod shyly, squirm in front of him like an eager little thing. He stands and he offers you a hand, helps you up from the floor. There’s one last pleased noise that leaves you whenever he graces the top of your head with a kiss and Natsuo hums before lightly swatting your tush and nudging you toward the hallway. “Go rest. And remember not to say anything to my brother.” You nod- cheeks flushed and the motion solemn- and Natsuo watches with a satisfied smile as you scamper toward Shoto’s room- legs wobbling and just a little splayed. Well. That was something. Natsuo’s smile twitches into a grin and he sighs in contentment as he flops down onto the couch, closes his eyes and thanks the gods for letting him indulge in such a forbidden temptation, for having you react like such a sweet, perfect little darling for him. Natsuo hardens a bit as he savors the memory of your honeyed insides and he hums as he reaches a hand to smooth over his cock, grins contentedly as his mind flashes through all the other things he needs to introduce you to. Maybe next time he’ll teach you how to swallow him down, suckle around his cock. Maybe he’ll have you wrap your soft hand around him, show you how he likes to be stroked. Maybe he’ll have you ride him until you’re exhausted and unable to move, helpless and easily flipped over to be fucked and filled again and again and again. There are so many things to look forward to. Natsuo smiles to himself and he quietly starts to plot how he can get the house to himself again, how he can coax your sweet, bumbling self into his bed.

#natsuo x reader #natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo todoroki #bnha #rooni's shit #thank you again anon and sorry this took so long/spiraled out of control :#:'3

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starkentrprises · 3 years ago

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push red (everytime you phone me).

winterironspider, office sex, sub!peter, dom!tony, dom!bucky, daddy/sir, feminization, creampies, phone sex, degradation, humiliation kink.

MY AO3.

so this fic is over a year old & i think my writing has definitely changed since then but— @snowstark persuaded me to post it here, considering i started working on a sequel as requested on my ao3. if anyone wants to be tagged in the second part, just let me know.

Tony had made it explicitly clear to every employee and intern that crossed his path that morning that he didn’t want to see a single one of their faces. He was on the edge of a migraine, the coffee pot wasn’t working, and he was in the mood to fire whoever looked at him sideways.

Pepper was gracious enough to hand an intern $20 to get him the largest, sugariest concoction the Starbucks across the street could offer. That seemed to do the trick in terms of his general mood, but something— someone was missing.

Tony spent most of the morning isolated in his office. It was a grueling task, having to reply to emails and actually work for once. His usual tactic was getting pepper to do it by ignoring the stacks of paperwork long enough. However, she was also in a pissy mood. Pissy Pepper and a disobedient Tony equaled a very unhappy time for everyone. Halfway through the afternoon, once his coffee was long gone, there was a little knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he called, tapping his pen against his desk.

Peter peeked in, opening the door just a crack. He had a shy smile on his face, pretty blush dusting freckled cheeks. “Daddy?” He asked softly. “You okay?”

“You don’t have to stand there, baby, come in.” Tony said, looking up from his stack of papers to meet Peter's gaze. He stepped into the office— a vision in his puffy-sleeved, powder pink dress. Peter shut the door behind himself. Tony turned in his chair, dropping his knees open a bit. That was all it took for Peter to accept the unspoken invitation.

He plopped himself down in Tony’s lap, legs hanging off each side of the large chair. He quickly wrapped himself around his boyfriend. Peter rested his head on Tony’s shoulder as the chair swiveled back around.

“You need something, prince?” He asked, pecking the top of Peter’s head.

“I dunno I.. miss you,” Peter mumbled.

He shifted in Tony’s lap, settling all his weight on one of his thighs, wiggling his hips just so. That’s when Tony felt it— the wide base of a plug poking against his thigh. “But Miss Potts said you’re busy.. don’t wanna be a bother,” Peter continued, pushing his hips down against Tony’s thigh.

“I always have time for you, prince, always,” he insisted. Peter sat up in his lap, soft pout on his lips. “Promise—?”

Tony couldn’t help but grin. His boy was downright angelic. He placed a gentle kiss on his lips, nodding his head once he pulled away. “I promise, Petey-pie.” He deliberately dropped his tone, knowing exactly what Peter came looking for.

“Now, tell Daddy what you want.”

Peter flushed red, hands gracing the hem of his dress. “Want you to take care of me.. please?”

How could Tony say no, when his boy was gonna ask so sweetly? He placed his hands on Peter’s thighs, slowly edging them up under his skirt. He could feel the familiar pattern of lace, hooking his fingers under the sides of Peter’s panties to tug them down his legs.

“Take care of you how, baby?” He was teasing, he knew. But he knew how much Peter liked to put on a show; to be teased, face hot and red, skin flushed and left desperate.

Peter was writhing in his lap, the tips of his ears a cherry red. “Want Daddy’s cock, please.”

He was always so polite, always such a sweet little prince for his Daddy. Of course Tony would indulge him. He rucked Peter's dress up, taking in the sight. The white lace panties he had on underneath were messily shoved down his thighs. The head of his little cock was red and leaking already, and Tony had barely touched him.

“You want me to fuck you, is that it? Bend you over my desk so whoever comes in can see me use you, baby?” The filth rolled off his tongue like honey, dripping in that sickly sweet tone he loved to use to get Peter all riled up. His dick twitched at the idea, and Tony couldn’t help the wolfish grin that crept onto his face.

“Uh-huh,” Peter panted. “I- I wanna..”

“You know Daddy’s always going to give you what you need, honey.” Tony cooed, unbuttoning his slacks. “Get up, turn around.”

Peter scrambled off his lap, skirt of his dress gathered up in his little fists. He spun around, facing the door, and that alone made his cheeks flush. “My sweet boy, came all prepped and dolled up. What if someone comes in and sees your little cock spilling all over my desk?” He gave a mock gasp, taking the flared base of the plug in his grip.

Peter let out a shuddered moan when Tony lightly twisted the plug. Extra lube was pouring out of the sides, and he let it slowly drip down as he toyed with it, pumping the toy in and out of Peter’s hole.

He wobbled with every rough thrust of the plug, whimpering, gripping his dress skirt a bit tighter. “Daddy.. stop teasin’..” he panted softly. His face was burning with embarrassment, eyes set on the door, wondering what would happen if anyone did walk in.

“Alright alright,” he grumbled. It was easy enough to fully pull out the plug, Peter giving a soft whine as his rim caught on a thicker part of the toy.

Tony shoved his slacks down his thighs, hands gripping Peter’s hips as he slowly eased him down onto his cock. Even after the plug, he was still so fucking tight. He started circling his hips, jerking up a little on Tony’s dick.

He squeezed his hips roughly, enough of a sign for Peter to stop.

“Oh, baby, you know not to get too ahead of yourself,” he cooed. Peter was shaking in his lap, knuckles going white from how hard he was holding onto his skirt. “Pretty boy... always such a vision. I know exactly who would love to see you like this.”

Tony let go of Peter’s hips, reaching for his phone.

That definitely got Peter’s attention, as he shook his head. “Nuh, s’embarrassing, Daddy please,” he hiccuped.

Peter couldn’t take it, he’d been wanting release for days and he was so close to having Tony give him exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t cum without permission— cock having gone an angry shade of red, beads of precum pooling from his slit. He squeezed his eyes shut as Tony mindlessly hummed, typing away on his phone.

And then Peter heard the familiar ringtone, as loud as the speaker volume on FaceTime could go.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking just slightly, unable to take how shameful he felt.

Bucky picked up on the second ring.

Peter was sure he was too far gone, tuning out all the mindless small talk Tony and Bucky were making. It went on and on until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Suh.. Sir, please, can’t take it,” he choked out. Bucky’s voice was loud and clear behind Peter, and he knew Bucky could see everything. He tsk’d softly, giving a soft sigh that rang in Peter’s eardrums.

“Look at our boy, Tones, he’s begging. Ain’t he sweet?”

There were lips pressing a warm, wet kiss to Peter’s shoulder, making him shudder.

“What’s the point of havin’ Daddy fuck your pretty pussy if you’re gonna drip everywhere, darlin’?” The slow drawl of his accent made the words even more tantalizing. The nickname was punctuated by Tony, who snaked an arm around his waist. He snapped his hips up and Peter couldn’t help the choked out moan that left his lips.

He hiccuped as he was settled in Tony’s lap again. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even try to fuck himself down on Tony’s dick and take what he needed. “Ah.. m’sorry, Sir—“ he shakily replied.

“S’not your fault, sweetheart. That’s why we gotta do this, hmm? Daddy ‘n I gotta train your cunt. Y’know why, doll?”

It got him hot all over. The way Bucky could just say things like that, no embarrassment or second guessing lacing his words. Just the rasp of his low tone, the dominance he naturally exuded.

Peter struggled to find his words, unable to control the shake of his body. “Ca-cause.. m’made for Daddy ‘n Sir, belong tuh you—“ he whined, tears now collecting in the corners of his eyes, keeping them squeezed shut.

“You hear that, Tony? Our little prince knows. Made special just for us, our own slut to fill up ‘n use.” He could practically hear Bucky’s smirk, and there’s a searing heat settling in Peter’s gut.

“I— need’tuh, pleaseplease Sir...”

Peter couldn’t even find his voice, clenching around Tony’s cock. He wasn’t even getting fucked and still, he was so desperate for something, anything.

Tony clicked his tongue, bringing his phone down to capture the perfect swell of Peter’s ass. “I think he’s been good enough, Buck. What do you think?”

“Peter, sweetheart. You think you deserve this? You been good enough for daddy to fill that little hole up?” Bucky asked. He gasped for air as he nodded wildly, earning a laugh from Tony. “He can’t even talk, Buck.”

Then Bucky was laughing at him too. “A’course he went cock-stupid… sluts like that can’t function without getting filled up at least once a day.”

Peter felt like he was in a haze, surrounded by the warmth of Bucky and Tony’s voices. Tony gently pried one of his hands away from his skirt, replacing the bunched up fabric with his phone. And there was Bucky, wet hair slicked up into a messy bun, a hand slowly fisting his cock.

Before Peter could mumble out a soft hi, Tony slammed him, chest down, onto his large desk. Calloused, heavy hands were squeezing his hips, and there was no wait. Peter couldn’t squeeze his eyes shut, hiccuping on breathy moans as Tony began fucking into him.

“You don’t wanna find out what’ll happen if you drop that phone, doll.” Bucky advised, followed by a low groan as his hips thrust up into his closed fist.

No, Peter really didn’t, but the threat of a punishment on top of how overwhelmed he felt was the tipping point. Tony’s hips snapped forward, skin slapping against skin, accompanied by the filthy squelch of Peter’s wet hole. It was so much, all at once, accumulating in his gut. He wanted to cum, he needed to, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He kept an iron grip on Tony’s phone, so scared to drop it because nothing came to mind that could be worse than the past week.

The frustration for release was too great, and Peter let out a desperate whine, tears finally bursting through and rolling down his cheeks. Every moan was a desperate reach for air, chest constricted as he was pressed flush against the wooden desk. “Da— can’t,” he whimpered.

Peter was a sight though; freckled cheeks burning cherry red with nothing but pure embarrassment, dress flipped up to expose the soft swell of his ass. fat, Hot tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. His mouth was frozen in a permanent O, looking like he was mid-cry with every thrust Tony gave.

“Sir, I gotta-“ he hiccuped, the heat in his gut too much to bear. His little cock was trapped between the desk and his tummy, a small puddle of precum underneath him.

“Cum, babydoll, make a mess on Daddy’s desk now,” Bucky instructed. He groaned over the phone, something almost animalistic, spilling into his fist.

That was Peter’s breaking point. His face on screen was contorted in some sort of silent scream, lithe body shuddering with a fervor as he came.

Tony wasn’t too far behind, fingers digging into the meat of Peter’s hips as he gave a few final thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out, hips sputtering as he came deep in him. His boy was still shaking, body pressed against the desk. Tony pulled out, and leaned forward to pluck his phone out of Peter’s grip.

He flipped the camera around, panning in so Bucky could get a good look. Peter’s rim was red and puffy, Tony’s cum daring to drip out and down his thighs.

“Ain’t that a sight,” Bucky mumbled, watching intently as Tony reached for the plug from before.

He was careful and steady with his pace as he reinserted it, plugging Peter up for the day. “Doll, you okay?” he asked, setting down his phone. Tony readjusted the lower half of Peter’s dress, wrapping both arms around his waist to pull the boy up into his chest. Peter’s head lolled to the side, resting on Tony’s shoulder. His knees felt like jelly, a dull ache on his hips, but he felt utterly blissed out.

He lazily tugged on Tony’s shirt collar to get his attention. “C-Can Sir come..?” he asked.

Tony smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Pick up the phone and ask, baby.”

Peter reached for Tony’s phone, once again flooded with embarrassment when he looked down at the desk. He’d been pressed down on Tony’s paperwork, cumming all over a few pages that had the misfortune of being lodged under him.

Peter shakily pressed the phone up to his ear. “Sir-? Can’t walk.. come ‘n get me, please?” He always asked for what he wanted that way, questions saccharine sweet. He felt a little giddy after, wanting to get carried off home by Bucky.

Instead, he was met with a condescending chuckle.

“And why would I do that, doll?” Bucky asked. Peter softly huffed, pressing up against Tony’s hand, which was gently carting through his curls.

“But.. m’tired and my legs hurt,” he mumbled, pout evident in his tone. Bucky lightly tsk’d.

“That ain’t my fault is it? That’s Daddy’s fault,” he chided. “It’s real selfish of ya, darlin,’ to only whore yourself out to one of us. I hope Daddy treated you real good, cause I got your cage waitin’ for ya. So get your ass home. Now.”

And then he hung up.

Tony must have heard the familiar dial tone, releasing his grip around Peter. “You heard the man, didn’t you, Peter?” He said, raising a brow when Peter opened his mouth to protest. Tony held out an expectant hand, where Peter placed his phone. “We’ll deal with your punishment for ruining my papers when I get home tonight,” he added, sitting back down in his chair.

Tony turned away like Peter wasn’t even there and it made his knees go weak again. “Can.. can I get my panties back, please Daddy?”

“And who paid for ‘em?” Tony asked, holding up the bundle of lace in one hand, dangling them for Peter to see. He looked down at his mary janes, face burning with shame as he mumbled out, “You did.”

“Damn right, prince. I paid for them. That makes them mine.”

“Bu—“ Tony cut him a look so sharp Peter froze mid-protest. Tony flashed him a smile so fake it was almost frigid. He didn’t try to say anything more, taking wobbly steps towards the door. Tony spoke up just as Peter took a step into the hall.

“Have a safe trip back home, baby.”

#starker #winterspider #ironwinterspider #tony x peter #peter x bucky #peter x tony x bucky #tony/peter #tony/peter/bucky #peter/bucky #porn. absolute filth. holy shit.#this is old please enjoy tho.#<3 #track. kiwi’s fics

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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I’m Arriving | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

A/N: Y’all are getting all the bonus fics this week. This one was again inspired by a conversation with some peeps on a Discord server. About how British people would sound during sex. Not edited, I regret nothing.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: Tom gets a little silly after celebrating his double Olivier nomination at the pub.

Warnings: smut, cursing?, sex, drinking, bit of consensual grabby hands, inappropriate use of a British accent.

Taglists are open! Let me know if you want to be added! Thank you for reading!

Tom’s cheeks flushed pink as he pressed the beer bottle to his lips, giggling. You pulled it away.

“I think you have had quite enough.” You set the bottle down on the well-worn table of the booth where the two of you sat.

There was a loud pop song playing in the pub, drowning out most of the noise and chatter. Tom grabbed for the bottle, but you slid it away with a smile. Tom pouted, his lower lip sticking out ever so slightly. You were half tempted to reach over and flick it with your finger.

“You said we should celebrate, darling.” Tom snatched the beer away, holding it out of your reach. “You said to make a night of it. That being nominated for not just one but two Oliviers was monumental. Were you lying?” He sipped the beer.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “No, I wasn’t lying. But it is not much of celebration if you wake up the next morning with a splitting headache whining to me.”

“I feel fine.”

“Your cheeks are pink.”

Tom wiggled his brows at you. “And I haven’t even taken my pants off yet.”

You slammed your hands onto the table. “And that’s the one, I’m taking you home.” You fished out your wallet and placed several notes on the table, more than enough for the drinks and a generous tip. Tom stood and stretched, revealing a delicious slice of flesh above the waistband of his jeans. His legs wobbled a bit underneath him.

“Will you put me to bed?” Tom continued to tease. He reached out and wrapped his long arm around your waist. His breath was hot and moist on your ear. “I would love to take you to bed.” he purred, placing wet open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

You playfully shoved him away. “Okay, Tiger. Let’s get home first before someone snaps a photo.”

“Party pooper.” Tom pouted again.

You snapped your teeth at him. “Keep sticking that lip out and I might have to bite it.”

“Promise?” His brows raised.

The two of you laughed out the door. Tom grabbed and groped you in the back of the taxi.

“Stop it, Tom!” You removed his hand from your upper thigh for the fifth time in the short ride.

“I can’t. You make me insatiable.” he commented.

“Well, control yourself. What happened to the perfect English gentleman I fell in love with?” you giggled as his whiskers tickled your chin.

Tom sat back and blinked. “You are absolutely right, darling.” He tugged on his sweater. “I shall control myself.”

Tom settled himself back in his seat and did his best to sit up straight, hands in his lap. You burst into laughter.

“You look ridiculous!”

“Shh…” He pressed his finger to his pursed lips. “Don’t shout in the car. You’ll spook the driver.”

You overheard the driver chuckle up front. You slapped your thigh.

“Now you sound ridiculous. You sound and look like a drunk person pretend to be sober.”

Tom turned his head to stare at you. His lips twitched at the corners. “What an impertinent thing to say, darling.” The car came to stop outside your shared home. “Okay look, we’re home!” Tom jumped out of the car and jogged over to your side and open your door, offering his hand. “My lady.”

“My king.” You took his hand, and he led you to the door.

“And by the end of the night you may end calling a god.” Tom growled, fumbling the keys before shoving the door open with his shoulder. “Your castle.”

You giggled as you stepped inside. As you shut the door, Tom caged you against the door, catching your lips with his.

“Darling…” Your hands grabbed for Tom’s jeans, tugging everything down past his ass. Tom rucked your skirt up and pulled your panties to the side, pushing inside of you.

“Hmmmm, splendid.” Tom snapped his hips against you. You pulled him forward, pressing you as you kiss him.

“Yes!” you moaned as Tom hit that spot inside of you that makes your knees buckle.

Tom continued to snap his hips, grunting. “Ah, indeed.”

Your eyes fluttered close as your release drew close. Tom’s thrusts grew more erratic. His mouth fell open and his head fell back. “Scrumptious, darling. Carry on.”

“Thomas…” your brow furrowed, but Tom buried himself deep inside of you. “Oh god!” you screamed as you came, clenching his cock.

“Good heavens, I’m arriving!” Tom panted, and he thrusted twice more before coming inside of you.

He slumped down and pulled you away from the door, still holding you in his arms.

“What the hell was that?” you asked.

Tom grinned down at you, kissing your lips sweetly. “You said you wanted a perfect British gentleman.” He winked.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut

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babbushka · 4 years ago

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Get Gimel

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

3.5k ; NSFW (Strip Dreidel, masturbation, fingering, PIV, overstimulation, spitting, praise kink, dom/sub understones [dom!Flip])

Available on AO3

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Snow gently falls outside your windows, a thick blanket of white covering the Colorado mountains that you call home. The menorah burns steadily, wax dripping onto the little dish that protects your antique credenza. Flip closes the front door for the final time, turns the lock after waving goodbye to your friends and family as they drive away in their cars, and you find yourself filled with anticipation. It’s the first night of Hanukkah, a successful party thrown and finished, plates and cups all over the house that you know you’ll deal with in the morning. It’s late, but not too late that you’re tired. No, not yet, not until you’ve had your fill of your man, your husband.

He comes up behind you where you’re standing by the menorah, playfully warming your fingers by the light that dances and flickers and flares. You can see his reflection in the window, can see his great big smile, the hunger in his eyes.

“Well, that’s the last of them.” You say, biting at your lip.

“Mhm.” Flip curls himself around you, slides his hands across your stomach. He pulls your hips back to meet flush with his, as his mouth dips down to kiss at your neck.

“And it’s just the two of us now, all alone…” You breathe, continuing even as your head tilts back and you allow him better access. Flip’s hands creep underneath the waistband of your skirt, his fingers warm and calloused as they ruck up your sweater to press against your skin.

“Mmmhmm.” He hums low in his throat, and you can hear the smile there, can hear how he knows exactly where this is going as he kisses up and down your throat, slowly, deliberately.

“And I was thinking,” Your voice catches as he lavishes you with affection and attention, “Why don’t you count to ten real slow, and meet me upstairs for a little fun?”

“Oh fuck yes.” Flip pulls away and gives your ass a playful pat, “I love the way you think, ketsl.”

You try to keep your composure all the way upstairs, but Flip cheats and only counts to five – which means he catches you in the act as you set up the little dreidel on one of the breakfast-in-bed trays you keep in the bedroom, and he puts his hands on his hips, smokes his cigarette with a confused raise of his brow.

“Baby…what is this?” Flip asks, no doubt wondering why you’re not naked.

“Give her a spin and find out.” Is all you reply mischievously, and his eyes light up because he gets it now – you might not be naked yet, but you will be, very very soon.

Flip grins around his cigarette then, blows a thick plume of blue-grey smoke into the low light of the bedroom. You’re gorgeous, and his cock is already hard. He’s been hard for the past hour almost, wanting nothing more than to jump you and fuck you into oblivion, and now that all your guests have left, he finally can.

That thought does something to him, gives him an awful terrible idea. There’s seven more nights yet to come, seven more parties to throw. You’re alternating with some friends, but that only makes things more exciting for Flip; the opportunity to steal you away and fuck you hard, fuck you in someone else’s guestroom while the party goes on down the hall. He knows you’ll like that, you slut, he knows you’ll want to come all over someone else’s sheets, taken away and taken care of as you moan loud.

“Fuck,” Flip mutters under his breath, scratching at the back of his neck. You’re oblivious to his inner monologue, but it only makes him harder for you. You’re a sexy little minx, filled with surprises. This dreidel game is a surprise, and he’s determined to make it good for you, to surprise you with some things of his own throughout the holiday.

“Yes, that’s the idea.” You wink, and Flip groans just because he’s so hard for you, palms already going clammy. He smokes and smokes, willing the nicotine to soothe his nerves as he eyes your body.

Slinking onto the bed, you pat the mattress that makes up his side, beckoning him to join you. He goes happily, steadily, climbing up next to you and reaching for the dreidel. It’s one of the old ones, one of the first dreidels Flip ever bought. It’s so small in his hand, but he gives it a spin on the breakfast tray, and you both watch in eager anticipation for what it’s going to land on.

“’Hey’.” Flip announces, licking his lips, wondering what that side means in this context.

He doesn’t have to wait long, you give him a coy grin and take off half your clothes, your blouse and your skirt. Mouth running dry, Flip nearly coughs on his own spit from how beautiful you look in your bra and panties, especially when he notices the panties soaked through already. You must’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you all evening.

“Keep spinning, detective.” You whisper, climbing up into his lap.

Flip immediately makes room for you, spreads his legs a little so you can straddle him properly. Your arms slip around his shoulders, and you suck lightly at his jawline, his neck, his earlobe. Sturdy and strong beneath you, Flip holds your body up with one arm while his other hand reaches out and spins the dreidel again.

“’Nun’, fuckin’ dammit.” He grumbles, and you chuckle into the crook of his neck, a little bubble of laughter at his frustration.

Flip always was such a sore loser.

You pull back a little ways, and stick one of your hands down into your panties, the other one remaining around his shoulder, curling and twirling bits of his dark hair. Nun meant Flip didn’t get anything special, but that didn’t mean that you should make yourself suffer.

So instead of nothing at all, you spread your folds and stroke at your pussy, letting him hear the thick squelch of your slick as it coats your fingers. He doesn’t know, but you’ve been thinking about getting fucked all night, was kind of hoping he’d whisk you away and rail you in the kitchen or in the bathroom. The thought of his big hand covering your mouth as he grinds his cock into you from behind has your pussy clench, and you decide that tomorrow you’ll bring up the idea to him.

Moaning ever so gently as you rock against your fingers, you rest your head on his shoulder and his body tenses up with restraint. He wants to fuck you desperately, and you chuckle around a deep sigh of pleasure. He spins the dreidel again, and he wills it to land on gimel.

“’Shin’?” Flip asks hopefully, wanting nothing more than to replace your fingers with his own – you like his better, he knows you do, he knows how you get off faster on his big fucking hands, three of your fingers the equivalent of only two of his. Your hips are grinding down against his lap, and you’re moaning, and Flip can feel himself sweating inside his flannel, cock throbbing in his jeans.

“You have to take something off.” You hiccup, nipples stiff as they rub against the fabric of your bra, the friction going straight to your clit. Rubbing your thumb on the swollen bundle of nerves has your toes curling on either side of Flip’s strong thighs, and Flip starts to get frustrated.

Yanking the flannel over his head, he immediately feels you molding yourself to his body, can feel the hard peaks of your nipples against his chest. He wants to get his mouth around those nipples, wants to suckle from them and bruise them with his tongue and teeth, he wants to come all over them – but no, no he wants to come in you, he wants his come dripping out of your perfect cunt and --

“Fuck, god dammit,” Flip nearly drops the dreidel, his hand shaking from how turned on he is, how you keep sucking and biting at his neck, how your body moves and undulates in his lap, teasing him, getting him worked up. Your breath is hot against his neck, and he curses loudly again before muttering through grit teeth, “’Nun’.”

“You’re bad at this.” You laugh brightly, sliding off of his lap entirely. Flip literally whines at the loss, seeking to be pressed up against the warm weight of your body as much as possible. But nun means nothing, so you roll onto your back and finger yourself a little faster.

“That’s not fair,” Flip scowls, mesmerized by the way your hand pushes and stretches your panties. He wants to get a glimpse of your cunt so bad, wants to taste it, wants to bury his cock inside it. He’s so fucking wound up, and it doesn’t make it any easier that, “You’re distracting me.”

“You only get to fuck me if you get ‘gimel’.” Your breath comes in a little harder, a little faster, and Flip chews on the inside of his cheek for a minute.

He spins the dreidel and has a moment or two of honesty before,

“Shin again – you know what, gimel.” Flip turns the fucking dreidel on the winning side, and you shake your head with a big laugh and a moan as he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and shucks off his jeans and briefs, is climbing over your body. “It’s gimel, ketsl, oh fuck, believe me, it’s gimel.”

“You’re so impatient!” You pull your hand away from your cunt and he snatches your wrist, sucking your slick off his fingers. There’s no taste of your come yet, which is good, Flip thinks, because that means he’ll get to make you come on his cock, which is his favorite thing probably in the world.

“Can you blame me?” He shimmies the panties down down down your legs, tosses them somewhere in the dark of the room to collect later and press his face against and breathe in the smell of you. Your arms reach under your back and unclasp the bra, letting it fall to the floor too, but Flip’s already shoving his face between your legs to notice. “Look at this perfect pussy, you’re so wet – have you been waiting all night for this? To get fucked?”

“Yeah – yes! Yes, to get fucked by your big Jew dick, come on Phil give it to me, I can take it.” You shuffle yourself up onto the pillow, bringing him with you, and he wastes no time spreading your legs and pressing the head of his thick cock into you.

Your body gives easily, and he thrusts himself in further further further until he’s bottomed out entirely inside you, the tight wet heat of your cunt gripping him as you clench and pulse around him. He groans, the feeling of your walls on his cock have him hot under his skin, your moans are music to his ears.

“That’s right, that’s right you can. Up ketsl I want to see your pussy stretch for me.” He orders, smacking the side of your thigh.

You do as you’re told, lifting one of your legs up and over his shoulder. The change in angle gets him impossibly deeper, and you gasp, your eyes pinching shut, back arching. Flip presses a kiss to your ankle where it rests near his face, his hands grabbing hold of your hips, and thrusting.

Feeling Flip’s dick punch in and out of you already has stars and splotches crossing your vision, the thick solid rod of his cock splitting you in two on each thrust makes you cry. Hot tears cling to your lashes as he pushes and pulls himself in and out of you, drool stringing from his teeth and landing on your stomach from where he’s sitting back and watching your pussy swallow him whole.

“Phil – Flip harder, I want it harder, oh!” Your wish is his command, and he grants it for you, does whatever you want, always, always will. His face shakes from how harsh he’s clenching his jaw, your hands twisting in his hair, grabbing at him.

A few seconds of shifting his angle slightly has him rewarded with a sharp gasping moan from you, as your body writhes under him. He knows he’s found the spot inside you that makes your mouth drops open, tears spilling over your cheeks and soaking into your hair, as he rails it over and over again. The pleasure is insane, you can feel Flip’s cock all the way up in your throat, can feel him through your whole body as he fucks you hard and fast, the headboard knocking against the wall.

“I love watching your tits bounce, pinch them for me. Fuck, your nipples are so pretty, such a pretty fuckin’ color, ketsl.” Your husband demands in that deep authoritative voice that makes you gush and drool all over his cock, your hands immediately grasping at your breasts and squeezing them.

He bends down and latches onto one of your nipples, your leg stretched and burning, his pace never relenting. Shaggy hair falls around your chest like a curtain as he suckles and nibbles and teases your nipples with his tongue, his cock buried inside you, dragging against your gspot.

“Yesyesyesyes right there, Phil, right there!” Shouting and crying, voice breaking as you sob, as he rearranges your legs so they can wrap around his hips and you can be more comfortable.

Jack-hammering into your pussy, he can feel himself growing closer closer closer, he can’t get enough of your tits, breathing harsh and panting against your chest as he buries his face against them, biting hard at your cleavage, fucking you harder. Your stomach grows hot and tight, your entre body being pushed up and down the mattress as t creaks and groans and you both moan loudly in the empty air of the bedroom.

“Gonna – oh shit that’s so good – fuck you full.” Flip grunts, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair, off the tip of his nose, his Star of David swinging wildly against the pit of his throat as he grits his teeth together. His voice is deep deep deep, gravely and serious as you fall apart underneath him, “I’m gonna fuck you full of my come right here, all night long, all eight nights. I’m gonna keep you filled to the fuckin’ brim with my come.”

You nod so fast that you get dizzy, sobbing and hiccupping as you hold onto him for dear life, your thighs trembling, shocks of pleasure all throughout your body. You’re going to come soon, so soon, you can barely open your eyes the pleasure is so much, too much, almost painful. You’ll die if you don’t come, you’re certain of it, but all you can manage to say is a desperate, “Please.”

“Louder ketsl, I want to hear you.” Flip grabs your jaw and spits into your mouth, and you swallow it down as your legs kick out and shake, back arching.

“Please!” You beg, brain not able to come up with any more words, “Please! Flip, I – I – ”

“I know baby girl,” Flip keeps a hold of your face still, drooling into your open mouth as your pussy pulses and squeezes his cock, he’s so close, he can feel his stomach tightening, his balls drawing up, all his nerves and veins on fire as he sweats and curses and growls, “Just a little more, be good for me and hold out just a little longer.”

“Philly,” You wail wail wail, and hearing his name does it for him, he blows his load inside your cunt, you can feel it, can feel the thick hot come spreading up into your body, filling you just like he said he would.

“Come on my cock ketsl, atta’girl.” Flip thrusts through his orgasm, milking it for everything he can, and his hand finds your clit easily, giving you the pressure and friction that you need to scream for him.

“Yes!!” Your body jackknifes up with a jolt, your eyes rolling back into your head as you come and come and come around him, tears of overwhelming pleasure steadily dripping down your cheeks as your toes curl and your back arches and your entire body shakes, taking his come and mixing it with your own.

His hips slow, still thrusting inside of you, grinding against your walls as his rhythm comes to a gentle and slow rocking of his pelvis against yours. You moan and gasp and gulp down air as he continue to rub at your clit, spells his name with the pads of his fingers, fucking come back into you from where it threatens to spill out. It coats his cock, he can feel it, the sticky come that slips and slides all over his shaft as he forces the come back into your pussy. He can feel your heartbeat around his cock, and he knows he’s done a good job for you.

“Fuck,” He groans, rolling the both of you over so that you’re nestled against his sweaty chest, and he’s the one laying on his back. Flip holds you close, presses gentle soothing kisses to the top of your head.

Your entire body shakes and you’re still hiccupping out little cries and weak moans of pleasure, and he’s pretty sure he’ll have to carry you to the bathroom later when you decide you’re getting gross and sticky and you want to shower. Maybe he’ll fuck you again in the shower – his cock twitches inside of you at the thought, pumps out some more come, just enough to make you moan and groan.

And then, you’re giggling, completely and totally blissed out. Shoving your face into his hard pecs, you laugh and laugh, ripples and shocks of pleasure shivering down your spine. Flip chuckles too, so in love, so happy to be yours. He reaches over to the ashtray on the bedside table and plucks his cigarette from earlier, re-lights it and takes a couple drags.

As the two of you come down from your high, Flip’s heart beats fast fast fast. He can’t stop thinking about it, about how in love with you he is, how lucky he is. You had been waiting all evening to get him alone so he could play dreidel to fuck you, the both of you full well knowing he would’ve fucked you even if he got nothing but nun again and again. But you wanted to make the first night special, wanted to make it fun, and he adores you for that. He adores you for a lot of thing.

Flip smiles at you fondly when you try in vain to prop yourself up on his chest enough to reach over to your bedside table.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, wiggle worm?” He tightens his arms around you, puffing out smoke through his nostrils, watching you with amusement.

“I have,” Your body is so pleasure weak that you can barely get the words out, so instead you give up and let out a little laugh, “I have gelt for you.”

“For me?” Flip raises his brows, pointing at his face, making your eyes sparkle.

“Mmhmm, just for you.” You nod, your cheek squished against his chest, snuggling in close to him and his warmth.

Flip groans exaggeratedly as he holds you even closer and rolls over to reach around and grab the gelt out of the bedside table drawer, already peeling away the golden foil that keeps the chocolate fresh. He bites into it, chews thoughtfully, and then asks, “Hey, you know what?”

“What?” You reply curiously, not expecting him to swoop in and smack a chocolatey kiss to your lips.

“Love you.” He says softly, ever so softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too honey, happy Hanukkah.” You beam up at him, kissing him again and again, until he finally pulls out of your pussy and shuffles down the bed so that he’s eye-level with you. His feet nearly dangle off the edge of the mattress, but it’s worth it to rub his nose against yours.

“Do we get to do this every night?” Flip asks with a cheeky grin, and you can only smile back and nod.

“If you’d like.” You bat your lashes, stealing a piece of his gelt. He doesn’t even complain, not when it makes you taste so good.

“Then a very happy Hanukkah to you too.” Flip declares in the quiet of the bedroom.

The two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes for a long while, laughing and pinching at one another and kissing until the snow starts to stick outside your window and the menorah has extinguished itself, the promise of seven more nights like this filling you both with anticipation, excitement, and love.

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #flip zimmerman smut #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman fanfic #reader insert #my writing #adam driver character #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #hanukkah #8 nights of light

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jynzandtonic · 4 years ago

Note

I hope I make it under the wire! It’s been a busy Monday lol! I’d like to balance out the subby requests with a request for my favorite dominant badass, Flip! Anything you like! Some off the cuff ideas I always have floating around are...

Holding onto this shoulder holsters while he has you lifted up, fucking you against the wall so hard pictures turn canted.

Possessive Flip not appreciating your bullshit.

Fucking you so hard during a holiday party that people in the other room can hear you.

Any other thoughts on sexy game nights with him like truth or dare, strip poker, role playing, etc.

You’re favorite thoughts! Anything at all you like!

Go wild lol!!! Thank you! 💗

It’s all about the ~balance~, isn’t it? 😹 LOVE YOUR FILTHY THOTS, DEAR FRIEND! With that, please accept this as a small token of my appreciation.

You could’ve worn underwear to the CSPD holiday party, but you didn’t.

You could’ve bent over somewhere that Flip couldn’t see your bare, wet cunt peeking out from under your dress.

You could’ve sat somewhere other than on his lap, smearing your slick all over the leg of his jeans.

But you didn’t.

Because tomorrow is the first night of Hanukkah, but you want your first present early.

“You want to make a scene, little mouse?” he growls in your ear. His hands are sharp at your thighs—squeezing, squeezing, squeezing till you can hardly hold in the yelp trapped in your throat. “Is that what you want?”

“No, I don’t want to make a scene, I—”

“You said you’d be good for me tonight.”

His eyes are black and dangerous.

“I know, I just—”

“You know what happens when you’re bad, little mouse. Up.”

It’s not a request.

He gives your ass a discreet smack, the sound drawing glances from a few of the other couples in the room. They return to conversation quickly, the party humming on as he leads you down a quiet hallway and into the bathroom.

The second the lock clicks, he’s bending you over the vanity, rucking up your skirt, pulling his stiff cock out of his Levis. He plunges into your cunt in one swift stroke, the stretch-burn of it forcing a cry from your lungs.

He’s rough with you, fucks you hard, makes your eyes roll back, punches sound from your chest with every thrust.

“Is this what you wanted?”

#tonic tuesdays #flip zimmerman #flip thots #HAPPY HOLIDAYS HEHEHE #dom flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip does love a good brat #jyn z thots #adam driver character #adcu #semi-public sex #safarigirlsp

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owillofthewisps · 5 years ago

Text

like a bell through the night

notes: i saw this particular look and immediately knew i wanted to write something around it, but i didn’t think i could cobble together a whole ass story around just that. so here, it led me to some smut. still polishing the rust away on this front. tried to temper my comma abuse, but jury’s out on that one. also one day i’ll write geralt getting the head he deserves but today is not that day. with apologies to Fleetwood Mac - title is from 'Rhiannon'.

rating: explicit. pwp.

warnings: smut [fingering, some oral (fem receiving), light bondage, sex, slight overstimulation]

pairing: geralt/female reader

word count: 3.5k because this got away from me a bit.

the chime of your charms comes from the sway of your hips.

Geralt has a tendency to make them ring out for hours.

Geralt is bathed in light.

The autumn sun creeps golden through your window, gilds him into something that edges dangerously close to divine. You had almost forgotten the spell of him. The bathwater - still wisping steam, the moisture beading over his sooty lashes like morning dew - swirls around his lazily drifting hand.

He does not stir at the sound of you. He keeps his eyes closed, keeps his head tilted back, the line of his thick neck begging for the press of your teeth.

“You’d best have hauled more water for a bath if you’ve used all of mine, Geralt,” you say, shifting the basket on your hip as you come through the door.

He cracks an eye open, the amber of his eyes made richer by the sun’s fading kiss.

“Well?” you ask, skirting around the bath to set the basket of radishes on the kitchen table, cursing quietly as the wicker catches at the amulets strung around your hips. You can feel his gaze heavy on your back.

He makes a low, deep noise, and the water sloshes as he shifts. You think of the way the water is likely spilling over the expanse of his broad chest, the droplets skating across his skin, and breathe through your nose.

“I didn’t.”

“Geralt,” you say. “I wanted a bath.”

“I suppose we’ll have to share, then.”

You glance back over your shoulder. Geralt’s eyes flick to your lips, and you nibble at them without thinking, scrape your teeth over the fullness of your lower lip. He shifts, the water dipping low on his torso, baring more wet, gleaming skin before rising again.

“Geralt.”

Your name spills huskily from his lips. In the rich haze of sunlight, he is edged with fire, and like a moth, you are drawn to him. You circle closer to the bath, taking your time despite the pull of him, the corner of your lips curling up as he grunts, annoyed by your dalliance. His hand flexes on the water’s surface as he waits. Geralt has always let you come to him on your own terms.

You circle a few more times, watching the way the tendons in his jaw flex, unable to hide your mirth even in the face of his baleful look. Geralt’s gaze grows heavier, until it is as if his fingers are trailing across your skin instead of his eyes, and you relent.

As soon as you are close, he laces his blunt, wet fingers through the delicate chain that hangs low on your hips. The intricate trinkets spaced along the chain sway; they chime against each other like slow, sweet bells.

“You’ve found some new ornaments, little magpie,” Geralt says.

“A few,” you agree. You trace your finger over the ridge of his knuckles.

He tightens his grip on the chain; uses it to tug you closer. You breathe a laugh and he ghosts a kiss against your thigh. Your chest tightens at the feel of it, at the slow spread of heat that unwinds in your core from the press of him. Water soaks through the material of your skirts, leaves an imprint in the shape of his lips.

Geralt sets his mouth against the curve of your hip, and this time, you can feel the prick of his teeth even through your clothes. The breath that leaves you is hushed and syrupy with want. The next kiss is lower, presses heavy against your cunt through your skirts.

“Bold,” you tell him.

“Hardly,” he rumbles, gazing up at you with those golden eyes. You can feel his breath against you, feel the heat of his mouth just shy of your cunt. “Come here.”

One of his large hands slides up to cup your jaw. He pulls you down to him and drinks from your lips, his fingers tightening against your skin. His other hand stays wound in your chain; he uses it to guide you closer still, until your hip is pressed against the warm metal of the bath basin.

You had almost forgotten how overwhelming Geralt can be. He kisses like a maelstrom. He steals your breath away, teases it out of you with his tongue. He swallows down your moan and pulls another one from the depths of you as his hand slides from your jaw to your chest. He sweeps a calloused thumb over the edge of your nipple, just peeking over the frothy lace lining the low neckline of your bodice. Heat trickles down your spine. Geralt glides his hand under your bodice to palm your breast roughly, cupping the weight of it as best he can under the taut material of your clothing.

Steam is still rising from the bathwater; it swirls thinly between the two of you, like morning fog burning off in the fever of your desire. Geralt pulls back, dragging his teeth against your bottom lip. He does not go far. “Undress,” he breathes against your lips. He’s already pulling at the ties of your bodice, rucking the garment up as it loosens.

“Impatient,” you say, the word lined with laughter.

Geralt ignores you, leaning up to suck at the skin he’s revealing, his mouth steadily trailing up until he nips at your breast. The prick of his teeth melts into you, slides under your skin to stoke the lazy warmth coiling low.

When you shift back, he lets you, but you can feel his knuckles against the curve of your hip, his fingers still entwined in the chain. He keeps his grasp until you shrug your bodice off.

“Leave it on,” he growls as you start to work at the fastening for your charms chain.

Your lips curve into something teasing. Geralt grunts, but doesn’t take the bait. He beckons you back to him, tempts you with the flicker of his tongue over his red, wet lips.

Your bodice is puddled at your feet, and you step over it carelessly to lean back down to Geralt.

His fingers are rough as he tugs at your skirts.You press a biting kiss against his throat; he turns into your mouth, tries to catch it with his own, but you dart away with a little laugh. He growls, low and throaty, his amber eyes burning as you dance back, just out of his reach. Your charms tinkle as they sway, the sound like rain pattering against the roof.

“These are my good skirts,” you tell him. The ties are finicky little things, more decoration than practicality, braided fabric that catches on itself. It takes time to undo them. From the curse that falls from Geralt’s lips, he knows that you are picking at the knots more slowly than usual. The autumn sun is warm against your bare skin, and you take a moment to bathe in it as your skirts slip down your legs like silk to settle against the floor.

“Come here,” Geralt says again, his voice like thunder, deep and thick. The grit of it goes straight to your cunt.

And you do as he says, stepping over the high edge of the bath basin. Geralt steadies you, his large hands cupping your ass, squeezing and kneading as he pulls you closer, keeps you standing. There’s something close to reverence tucked into the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you. You twine your fingers through his hair, dampened to the silver of the moon, and the sun of his gaze leaves you as he leans forward, his fingers tightening against the plush flesh of your ass.

Geralt scrapes his teeth high on your inner thigh, and you curse, the graze of pain curling into pleasure. His lips curve against your skin. He slides a hand between your thighs and cups your cunt, the heat of his palm pressing up against your wetness, and his thumb slips between your folds to roll against your clit.

The pleasure blazes into a tempest so quickly that it almost hurts. You grind down on Geralt’s hand, search for more, but the angle is difficult. His touch is light. It’s just enough to keep your hips moving, but not enough for your hunger. You grasp Geralt’s wrist and use the leverage to press his hand harder against your cunt.

“You’re dripping,” Geralt hums, setting his teeth in your hip as he circles your clit with his thumb. The pleasure crackles up your spine, sears through you. You cuss as he trails the tip of a finger over your entrance, just barely dipping inside. Even that stretches you. You push back against him. “Greedy thing.”

“It’s part of my charm,” you breathe.

Geralt slides a finger inside you, and the rest of your retort is lost as the moan spills from your lips. He nudges at you, makes you spread your legs a little bit wider, and then dips his head so that he can get his mouth on you. He licks at you as he begins to work his finger, stretching you out as you clench around him. Your voice breaks on his name when he nips carefully at your clit before sealing his lips around it, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks.

He tightens his grip on your ass, uses it to brace you as your knees quiver, pushes you farther onto his mouth as you clutch at the edges of the bath basin. The charms chime as you buck, the sound clear and sweet. Geralt crooks his finger and you tighten, the muscles in your thighs trembling as he consumes you, swallows down all you have to offer.

He pulls back as you hiss out a moan, heat crackling in your belly. His lips are swollen crimson, and they are slick with you, the afternoon sun catching on the shine.

“Fuck,” you sigh, and Geralt sinks another finger into you. He thrusts immediately, stretches you wide around his fingers, curving them just right to make you gasp. “Geralt!”

His lips curve into a pleased little smirk, and he lowers you until you’ve settled in his lap, the water sloshing with the movement.

The water folds around you, cradles you with warmth, but Geralt envelops you even more, surrounds you with his presence. His hard cock nudges against your inner thigh. You undulate against him, just enough to brush him against your cunt, the head of his cock catching on your folds. The drag of his fingers against your walls jolts through you.

He grunts and catches you by the hip. His hand is iron on you, holding you down on his lap, winding into the chain once more. You try to roll again, just to see, and Geralt’s fingers tighten. He keeps you still with ease. Pouting, you reach down to wrap a hand around his cock, squeezing softly before stroking up the thick length of him.

Geralt groans, his voice scraping like stones. You press forward and take his nipple into your mouth as you stroke, twisting your hand as you reach the head. There’s a smug little curve to your lips as he moans. You graze your teeth against the tight peak of his nipple.

Geralt adds a third finger, and you keen against his chest, panting at the fullness. The way he opens you is overwhelming, radiates up your spine and into your fingertips. Even with pleasure melting through you, you keep stroking. You can feel his brawny thighs tensing beneath you. Geralt grunts, but you keep going, let the weight of him fill your hand. You know what it is to have his cock split you open, but it has been some time since you’ve had him, and memory is no comparison.

“Enough,” Geralt says, his breath catching in that way it does as he nears orgasm.

You flutter your eyelashes at him, but your grin is wild and challenging. You slide your hand up the throbbing length of him.

Geralt grunts and pulls your hand away. You whine as his fingers leave you, your cunt fluttering against the emptiness. He snares both of your wrists and holds them in place at the small of your back. It only takes one hand, his broad fingers spanning your wrists. He pulls the chain around your waist tighter against your skin, loops the loose ends around your wrists, and twists them closed, pinning your hands in place.

You test the bonds more out of habit than anything else; the charms above the water ring out.

“Good?” he murmurs against your ear, his teeth worrying the lobe.

“More than,” you breathe. You rock against him. His cock is nestled between your thighs, thick and pulsing, and you think that you’ve never known want like this. “Geralt.”

He returns to your mouth, kisses you slow and dirty, his tongue pushing between your lips to map you out. His hand is tight in your hair; when he tugs, you can’t help the sound that spills from you.

Geralt’s hand slips between your thighs again. He doesn’t ease into it this time, slides three wide fingers into your cunt until you’re gasping, your hands flexing against the small of your back, the sweet chime of the charms filling the room as you buck.

He curves his fingers as he thrusts, hitting your sweet spot with the type of precision that might be unnerving if it didn’t feel so good, if it didn’t streak up your spine like lightning.

You can feel the heat swelling, the coil growing taut, low in your belly. Geralt senses it too. He pulls his fingers from you. He swipes his thumb over your clit as he withdraws; your hips jerk, chasing the ghost of his touch. Geralt keeps you in place with a single hand.

“Geralt,” you start to say, but he leans forward and kisses the complaint right out of you.

You open to him, meet him with teeth and wild hunger. You can feel him shifting between your thighs, the head of his cock sliding against your clit until you’re panting into his mouth. You twist your hips. Geralt pins you in place, pressing inside of you. You pull away from his mouth and set your teeth against his collarbone. Your cunt spreads around him, pulls him in, the thick head of his cock splitting you wide. He’s heavy in you. His cock drags against your walls, makes you see sparks.

He gives you a moment, only presses forward when you wiggle your hips against him. You ache to take him all into you. Still, you know that trying to rush him will likely slow him instead, contrary Witcher that he can be.

“Fuck, you’re big,” you whine, and his fingers tighten, press indents into your hips, his cock pulsing inside of you.

“When will you stop being surprised by that?” he murmurs, a hint of smug laughter lining his voice. He shifts under you, pulls you closer against him, sending the water rushing around you, and you hiss as he pushes just a bit deeper in you, stretches you just a bit more. The charms ring out as you tug at your bonds.

“When you stop being so pleased about it.”

“I’ll always be pleased to watch you take my cock,” Geralt says, and he thrusts up into you, deep.

“Fuck!”

Geralt spears into you again. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, and he mouths at them, pulls your nipple between his lips and sucks. “And you take it so well,” he pants.

You clench around him until he curses. He kisses you with the curse still on his tongue, his fingers digging into your skin. The rhythm he sets is slow and rolling. It drags every girthy inch of his cock along your walls. You grind down against him, circling your hips minutely, desperate for more pressure.

Geralt steadies you on his hips, presses his fingers down into the plush of you. He shifts his grip to the chain looped around your wrists, and pulls you down further onto his thick cock, guides you into the cadence of his hips. A deep thrust pushes the breath from your lungs. You keen, the coil winding tighter, and pull back from his lips. You press your forehead against his, searching for steady ground, and pant against his lips, cycle your breath out and breathe in his.

“Geralt,” you say, and the drip of his name, the unrelenting syrup of it, earns you a deep, hard shove of his hips. “Fuck, Geralt, please.”

You’re fluttering around him, and there is lightning creeping up your spine, fizzing through your bones. The charms are clinking relentlessly as they rise and fall with your movement, the clear sound muffled by the water as it sloshes around the two of you.

“Geralt,” you say again, pulling at the chain, frantic to touch him.

He undoes the chain with a flick of his fingers; your hands fly to him, dance across his slick skin. You pull him close, your breasts soft against his brawny chest, and nip at the junction of his jaw and neck.

One of Geralt’s hands slides from your hip to where the two of you are joined. He slows just enough to trace a finger over your entrance, stretched wide with him, and then his finger moves up to press slow circles around your clit. Your thighs tremble, squeezing tight around his hips. Geralt strokes at your clit faster, adding pressure each time his hips thrust up into you. You keen his name.

“That’s it,” he pants, pressing a biting kiss against the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Come on my cock like you were meant to, my greedy little magpie.”

He scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, rolls a circle over your clit, and you convulse around him. You cry out as you come, as the lightning snaps through you like a summer storm, the heat of it flickering up your spine and through your cunt.

“Fuck,” Geralt rumbles as you clamp down on him, his cock stroking against your tight walls. He slows to a soft roll of his hips. His fingers gentle on your clit, but he does not stop stroking. You pant, tucking your face into his neck. You flick your tongue across the salt of his skin.

Geralt is pulsing inside of you, his thick cock still dragging against your walls. You clench around him at a particularly deft stroke of his fingers against your clit. It edges on too much, an odd pleasure spiked through with a hint of pain. He groans; his chest rumbles with the sound.

He winds a hand through your hair, tugs you up so that he can kiss you hungrily. Geralt swallows down your whine of his name. His hand is moving between your legs again, slowly applying more pressure on your clit. You squirm. He catches you by the waist, forces you still, pulls you down further on his cock as he starts to thrust again. He moves slowly at first, but you clench around him. He groans, the sound all gravel. His rhythm changes to something harder, something edged with brutal strength.

“Once more,” Geralt grits.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, little magpie.”

He snaps his hips up, burying his cock inside you. His clever fingers circle your clit again, and you can feel his thick cock spreading you apart around him, can feel the swell of him as he draws close to his own orgasm. That lightning spreads again, crackles back to life under his fingertips, glimmers through you like white heat, and the way you cry out when you come almost sounds like a sob. You slump against his chest, utterly spent, sparks still fizzling through you.

Geralt curses as you tighten around him like a vise. His hips stutter against you, and he pushes deep. He moans your name and you can feel the warmth of his cum flooding you as his cock throbs against your walls.

His breath puffs against your cheek as he gathers you to him. The bathwater sloshes as he pulls you close, smoothing a hand down your still quivering thigh. His cock is still in you, still stretching you wide, but you can feel him softening, know he will soon slip free.

“You’re a menace,” you tell him, wincing slightly as you shift against him. Your charms chime with the movement; he winds his fingers through the chain once more as he laughs, low and quiet.

He ghosts a kiss against your lips. You chase after him, pull him back to you and kiss him for real, all teeth and tongue.

“Greedy,” he chides you when you break for breath.

“Always,” you tell him.

He coaxes you off his hips and stands, steadying you when you rise on slightly shaky limbs. You step out of the bath basin. There’s a chemise nearby, draped over the edge of your bed, but you don’t bother.

“You’d best bring more water in for an actual bath, Geralt,” you say. “That one hardly counts.”

He grunts and sweeps you into his arms, corralling you into the bed, one large hand already cupping your breast.

“Later,” he says, pulling you down into the tangle of blankets. “I’m not done with you yet.”

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if i missed you (unbelievably, i get paid to organize but can’t do it in my actual life) or you’d like to be tagged, just let me know!

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #geralt smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #nsft

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whatstheproblembaby · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Remember Me

Shelagh is a little confused when she wakes up at Nonnatus House, but everything will be all right when Patrick comes for her, won't it?

PG, ~2170 words, hurt/comfort out the ASS.

Read here on AO3!

She didn’t want to, but Shelagh eventually succumbed to the force of her waking mind. Rolling over, she stretched out an arm toward where Patrick should be, looking forward to a quick morning cuddle before they had to get up and tend to their children and patients.

Instead, her arm flopped over the edge of the bed, her fingers clipping the nightstand.

“Wha-” she grunted, vocal cords not quite awake yet. “Patrick?”

Shelagh blinked, and took in-

“Nonnatus?”

She sat up and fished her glasses off the nightstand, thinking that clearing her vision might also help clear her mind. She thought she had fallen asleep in her own bed last night, but she did have to stay over at Nonnatus sometimes if Patrick had a late, last minute call and couldn’t drive her home from the surgery. Perhaps she had just gotten mixed up.

Less explainable, though, was the resistance she met when she tried to slide her glasses over her ears.

“Who gave me a cap?” Shelagh asked as though someone was there to answer her. She patted her hands over her head, feeling the still-familiar white fabric in confusion, then looked down to take in the rest of her attire. “And a nightgown?”

She appreciated the kindness, since sleeping in either her day dress or her nurse’s uniform would have left her wrinkled and uncomfortable, but the fit of the pajamas was perplexing. The nightgown was visually identical to the ones the sisters wore, which made sense. They each had two, so any one of them could have lent her their spare. All of the sisters were slightly taller than she was, though - so how could she feel her feet poking past the hem to press against the sheets? The skirt wasn’t rucked up any higher than it should be.

Shelagh decided not to question it and turned on the lamp before standing up and padding over to the wardrobe. It would be too informal to take breakfast in her borrowed pajamas regardless of how they fit, not to mention the awkwardness she would feel at being garbed like a religious sister once more, even if no one else would think much of it.

“Most of them weren’t even here when I was Sister Bernadette,” she muttered. Shelagh didn’t make a regular habit of talking to herself aloud, but she suddenly wanted the comfort of an expected voice, even if it was just her own. “They wouldn’t know it was...inappropriate. Still, I’d rather be in my own dress and ready to get on with the day when Patrick arrives for me.”

She pulled open the wardrobe door and had to blink several times. In a daze, she shut the doors, counted to five silently, and reopened them.

The contents were the same.

“Habits?” Shelagh said, her accent thickening somewhat in shock. “Why ever-”

A light rap on her door interrupted her question. “Sister? Are you coming to Lauds?”

“I think you have the wrong room,” Shelagh said as she made her way over to let Sister Hilda in. “I’m always happy to attend Lauds with you, of course, but I’m no longer a religious sister. Oh, were you aware that I was once-”

“No longer?” Sister Hilda cut in, a bemused smile on her face. “Sister, are you feeling quite the thing?”

“I don’t understand why you keep calling me Sister. I renounced my vows ages ago.” Shelagh suddenly felt dizzy. Between the wardrobe full of someone else’s clothes and Sister Hilda’s insistence on using the wrong title...it was overwhelming so early in the morning.

Sister Hilda took Shelagh firmly by the upper arms and guided her so they were sitting side by side on the bed. “Sis- pardon.” She cleared her throat when Shelagh glared at her attempt to use the title yet again. “You are scaring me. Are you sure that headache you had at supper last night has gone away?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Shelagh said, agitated. “And I did not have a headache at supper last night, which I ate, by the way, with my own husband and children!”

“With your - that’s quite enough,” Sister Hilda said. She pushed herself forcefully off the bed before chivvying Shelagh just as emphatically back into lying down. “I’m calling Doctor. I don’t know if you’re feverish or somehow sustained a head injury after Compline, but you are not in your right mind, Sister Bernadette. You will stay here until the doctor can have a look at you. Sister Frances can lead Lauds.”

Shelagh wasn’t sure which part of that speech she wanted to rebut first, but she finally spluttered out “Wh-what about Sister Julienne?” just before Sister Hilda exited the room.

“Mother Julienne is visiting the Hope Clinic in South Africa, as you well know!” The door closed decisively behind Sister Hilda.

“Mother Julienne?” Shelagh echoed. “Oh, what in the world is going on?”

While she was of the mind to flout Sister Hilda’s orders on principle, Shelagh thought she may as well wait there. One way or another, she would get to see Patrick, and she couldn’t exactly wait in the entrance hall in her nightie.

“Wouldn’t that be a shock, though?” she said, a mischievous smile growing on her face as she imagined the look on Patrick’s. She chuckled softly as the door opened again.

“Well, I’m glad you’re laughing, Sister,” Patrick said as he bustled in with Sister Hilda hot on his heels. “One of us should be in a good mood this morning.”

“Oh, Patrick, not you, too!” Shelagh said, shaking her head at his incorrect title for her. “Did Sister Hilda not tell you it was me she’s worried about?”

“You see?” Sister Hilda said, gesturing at her. “Something’s wrong.”

“Clearly,” Patrick said. Shelagh frowned as he hooked his stethoscope over his neck and dug a thermometer out of his bag. “You were right to call me.”

“Really, Patrick, that’s enough,” Shelagh said, moving to swing herself out of bed. “The children will be late for school if we mess about with this sad attempt at a comedy show any longer.”

“Sister, it’s incredibly unprofessional for you to keep calling me by my first name,” Patrick said, catching Shelagh by the arm to keep her in place. As he popped the thermometer into her mouth, he sat next to her on the bed and continued, “And honestly, I was unaware you even knew my first name. Is it in Mother Julienne’s old files somewhere?”

Shelagh’s mouth gaped, the thermometer falling into her lap. “Wh - of course I know your first name. You’re my husband, in case you’ve forgotten!”

Sister Hilda stepped forward, aghast. “Sister! I realize you likely don’t know what you’re saying, but that is beyond the pale! Dr. Turner would never behave so inappropriately toward a woman of God.”

“It’s all right, Sister, I’m not offended,” Patrick said as he pressed a hand clinically to Shelagh’s forehead. She wanted to reach up and cling on, reassure herself, but the lack of affection in Patrick’s eyes stopped her cold. “She’s not feverish. You’re sure she didn’t hit her head yesterday?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Where are the children?” Shelagh interjected. She tried to keep the panic she was feeling out of her voice - Sister Hilda and Patrick didn’t need any more reasons to think she was mentally unwell. “May? Angela? Teddy? Did you leave them with Timothy?”

Patrick recoiled as though she had slapped him. It was Sister Hilda who responded, very softly.

“Dr. Turner’s son died of polio in 1958. You were still in the sanatorium, Sister - do you remember? I can ask Nurse Franklin for more details if it would help.”

“I...I….” The gravity of what Sister Hilda was saying struck her, and Shelagh couldn’t find words, couldn’t find air. She started crying, gentle tears quickly giving way to great, painful heaves that almost drowned out the sound of Patrick instructing Sister Hilda to call an ambulance and the Linchmere over her head. “No, please...Patrick! Don’t - I’m not-”

Her vision started fluttering, and everything went black.

__________________________

Patrick climbed the dark stairs slowly, exhausted after assisting with a long but ultimately rewarding delivery of a new mother of twins. He loosened his tie as he quietly entered his room, not wanting to wake-

“Shelagh!”

His wife was thrashing and sobbing on her side of the bed, her breath coming in frantic gasps between soft cries of “No - Patrick, no!”

“Shelagh, my love, I’m right here,” Patrick said, crossing the room in an instant to drop down beside her on the mattress and start rubbing her back. “I’m right here, wake up.”

“Patrick?” Shelagh’s fitful movements eased ever so slightly, her head tilting toward the sound of his voice.

“Open your eyes, darling, I’m here,” Patrick coaxed. He gently encouraged her to turn onto her other side, facing him, and as she rolled, her eyes opened.

The look of relief and fear that mingled on her face as she came back to consciousness caused him physical pain in his chest.

“Oh...oh, Patrick,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she sat up. “Tell me you know who I am.”

“What? Shelagh, you’re my wife, of course I know who you are,” he replied, confused.

She threw herself into his arms almost before he had finished his sentence. “Thank God. Thank God.”

Patrick reached out quickly to turn on the bedside lamp before settling against the headboard and pulling Shelagh firmly into his lap. He ran a hand up and down her back soothingly, waiting until her tears calmed enough that she should be able to speak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“It was - oh, it was the worst nightmare,�� Shelagh said. She made to slide out of his lap, but he tightened his grip, only allowing her to shift so she was sitting sideways rather than facing him. He handed her the hankie from his trouser pocket so she could wipe her eyes as she continued, “I woke up and I was at Nonnatus House, which was just unusual, but then Sister Hilda started insisting that I was still a sister, and Sister Julienne was actually Mother Julienne and away in South Africa, and you...you….”

She broke off to blow her nose.

“You came to examine me after Sister Hilda called...and you didn’t believe me either. You were going to call the Linchmere. But even worse than that….our children. Timothy.”

“No one believed you about them, either,” Patrick guessed, pressing a kiss to the side of Shelagh’s head when her flinch informed him he was right. “But Tim?”

“In my dream, he didn’t survive polio. Oh, Patrick,” Shelagh sobbed out, tucking her head into the juncture of Patrick’s neck and shoulder.

“Shhh....shhhh, darling,” Patrick said. He removed her headscarf so he could stroke her hair, her back, as the collar of his shirt got progressively wetter. “It was terrible, but it was only a dream. Timothy and the little ones are here. I’m here, and I know you, and I love you.”

After a few long moments, he felt Shelagh’s cries ease, and the vise around his own heart loosened too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, emerging from his neck. “I don’t mean to carry on over a dream.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Patrick said fiercely. “Your emotions aren’t any less real because they came from a nightmare. What you can do for me, though, is get up and rinse your face. I’ll make everything comfortable for when you’re done.”

Shelagh looked a little reticent as she stood, but she did make her way to the lavatory to wash up. Patrick scrambled to get into his pajamas, turn down the bed, and get the pillows fluffed and rearranged before she returned.

“That does feel better,” she admitted as she reappeared. “Thank you, dearest.”

“All in a day’s work,” Patrick teased gently, lounging on his back. His smile grew as one bloomed hesitantly on her face. “Now come here.”

Shelagh snagged her headscarf from where he’d left it on her pillow and tied it on before crawling into bed and snuggling close. Patrick anchored one arm firmly around her back and brought the other up to stroke the arm she had draped over his chest.

“This is already better than how I fell asleep before,” Shelagh said, voice muzzy.

“As it should be.” Patrick tilted Shelagh’s head up just long enough to kiss her softly, smiling against her mouth at her sleepily inept attempts to kiss him back. “Rest, love. There will be no more nightmares tonight.”

Shelagh’s head fell lightly against his shoulder, and Patrick dipped his to rest it on her crown. He had relied on the sound of Shelagh’s heartbeat and the warmth of her body to sleep when his memories of Northfield and the war had overwhelmed him, and he could only hope the same would be true for her now.

In the morning, she informed him that it was.

#call the midwife #call the midwife fic #turnadette #turnadette fic #jen does words #g: hurt/comfort #let's not talk about how much id i released here mkay

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for-a-muse-of-fire · 5 years ago

Text

by the still of your hand

the wench and the witcher

“by the still of your hand”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: You’re overworked and copping an attitude about it. Geralt forces you to relax.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ Only - spanking, dirty talk, super-mild humiliation, Geralt goes stern-but-soft!Dom, P-in-V intercourse.

A/N: There was that one time our girl basically dared Geralt to spank her, so I figured I would be remiss not to expand upon that. You’re welcome 😉. Title and lyrics below the cut taken from Hozier’s “No Plan”.

@coconutxraikage - @kingniazx - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @pantrashtic - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps

Why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird? When it sings so sweet The screaming, heaving fuckery of the world?

“You forget to eat again?”

“Didn’t forget,” you mutter. “Just didn’t have time.”

The noise of people and clattering dishes goes dull with the sound of the door closing. You can feel the sharp energy of Geralt’s stare from the threshold. It’s difficult to shake, but you do your best, scowling down into your invoices in the hope that he might give up and let you be. Of course, you know better; the bastard’s got you beat in terms of stubbornness. Nonetheless, you continue to try and ignore the looming presence at your study door.

“What do you want from the kitchen?” Geralt asks in that way that’s not really a question. More of a, ‘this is happening, you need to make peace with it.’

It grates at you. He’s right, and you’re hungry – and fucking tired – but you mutter back, “M’fine.”

“You at least want to take a break?”

“I’m fine.”

“Horseshit,” the Witcher rumbles. “You were up at dawn and no one’s seen you since. You need to – “

“No,” you snap. “No, what I need to do is finish this fucking order so we can continue to feed people this week. I need to make sure this moon-brained girl I hired isn’t going to drive away half my patrons, and I need people to leave me the fuck alone so I can fucking-well work.”

The truly deafening silence that follows should have been your first warning. You scowl back into your book and don’t notice Geralt’s approach until it’s too late. The quill is tossed from your hand and then the Witcher’s fingers grip the roots of your hair to tug – your snarl of protest breaks off into a gasp. It’s a shock. Like touching a metal pan in the dead of winter, the buzz snaps over your skin, makes the breath stall in your throat.

“What you need, sweetheart,” Geralt tells you lowly. “Is to watch that mouth of yours. And take a fucking break.”

He’s not threatening you, not really. His tone is almost matter-of-fact, but the straightforward authority that he speaks with makes your corset feel too tight. You’re hardly able to cock your head to look at him with the grip he keeps on you, though you try anyway; the glare on your face loses some of its bite with the breathiness of your voice when you reply, “I’m not done yet.”

“I say you are.”

“Give me the quill.”

The Witcher drops the quill on the floor. His grip on your hair tightens – you hiss, but it’s definitely not pain. “You don’t listen very well, do you sweetheart?” he mutters.

“I don’t – “

Geralt gives you a light shake, as though you were a disobedient pup. “What did you say?”

There’s a knot tightening itself in your low belly. It’s heavy, and hot, and it beats in time to the rapid pulse of your heart. “No,” you tell him dryly. “I don’t listen.”

“Need someone to make you?”

“Mmmhm.”

Your moaned consent gets you a dark chuckle for your trouble. Geralt guides you to your feet with his fingers still tangled in the scruff of your neck, kicking your chair to the side and out of his way. He pushes you forward until your cheek rests on the open pages of your ledger. The rustle of fabric precedes the rush of cool air over the backs of your legs as your skirts are rucked up to expose you to the Witcher’s inspection. There’s a tug, and then the soft slide of your underthings being guided down your legs. You feel warm all over, prickling with pins and needles – the sensation makes you squirm.

Geralt’s voice is all heat and thunder behind you. “Told you you’d end up over this desk eventually,” he growls. “Hold on to the edge, sweetheart. Good girl. We’ll call it an even ten, hm?”

His palm cracks over the softness of your backside. The sharp sting punches a yelp from your throat and you immediately clap one hand over your mouth. Your other hand grips the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles crack. A second smack has you gasping behind your palm. Your face goes hot, like you’e stood too close to the kitchen fires.

Three.

Four.

Blows five and six strike in quick succession, one to each cheek, and you whimper, rocking up onto your toes. You hear a low, filthy chuckle behind you. You hiss when Geralt palms the smarting skin of your ass – his callouses scratch, but the dull pain stokes the heat in your belly, throbs to mingle with the slick ache between your legs.

The grip on your hair tugs; you moan into your hand and the Witcher growls. “Fuck, I can smell you, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Spread your legs for me. There’s a good girl…”

Strike number seven comes when you don’t move fast enough for him. The sensation hums through you, makes you whine into your palm and then Geralt’s fingers glide through the slippery mess between your legs. He spreads the slick of you over your swollen cunt, paying special, delicate attention to your clit. Your whole body is flushed, somewhere between embarrassment and base desire; the pressure of his fingertips over your clit is enough to make your hips rock, but the bastard draws away at each shallow movement.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Geralt croons to you. “You should see how wet you are – all pretty and ripe…”

The flat of the Witcher’s hand strikes once over your soaking cunt and you set your teeth into the meat of your hand to muffle your cry. You shake, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm that Geralt refuses to grant you; he simple rests his palm over the slick heat of you, fingertips barely feathering over the throb of your clit. A desperate kind of sound edges its way up from your throat, a ragged, broken thing that makes the mutant behind you rumble appreciatively.

“Fuck, I love that noise. Such a needy thing, aren’t you?” Smack!

Nine – the small of your back arches as you moan. Geralt re-grips the hand in your hair and you follow his guidance until you’re standing with the Witcher pressed tight to your back. His trousers chaff against your sore backside, though the smooth buttons press little spots of cold into your stinging skin. He gently pulls your grip away from your mouth, and your interlaced fingers spread out on the polished wood; his breath is hot against the side of your neck when he murmurs, “You want to come, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip against a moan, which isn’t enough of an answer – Geralt gives up his hold on your hair and his palm strikes over your ass for the last time as he snarls, “Answer me. Tell me what you want.”

“Wannacome,” you gasp in a rush. “Fuck me - gods, want you to fuck me.”

He moans low and hot on your skin. “Fuck, I love when you beg me for it.”

There’s movement behind you, the soft sound of buttons sliding free, and then Geralt is thick and hard against your slipper-wet folds. He ruts against you, slow and dirty, sending licks of fire darting over your skin; it’s enough to make you grit your teeth and whine. The Witcher shushes you softly, his voice a low, sweet murmur against the hinge of your jaw. One big hand slides over your mouth before he shifts, bending his knees to change his angle and split you open around his heavy cock.

You keen into his palm.

It’s chaos under you skin. Sparks and fire, a rushing current that chases its way up your spine and spreads glorious sensation through your fingers and toes. You clench around the intrusion and feel him groan into your hair, “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good, sweetheart, always take me so well.”

Geralt thrusts up into you with firm, even strokes. The wet of your cunt flutters and pulses around him, and you gasp with each push. He mouths at your shoulder where it’s bared over the wide neck of your blouse, bites a bruise into the side of your neck. You grunt low into his hand and your legs shake with the effort of keeping you upright; the Witcher’s arm grips over your middle to steady. He stretches you open, makes you tremble and whimper each time he bottoms out. Slick drips around where you’re joined, smearing over your inner thighs and the heavy base of his cock.

You brace against the surface of the desk with shaking arms. The hand over your mouth pulls back into your hair again, turning you towards him so he can crush his mouth over yours. He laps each broken whimper from the depths of your mouth and keeps you still when he pulls back to stare. He’s a vision of hedonism – lips kiss-swollen and pink, golden eyes hooded in lust. The sight alone is enough to make you flex hard around his cock as you mewl.

“Geralt – “

“That’s it, sweetheart – come on, give it to me –“

It’s a sudden flash of a climax; you clench your teeth around a cry when you come at his urging. Your cunt pulses hotly around him. Geralt presses his face against your neck and you hear him murmuring to you, gripping you close while you tremble.

The rhythm of his thrusts goes rough, desperate, and your fingernails scrape the smooth surface of the desk. He huffs out a deep, low moan into your shoulder. His cock pulses, throbs inside of you, and Geralt pushes forward so deep that you see stars all over again. He fills you, his cum mixing with the rush of your arousal until you feel it begin to trickle down the back of your thigh. You shudder, moaning your way through a laugh as Geralt traces his nose up the line of your neck. He gives you one last, lovely shudder when he slides free before setting you both to rights. Still pressed to your back, you feel his satisfied rumble; his teeth catch your earlobe and tug.

“You ready to behave?” he mutters.

“Not likely,” you hum. “You’re just encouraging bad behavior at this point.”

“Hmm. Noted.”

The world turns, then tips; you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over one of the Witcher’s massive shoulders. He has no compunction about marching you out the door and into the mostly full tavern, ignoring your sputtering protests on his way up the stairs. The wolf-whistles and general ribbing make you flush hot, but then you catch Lucja’s eye from behind the bar, and the round-eyed blonde has the nerve to grin. It’s an expression that is far too knowing to be just a taunt.

You’re not sure if you want to throttle her or thank her.

You’ll have to decide in the morning.

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