#he’d also just slap you
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corpusdiem-seizethedead · 8 months ago
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Angel: I’m too tired to slap you. Bash your face against my palm, would ya?
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scriblesandbits · 14 days ago
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I have mixed feelings on broadway homestuck as a whole but they were cooking with Thirteen Years (One World Closer) when they had karkat ask if the stars on John’s world look the same as they did on his. Do you think he’d be happy to know that they do.
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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year ago
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i do love canon amy & rory but god, does some part of me wish they really had gone with the idea of the doctor picking up a child as a companion (and then later, that child’s best friend with a huge crush on her.) with the rest of the season really not changing at all, except now it’s amelia pond with an angel in her head killing her and lost alone in the woods. it’s little rory who dies and is forgotten and becomes a toy soldier. if this is going to be a fairy tale, then let it be one. children have never been safe in fairy tales.
#it wouldn’t have to change any of the actual plot of the season. except MAYBE amy’s choice but even then i think amy’s choice would be the#one episode where they should be adults. if only for the half where they live in a village in that dream.#because that’s the kind of future that children would dream up. they live in a little cottage and nothing ever goes wrong and their best#friend visits them all the time even though they’ve grown up.#they aren’t actually adults there just children with an idea of what they should be as adults and acting accordingly#and it would still end the same way.#but idk its just. rory’s 2000 years waiting for amy inside the pandorica is already tragic. yes.#now imagine its a kid. a kid in a little roman soldier helmet who will never grow up. who will not leave his best friend.#he loves her and she’s more important than the whole universe and that sort of love is supposed to MEAN something in a fairy tale!#its supposed to melt the ice out of hearts and transform people from stone.#and what that love means here. is that he will have to wait 2000 years. a child and a box.#little rory and the amelia who followed the doctor’s letters to the pandorica. and she doesn’t recognize him again.#and amelia in the pandorica… 2000 years a child trapped in a small box waiting to be rescued.#s5 is already fucked for them but it could be worse. it could be so much worse.#and it would make the doctor choosing to take her place in the pandorica to save the universe later even better.#because who else but the doctor would put the fate of the universe on the shoulders of two children and realize much too late what a#monstrous thing he’d done. and still have to hope. have to hope. that amelia would remember him fondly enough to bring him back to reality.#the logistics of all of this would have been a pain lmao. child labor laws in acting and all that.#BUT. hypothetically. it would have slapped.#doctor who#amy pond#rory williams#<- also this entire time ive been referring to him in my head as rory pond so much that i fuckin. forgot his actual last name.#and then like if you want them to be adults in s6 or whatever you can just timeskip to them getting married and still have amelia remember#the doctor there. it would work. it would.#amelia pond au
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daydreamerdrew · 1 year ago
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The Incredible Hulk (1968) #277
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lanihaluki · 2 years ago
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addition to the fyrus little mermaid au in tags!!
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screampied · 3 months ago
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‘ DICKMATIZED !? ★
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☆ sum. dick • matized. [dehk-mah-tized] verb. when he’s rearranging your guts oh-so good that you’re just left utterly dumb ‘n stupid! toji, sukuna, gojo, geto, nanami, choso, ino.
wc. 5.8k
warnings. fem! reader, dick-drunk reader, balls… cum … balls, pwp, unprotected, dumbification, tf! sukuna, feral pússydrunk men, implied multiple rounds, backshots, mating press, cowgirl, nerd! nanami - college au, pússy talk, size kink, first time squīrt, mirror sēx, cervix mentions, spīt, tummy bulges, ‘till the bed breaks, breedīng kink, spanks, petnames.
an. elaborating more from this ask :p
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✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYŌMEN.
his dick? literally life-altering. life changing.
not only was sukuna ryomen the king of curses, but he was also the king of dumbing you down with just a few deep vulgar strokes. “attaaaa girl,” he’d grumble—one hand gripping your hip, another clawing near the top crown of your head. but as he’s raising your head, all you see is your dumb, drooling reflection through his stained century-old mirror.
through murky hazed peripherals, you spotted sukuna’s sly grin, with fangs poking through each lip… sinister red eyes zeroing down your body. he was mean but his hips were even meaner. as his hips relentlessly bucked into you, you let out a shrilling shriek once you feel his bulging tip swab its away around the insides of your slobbering cunt. he reached each ‘n every spot, pinpointing every slick dribbling orifice and you could barely even formulate words let alone proper sentences.
“that’s it, look at y’rself,” and a puddle of drool waters past the corners of your lips once sukuna grabs your chin. “hah- look at how dumb you get,” and you let off a moan once sukuna starts to thoroughly punctuate each individual thrust against your aching core. “allll. because. of. me.”
you glance at yourself in the mirror once more, peeking at the notoriously cursed silhouette that’s stood directly behind you. sukuna’s unapologetically ruthless, driving such sharp hips into you with little to no mercy and you only wanted more.
“suh- ooooh! sukuna,” you moan, getting whiplash from the vicious sharp pounds of slamming-ridden flesh. each pap stung against your skin and you’re just trying to keep up with his crazed pace. once his angered cockhead bullies its way near the fluttering opening of your cervix though, your eyes prettily roll. “o- oh my god, r- right th-”
“yeaaah, i know,” he replies gruffly, cutting off your tone by placing an enlarged palm over your wet-glossed lips. followed by a cute muffled, ‘mmmpf’ he scoffs in disgust once he feels you damping the center of his hand with treacly saliva. “keh. how repulsive,” and you whine once sukuna makes your back arch even more against his velveteen-made sheets. trailing a whetted claw gently down the slope of your back, he grunts. “wonder who’s nastier. you—” and he pauses, surprising your cunt with a brutal ricocheting thrust. “—or this sloppy worthless pussy. hnnnm.”
you’re tremoring underneath him, heedlessly trying to count each loud slap of clashing bodies in your head but you end up losing count anyway. his cock’s just as mean as he was, but his girth was far more rude. sukuna ploddingly runs his nails down your spine as he’s just impaling his weighty dick inside of your clamping, sopping walls. “mng- ‘s fuckin’ good. ‘kuna fuck me, fuck m—mmph,” and you moan against a palm that now smacks over your mouth again.
you could hear sukuna scoff behind you, feeling the wetness of your tongue slither its way around his bare hand. “y’er a nasty one,” he groans, glancing at your stupid reflection in the mirror. it was almost cute—how your eyes were all hooded, barely even open but visibly crossed. you’re seeing galaxies of stars as he pounds into your pussy, invading his way past the tight tight ring of your entrance. you’re so wet that your cunt sobs on his length, creating sticky globs of slick that glue against both fleshy mounds. “mhm. keep that pretty mouth shut. all i wanna hear is how fuckin’ messy you get under here,” and you let off another muffled whine once sukuna spreads your knobbly thighs further apart.
he’s so fast, his speed’s as quick as lightening—
and your hand cups over the one that’s currently placed over your mouth. sukuna feels your saliva starting to spill between your lips, wetting down his wrist and he titters. “spit’s supposed to stay in your mouth, dumb girl,” and you could feel yourself reaching closer and closer toward your blissful orgasmic edge. fuck- it was right there, literally arms-reach away and you were already starting to short-circuit. your thighs struggled to stay open and you were sure—just one more single hard thrust and you’d probably break. “aw, your legs are gettin’ weak. tappin’ out, princess?”
“ ‘kuna, ‘m cummin’,” you’d blurt once he removed his hand from your slick mouth. strings of glowy drool depart from your lips, sticking against his fingers before he thrashes the swollen pink head of his cock against your pussy.
repeatedly, it’s not just once or twice—hell, not even thrice!
it’s dozens of times. you let off a plethora of sweetened whines as his reddened tip scrapes its way through your gummy walls before you abruptly squall. “f- fuuuuck!”
a pretty, shiny geyser sprays out between your thighs, and your expression is priceless.
sukuna remained inside as he watched you whine out those needy raw sobs with his shaft still stuffed inside. you couldn’t think straight—you could only taste the treacly sweet tang of your release on your buds as your head flops onto the bed. “o- oh my god,” you’d puff, feeling your wobbly thighs soak with slimy molasses of your sweet. “again,” you moan out, looking up at the mirror to see sukuna staring straight at you.
he’s amused - and your eyes widen once he brings a hand underneath his heavy cock that was stacked with not only one but two..
he was only fucking you with one of his shafts—but now that you see his barred hand wrapping around both, you gulp once he nips his sharp fangs near his teeth. “fine,” he grumbles, and sukuna starts to align each between your sappy opening. sooo wet- it’s a pearly coat that runs down your cunt and he growls under his breath, bedaubing both creamy tips against your tender folds.
“but while we’re at it, little one. let’s see if you can squirt with two of me in you.”
✩ ˛˚ . INO TAKUMA.
first time inside and not only does he make you dumb but he ends up making himself dumb too.
“holy . . shit angel,” ino would lowly moan, reclining fully back against the couch. you’re gradually hovering over his lap while he’s got a clammy hand sneakily creeping at the left side of your waist. “g- god,” and darkened eyes lazer near your cunt. you were so slick. your entrance prettily sobbed with such dewdrops of sap that it had him whipped. ino wanted more, and the more he witnessed your pussy swallow his cock, the more his mouth grew drier than the sahara.
“relaaax, baby,” you invade the corner of his mouth with wet kisses. with how soft your voice was, the sound of your voice alone was enough to make ino’s dick throb — and it did.
his abs tense through his white tank as he feels one of your palms leisurely slide up his sculptured v-line. your touch - it was one of his many, many weaknesses. his first weakness being you . . second, your pretty dripping pussy. “ah, look at me. eyes up here, ino.”
“mhm-” ino grunts, nearly melting at the sickly sweet pounds of flesh clashing amongst each other. once your body started to move, it was game over. slosh after slosh and it only gets louder. ino’s nose cutely wrinkles the second he hears that squelching ‘pop!’
now, he’s bottomed out and it was just a few lengthy seconds after he’d eased himself all the way in. ino was snug - nicely snug and timid heart-filled irises meets yours right away. “you’re s…so gorgeous,” he’d slur, watching his chest deflate at each sloppy thrust of your unsteady hips. “m- might just cum from lookin’ at your face, angel.”
fuck- you rolled your hips in such a way that it had gears turning in his empty, hollow brain.
ino’s flushed, and eventually, two hands grip your waist tightly. he’s trying to reel you into him but you playfully give him a shove, staring as his back collapses back into the pillow. “ngh- ino, there baby. there,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. his dick greedily explored through your insides like a maze. almost like it was lost - desperately trying to find its way around before eventually smooching near your cervix. “a- ah!” you’d moan, feeling a vein that ran down his cock throb inside you merely milliseconds later.
the movements of your rutting hips hypnotize ino.
you’re tossing them around in a circle as your arms throw over his broad shoulders. the entire time, he’s getting lost in your eyes. his tip’s an angry red, blushing inside of your tight gripping walls as you sloppily bounce on his lap. perspiring hands squeeze against your waist before you watch as his dark mousy brows crease into a furrow. “baby-” he grunts hoarsely, tilting his head fully back.
it’s cute—and a bit attractive. you spot his neck muscles tense before you suddenly feel ino’s impatient fingers crawl at the pretty curvature of your ass. with a firm grip, he grabs a nice handful of your jerking flesh before hissing under his breath. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—use me, fuh- fuck me,” and ino’s voice pitched whinier the more your wet cunt sucks him in - vacuuming each ‘n every inch.
the noises were just sloppy. each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echo from both bodies sends a wave of chills down ino’s spine. it was a feeling he’s never experienced—and you might have just made him fall in love with not only you but your slickly, wet cunt.
“ ‘s okay, ino. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. ino wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker. both bodies moved against each other rhythmically, dexterously twirling your ass back and forth against his lap. ino’s just as dumb as you were—and if you squinted, you could see heart eyes forming in his dilated pupils.
“god- ‘m cummin’ . . fuck- ‘m cumming,” he hiccups, and his entire body erupts.
ino grows limp the minute he feels his leaking tip spurting out rope after rope. it’s hot - you slow down as he’s finally pumping you full, spurting out such thin, miry amounts.
ribbons drizzle inside of you and ino gets quiet, burying his face into your shoulder. babbles of whine fall into the crack of your neck and you smile, skimming a finger down his undercut.
tender, fawn eyes lock onto yours before ino grabs your chin softly. with a pout, he bedaubs a thumb across your wetly parted lips before sighing. he’s in love. “s-soooo . . what are we?”
✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.
“awwwh, is the pretty girl gettin’ shy on me?” toji would gruffly croon, feeling your dripping cunt clench tightly around him.
you’re bent over and chewing on the bottom of your lip like candy whilst he’s going in and out of you. masses ‘n wads of milky knots ooze out of your pussy and he takes a moment to gawk at the mess he gifted you. “fuuuck- look at ‘er, ‘m floodin’ her up so good,” and toji grunts, his flushed tip smearing shapes around your runny entrance. “ya take it well every time too, baby.”
“hnng- toji,” you’d whimper, cutely trying to shimmy your hips against him. you always loathed how right after he’s dumping you with the nth load of the night, toji just has to tease you.
with a wide hand, he slaps his fat cockhead against your slobbering slit three times. in a dirty, carnal way though—it’s pretty.
with wrinkles creasing underneath his leafy eyes as he squints, toji drags a thumb down your swollen puffy folds. it’s a loud wet splat! that resounds through his perked ears and you could hear that smug snicker as clear as day. your tummy was already heaving - you wanted more, and toji hummed at the sight of you arching further for him. “don’t stop- f…finish fuckin’ me.”
“how cuuute,” he’d gruff, and you moan once he re-aligns his sweltering hot tip. it’s freshly coated with splotches of cum that was still gradually seeping from the center. messily, it leaks out, and you gasp once he starts to insert his way back in. it’s a sloppy pop! that sends you carnal chills and even a bit of throb. doing so makes you nip a few teeth near the inside of your cheek.
and oh- toji’s so thick.
he’s fat from the inside, along with his girth that delves deep inside of you - disappearing between your folds like an unrevealed magic trick.
every bulky inch that enters inside of your cunt makes your toes shrivel up into a cute, aching curl. every time, you’re left utterly speechless as you hear his husky rasps from behind you. toji runs a hand through his oily scalp before brusquely grunting. “hah- take it then, open nice ‘n wide for me, pretty. let’s see that biiiig stretch one more fuckin’ time,” and a cold sweat races down your back. one thrust! just one cruel, mouth-watering thrust, and you’re left stupid.
dewy remnants of cum streamed out the corners of your thighs and he was practically fucking his cum back into you. loads of it, creamy milky loads that pumped you full, keepin’ you warm—always.
the slanted hooking curve that his dick had swerved its way through your pussy, bruising your g-spot lovingly. but oh- toji doesn’t just fuck nasty, he fucks you stupid with a capital ‘S’.
“fuuuuck, right there, r- right hng- thereeee,” and the way you’d drag your words were so cute. toji’s hips were oh-so mean though, harshly snapping into you and each time the friction whams into you—you’re dumbfounded.
toji spots you trying to crawl away and he raises a brow, hooking a hand near your hip. “goin’ somewhere, girl?” and you moaned, feeling him drag you right back toward his cock. with your mouth idly hung open—you start to feel the slick muck of syrupy juices that globs down the flaps of your cunt. you’re soaked, and toji grunts the second you end up squeezing around his dick. measly thick fingers roam through his scalp as he watches your ass weakly buck back into him. “mhm- that’s it, park that pussy allll on me,” and he leans up close against your back.
you could feel his faded bushy happy trail tickle against your ass as he’s drilling into you deep, splaying your legs further apart with a single hand. toji wraps a hand around your throat, feeling every whiny syllable die out of your throat before he lifts your hips.
“such pretty hips. look at ‘em go,” and you moan, feeling his palm hit against your left ass cheek. it’s sharp, and the brief sting makes you get dumber whilst his mushroomy tip’s just tapping its way against your tender clit.
you’re at a loss for words—the lazy downward curve of toji’s cock runs all through you, and he feels your body underneath him cutely growing weak. he’s got the type of dick that makes you get a bit woozy, drooling for more and more inches until you’re stuffed to capacity. you were through, and toji’s just sternly slamming his hips into you so good that you don’t even hear the poor splitting wood of the headboard.
with a husky crack! it ends up splitting into two, falling right before your eyes and the boxspring ends up collapsing. toji doesn’t even flinch though, and his callused fingertips remain deep into the prints of your back. “heh. shit,” he mumbles, still buried inside of your puffed cunt.
you were still panting - heavily, but you crane your head around to a certain degree and glare at him.
“what? oh, don’t look at me like that, doll,” and you moan, facing back in front of you once he pulls out, smacking his cream-coated tip over your weeping sleek-covered cunt. “ ‘s her fault. isn’t that right, messy baby?” as you’re whimpering, toji grows mute at the sounds of your sloppy squelches.
his round tip smears itself in and out between your slobbering hole before he nods as if he actually understands what your pussy’s saying. “see. she even said sorry,” and toji leans down, spitting right on your cunt before giving it a praising pat.
“good giiiirl. seems like ya got more manners than y’r messy owner.”
✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.
“ahhh- don’t hide that gorgeous face, i wanna see ya,” satoru pouts, grabbing your hands.
you were utterly stupid, whimpering as you continued to mindlessly bounce on his lap. his shaft’s ridiculously thick, expanding throughout your walls like a domain whilst attacking your cervix with individual kisses.
it scratched an itch in your brain that makes you gasp—feeling his bare washboard abs rub against your back. satoru’s hot, but the sweltering pounds of flesh that smack and crash into his meaty thighs from your unpredictable movements were even hotter.
he leans right up against the left side of your cheek, pressing a wet chaste kiss near the corner of your twitching lip. “i wanna see my wifey get all dumb ‘n stupid while she’s ridin’ me, heh.”
“ngh- satoru,” you’d moan, feeling one of his hands sneak up your blouse. lanky fingers roam up your body as he’s mercilessly slamming you back down on his cock. satoru’s flushing capped tip swirls its way through your cunt, churning effortlessly rearranging your guts and your jaw dramatically drops.
it’s cute the way your mouth freely dangles, pink tongue lolling fully out as satoru presses a hand near your bare tummy. there, he could feel the ongoing stretch and so could you.
it’s a tiny bulge that wholly prints its way through you, and you could hear his breathy snicker air against your earlobe. “well look at that. such a pretty good girl takin’ allllll of me. look at that cute ‘lil tummy bulge,” and satoru runs a free hand through his hair. with tight clenched abs, his entire core was squeezing up—your moving hips had him gnawing the inside of his cheek.
but it’s a long deadly silence between the two of you that suddenly occurs. satoru’s icy bright eyes shine into yours as you cup his face, weakly trying to keep up your grinding.
timidly, satoru strokes your bottom lip gingerly. “keep starin’ at me like that ‘n i might get’cha pregnant, sweetheart.”
“do it.” you whine. “make me p… pregnant, ‘toru.”
famous last words,
because not only does he fuck you stupid until you’re chewing on your own sweet, pathetic whimpers—satoru ends up dumping load after load into you. buttery wads of cum tear their way out of your folds as he’s now got you folded in a nasty mating press.
satoru overflowed your cunt, panting heavily as he watches the hefty, velvety masses of cum ooze down between your stuffed entrance.
with a single hand, he spreads your legs wide to get a better view and he kisses his teeth. “fuck- what a mess,” he’d groan, and he’s still deeply inside of you. your brain was empty — and all you could even register let alone think about, was the ropes of hot cum that flooded deep into your womb.
you’re still moaning, feeling satoru’s hungry gaze peer into your soul before he snickers. “would be a shame if this all hah- went to waste.”
and as he’s still trying to catch shallow breaths, satoru leisurely wipes a thumb down your leaking pussy. immediately, his digit gets coated with milky remnants of cum. “s- satoru,” you’d whimper, watching as he pressed a soft kiss to your ankle. you remained in the same position—
he had your legs spread wide into an eagle ‘v’ shape before bringing his finger up to his naturally glossed lips. satoru laps up his own mess right off his thumb whilst his cock’s plugging you utmost full. “you’re s- so nasty.”
“not nastier than this sweet girl,” satoru whispers in a raspy tone, taking out his dick before watching as his cum freely pours between your folds. velvety loads and loads sob between your folds and he hums, leaning in for a quick kiss.
satoru rocks his toned body against you, pinning both arms above your head before a hand placed on your tummy. you moan into his lips—wrapping a feeble leg around his slim waist before his free hand grabs at your neglected tits.
“mmp-” he muffled between kisses, feeling your hand trail a path down his sculptured abs. satoru presses his forehead against yours—devastatingly pulling away before whispering against your lips.
“got a feelin’ it’s gonna . . be a girl.”
✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.
“fun fact sweets,” nanami grunts as a bare palm wraps around your throat. his grip was soft - the mere opposite of his accurately shaped thrusts.
your moans harmonically sing and bounce through the thin walls of his office as labored breaths continue to snatch out from the pits of your lungs. he’s big, easily allowing the bulbous head of his cock to run through every part of your gummy walls. he nudges through every corner, pounding into your core so good that it makes you choke on inaudible sentences. “we’re burnin’ about probably hundreds of calories right now. hah- all from me bending you over my desk like . . . this.”
you let off a sweet whine, gasping as he’s just leisurely reaming your insides. nanami’s dick dragged its way through each slickly wet nook perfectly, studying every orifice like an equation before solving it with a single thrust. “f- fuck, ‘ken,” you’d mewl out a sweetened sob, the scent of freshly printed review papers filling up your nostrils. never in a million years would you have expected the campus nerd to fuck so nasty.
he’s rigorous - just drilling his honed hips into you until you’re entirely stupid with that pretty pink tongue of yours fully lolled out of your mouth.
his dick was insanely long too, and he grunts at the feeling of his plump tip rudely thwacking against the opening of your cervix. “such a pretty thing. even prettier inside, ‘s like she’s trying to answer for you,” and the wooden worn-down desk continued to rumble from the rickety pounds of weight. the stability of your hips was far too weak.. and nanami brings a hand toward your waist. his touch was soft, and you moaned at the feeling of his stubby fingers dancing up and down your skin before a single strenuous thrust reels you back into reality. “hah- tell me, pretty,” he moans between thrusts, the slickness of your cunt glossing down near the lower base of his full shaft. “why is a woman orgasm important, hm?”
“u- um,” you moan, your brain completely fried. his hits were so good - too good, and you’re just dumbly wordless.
nanami’s hips went askew as he made you arch further into his desk, deepening his angle. your face is lightly planted against the papers and you could hear him sneer from behind you.
one second turned into two . . then three . . then seven . .
a weeping whine rips out of your throat once he pivots even deeper, guiding a big hand between your legs. a thumb swirls around your sopping stuffed cunt and he leans in to kiss near your shoulder. “ ‘um’ isn’t a valid answer, dummy,” and your eyes were already mindlessly rolling to the backs of your empty skull.
but oh- the stretch.
he’s jabbing his hips quicker ‘n quicker as greedy hands grab at your bare skin. “c’mooon, use that pretty brain. my smart girl’s gotta be in there somewhere,” and nanami playfully knocks at the top of your head. “at least i hope she is.”
“t- the woman orgasm’s important because it helps out with the uh- pelvic floor muscles and activity.”
“and.”
“and . . it helps boosts fertility.”
“aaand?”
“a- and ‘m cumming!”
“wha- oh,” nanami lowly chuckles, feeling your cunt tighten around him. the clingy wet claps of skin grew louder - violently ricocheting against both pounds of flesh as he scoots your ass up further.
he’s deep, jackhammering his thick cock into you while occasionally fixing his glasses. every few seconds, they’d slide down the bridge of his nose. it irritates him, and you’d hear him scoff under his breath while he’s still ramming into you senseless. “c’mooon then, show me how orgasms help strengthen pelvic floor muscles, sweetheart.”
as you’re just being fucked stupid into the countless marked sheets of your papers, you gasp. stuffed at the very hilt - at least. a single tap of his cockhead against your cervix and that’s a wrap for you. within a blink of an eye—you’re shamelessly creaming down his cock with a wide shaped mouth.
he’s still thickly stretching through your walls, kneading at every compressing wet corner as you’re releasing and you start to whine. “fuck- fuuuck,” you’d whimper, feeling his jagged hips abruptly halt against you. the cold metal buckle of nanami’s belt rubs against your skin as you moan, seeing nothing but mere stars. competing to catch your breath, you huff out a sweet genuine, “did . . did i pass?”
“hmm,” he kisses near your shoulder blade, readjusting his glasses. glancing down, nanami looks at your panties that were lazily pulled to the side and he makes you arch further.
as you’re still panting, nanami clicks his tongue. “ ‘m afraid not. i think we need to learn more about the clitoris,” and nanami takes off his glasses, bringing them towards your slick opening, witnessing it fog from your dripping mess.
with a low titter, he brings them back up to his curved lips before licking the wet lenses, giving your pretty pussy a ‘lecturing’ spank. “specifically yours.”
✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.
if it’s anything nastier than suguru geto’s tongue, it’s his thick fat cock.
it’s the epitome of sloppy, especially with how it rummages through your insides, roughly circling his tip around the opening of your slick cunt. prone bone would almost always be his favorite too. it was just the way his crushing body weight would hover over yours—nearly suffocating your backside with just a bit of pressure. “sugu- ngh. suguruuu,” you’d croak out, each stinging slap of skin sending swarms of butterflies inside the inner pits of your tummy.
“quiet, doll,” he’d groan, curling a few fingers around your neck. geto’s thumb traces down your exposed nape before he licks at your ear. “fuck- what did i tell you about speakin’ out of turn?” and as your eyes start to wander to the dark abyss depths of your cranium, you whine. he’s in so deep, massaging every sloppy orifice as his fat tip drags its way through your spongey insides. “you speak after she gets a word in,” and you let off a needy sob once geto gently lift your leg. he’s still pressed into you as you’re being rammed into from behind, and that’s when he slides a hand between your legs. gurgling sloshes leave your pussy once he starts to maneuver circles around your entrance and you whine. “uh huuuh. listen to that pretty back talk with me. i know- i know.”
geto’s palm instantly got moist from your dewy juices spurting on his hand—not that he even minded anyway. you were just perfect like this, and each snap of his hips made you lose your mind ten times quicker. you’re already drooling from the mouth too, lazily sticking out your tongue as your arms start to grow feeble. “f- fuck, suguru. spank it. hng- spank it.”
“myyy, isn’t my girl bein’ extra dirty today, hm?” geto huskily purrs against the lobe of your ear. his rhythm was purely ruthless. your eyes were bulging, akin to the size of pinballs once your mouth started to pry open wider once the stretch continued..
his dick’s so fat - from all curving angles, stuffing you entirely with all nth inches of cock. geto could hear your airy pants grow more breathy and he gutturally sighs, smearing faster shapes against your dripping cunt. “ohhh- don’t shy away now,” he snickers, making you raise your head from the pillow you rested on. “not when you’re so fuckin’ wet. repeat what you want me to do, sweetheart.”
he’s a mere tease. you weren’t even facing him directly, but you could tell from just his smug tone alone that he was cockily grinning ear to ear. with a belting whine departing from your lips, you moan out a needy, “s- spank it suguru.”
“pretty please.”
“p… pretty please.”
geto brashly hums, running his free hand down your spine that glosses with sleek sheets of glistening sweet. his cock’s got you arching perfectly, and every inch pumps its way inside of you with occasional wet ‘pops!’ squelching from both sloppy mounds.
“good girl,” he gruffly whispers against your neck, feeling your hectic hips sensually rock back into him. “yeah- like that, princess. throw that cute ass against m . . me, fuck-” and seconds later, you feel the sharp brief sting of a slap against your teary folds. you’re so wet, wetting up his palm as your moans fill the entire room.
one slap turns into two, then three, then four.
you lost count—it was probably around that number, but you were far too dumb from his dick that’s currently got you in such a trance.
“ ‘m gonna..” you gasp out, the bucking of his hips getting more and more nasty. geto’s body rubs off against you and you then feel his palm swat against your ass. smack! and you hear him groan from behind. your cunt’s sucking him in and spitting him out — and the view was godly. all he saw was a pretty, slick mess as you start to dribble clear syrupy sap between your thighs. “cum- gonna cum suguru.”
“you remember how?” geto teases and your chest heaves once he gives your wet pussy a squeeze. not a single thought was in your mind, just how he was destroying your insides inch after fuckin’ inch. .
the flat of your tongue starts to salivate and you whine, nodding cutely before feeling geto’s thrusts deepen. “silly girl. bet you forgot how- should see your face right now,” he huffs, covering your spit-glossed mouth with his wide palm. you end up drooling on his hand and he tchs, smudging your saliva all over your mouth with his palm.
“c’mon then, gimme a show,” he grouses, slowing his hips down for you. geto does this purposely so you could physically feel how much of a stretch he’s barreling inside of your cunt. it’s huge - and you don’t even realize that after you finally came, you were even stupider.
cottony fuzz coils at both of your ears from the inside as your mouth remains open. you’re just whining, babbling out sweet ‘thank you's’ — even though you don’t even know exactly why you’re thanking him.
“hah- you’re welcome.” geto cunningly coos against your neck, planting a thumb on your throbbing clit. you’re so tender, shaking underneath him as you’re still seeing splotches of utter white. his dick had you unable to create coherent words, and geto brings his thumb up to your mouth before dragging it across your lips. “mmh. messy girl. still gotta work on that mouth.”
✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.
“o- oh fuuuck,” he’d swallow, peering his eyes down toward your wet cunt.
it’s pretty - drippin’ with masses of slippery slick that soaks the entirety of his cock.
sucking in a sharp gasping breath, choso grabs onto your hips before flashing a sheepish grin. he wasn’t in fully in and choso’s already a mess. lazily leaning back against the futon—warm, drowsy eyes meet yours with darkened bags hanging underneath his pretty eyelids. choso can’t keep his eyes off you. his eyes flicker from up to your face, then back between your thighs. “mngh- you’re squeezin’ down on me, baby. don’t think ‘m gonna last.”
“you can last, ‘cho,” you whisper, letting off a sweet moan yourself once his cock smugly barrels itself between your puffed folds. you leave a lustrous shine that glimmers over his aching shaft. with achingly slow hips, you start to jerk forward and you can already see choso’s adam’s apple bobbing. “mmh- that’s it, hold me. touch me choso, ‘s okay.”
with choso though—he didn’t realize just how big he was. his dick stood tall, and its height expanded throughout your gummy walls entirely.
piercing the honed edges of your nails into his shoulders, you whine out a breathy gasp. his cock’s rude, sloppily towering inside of your pussy before starting to puncture a few delicious hits into your slick-flooded core. you’re rocking back ‘n forth, staring into his half-open eyes before burying your face into his neck. “nono-don’t do thaaat. wanna see you,” he’d pout, lifting your face.
choso’s already sweating — dewy droplets face down each side of his forehead before he feels the elastic stretch. he could almost taste it, the sugary sweet stretch. the way choso’s mushroomy tip drags its way up down and round your cunt leaves a tender feeling arising in your tummy. precisely, he marks an ‘x’ through your goopy insides with the crown of his dick like it was some kind of sacred treasure. a far more lewd kind though.
and not only did your hips make him stupid, but your pussy did too. “c- chosoooo,” you’d belt out a three-second whimper, sliding a few fingers down his bare chest. he’s hot, and the more your touch ghosts down his skin, the higher his body temperature rises. “right there- ooh! k- keep fuckin’ me there, baby.”
“god- when you whine my name, ‘s so hot,” he’d sheepishly admit, clawing a hand through his black loose strands. choso’s entire abdomen tightens at the sudden quickening speed of your hips. you’re frantic, slamming your ass up and down on his veiny cock while swerving your hips in a plethora of addicting swerving circles.
a beefy arm of his reaches for the headboard and he grabs onto it tight. you moan, staring as the veins and muscles flex through choso’s bicep. you’re riding him so good that he’s literally got to hold onto the bed for support. “ ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum. s- shit, your pussy’s gonna…..fuck.”
the loud paps of jerking skin only increase, and once you lean in to kiss choso—he submissively leans into your touch.
right away, teeth violently clash together as tongues hungrily delve into each mouth, competitively fighting for their fair shares of dominance. choso moans, sliding a palm toward the edge of your jolting ass. you’re riding him to straight oblivion, and he’s already rolling his eyes back. “mmpf-” he’d let off a gargled moan, bringing a swatting smack towards your rear. “fuckmefuckfuckmeee,” he’d whine into your ear, and now he’s got both hands clinging onto your ass. choso’s dragging you firmly back against his pelvis, making sure you feel him deep inside of your compressing walls.
oh- he was entirely pussy drunk, with you being dick drunk.
choso could see the sleazy smile forming against your lips as your back started to arch. he’s damn big, and you moan the second his fat tip keenly thrashes its way against your pulsating g-spot. that was all it took for you to squeal out a needy ‘ah!’ before your legs ended up locking around his waist.
languidly, he’s digging his fingers into your hips before you end up nibbling on his bottom lip. “ ‘m cummin’ baby. hah- cum with me, be my messy girl. c’mon,” and as he’s rambling, choso wraps his strong arms around you. he’s giving you a gentle bear hug, cutely whining into your chest as his head buries itself in between your soft tits. “mmmph.”
as your hips continued to roll, you eventually ended up finishing - hard. your orgasm had you sobbing out wantons of whimpers as his dick’s plugged you very, very full. glittery ribbons spray into you at the same time, and it’s fiery hot.
choso’s shivering underneath you, still having his arms wrapped around you—never wanting to let go. “f- fuck, choso,” you’d breathe out, hearing his tremoring sighs aerate between your tits. choso rolls out his tongue, licking a stripe down the valley of his chest as he’s still pumping you with miles ‘n miles of sultry hot seed. you hum, coddling his head with one arm as your ass slowly comes to a stop.
a clammy hand of yours grabs at your ass as you turn around, glancing at the ivory oozing clods of cum that dribbles down your pudgy opening. “not . . done,” choso heavily huffs, and you moan once he pushes you to lie on your back. with a soft thud! you land against the cushioned furniture before looking up at him.
choso looks hungrier than ever, and before you knew it — he’s slowly sliding your knees up toward your chest. “f- fuck,” he whines, taking a peak at the strings of cum that continue to race down your lustrous-coated slick.
so pretty,
but in choso’s mind, it could be even prettier.
choso leans in, pressing a kiss between your breasts before sliding a thumb down your cunt. a wet psh! shrieks out of your pussy and he lets off a quivering breath. “you can be a little messier, baby,” he’d whisper, and his tone’s a bit more hoarse now. choso hears you gulp, and once he starts to shove your knees up to your chest, he re-aligns his leaky cream-glossed tip. “ ‘m gonna stuff you fuller,” he pressed his final wet kiss against your lips.
“maybe even give you a baby . . or two . . six, h- heh.”
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miihho · 1 month ago
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Can you please write the salesman next for the kind of guy?🙏🏻🙏🏻
THE KIND OF GUY
(squid game edition boys) nsfw
The Salesman
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— HES THE KIND OF GUY who never expected to fall in love—his life was far too consumed by duties and endless responsibilities. Love wasn’t even a consideration, not until you appeared like a sudden burst of color in his monochrome world. At first, it was your skill that caught his attention, the way you effortlessly bested him in ddakji, round after round, slap after slap. Frustrated but undeniably impressed, he handed you a card, feigning indifference. But as you walked away, something unfamiliar stirred within him—a quiet ache, a sense of loss he couldn’t quite place.
He tried to push it aside, burying himself in his work, recruiting others, and maintaining the facade of control. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. Then, one day, he saw you again, sitting at your usual spot. You hadn’t joined the game, and strangely, he felt a wave of relief he couldn’t explain. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, asking for just one more match. The words came out almost on their own, a fragile excuse to see you again, to hear your voice, or maybe just to keep you close for a little longer.
— He’s the kind of guy who’s spent years trapped in a monotonous cycle—lonely, unfulfilled, and carrying the weight of a life that feels directionless. Every day bleeds into the next, nothing to look forward to, nothing to hold onto. But then, somehow, he acquires you. You, with your rare kindness, your quiet care, and the sweetness that seems to radiate from your every action.
You don’t even realize what you’ve done to him, how you’ve unknowingly become the one bright spot in his otherwise dull world. He starts catching himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening without his permission. It’s the way you move, the way you speak, the way you bring life into spaces that once felt empty.
And then there are those moments—when you laugh, or when you smile at something simple—that makes his chest tighten in ways he didn’t think were possible anymore. He smiles back without realizing it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that feels foreign but good. You don’t just make his days better; you make him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth living for. (He's in love)
—He’s the kind of guy who would boldly approach you, his intentions clear but unspoken. He’d ask to get to know you better, his flirting subtle at first—smiles that linger a little too long, looks that make your heart race without explanation. At first, you might be taken aback, unsure of his advances, but when he offers you something you can’t refuse, like money, your resistance crumbles. You agreed, but something in the way he looks at you makes you forget about the deal. Slowly, you start enjoying your time together more than you care to admit.
—He’s also the kind of guy who wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, not for a second. If anyone dared to claim you as theirs, especially some trash asking you out, he’d make sure they paid. He’d go to any lengths to protect what’s his, with no hesitation, no mercy. If it came to it, he wouldn’t think twice about making them disappear, just so they’d know—he was the first one, and that meant something.
But it’s not just about possessiveness. He watches over you, guards you in ways you’ll never fully see, keeping a close eye without you ever knowing. He’s always there, even when you don’t realize it—protecting you from this world that’s full of danger, keeping the darkness at bay as best as he can. It’s his silent promise to you, even if you never ask for it. He doesn’t want to see you hurt, not ever.
— He's the kind of guy who would soil his hands with blood, not hesitating for a second, if it meant protecting you from anything that threatens your peace.
— He’s the kind of guy who will make you fall for him as deeply as he’s fallen for you. He adores your smaller build against his, the way your petite hands fit perfectly when cuffed by his larger ones—it drives him wild. The contrast, the way you seem so delicate in his grasp, makes him want to claim you entirely, to make you his in every way.
But he’s not the kind of man to stop at mere affection. No, he’s the type who thrives on control. He’ll manipulate you carefully, subtly, until the thought of leaving him feels impossible—terrifying even. He wants you to need him, crave him, think of him endlessly. He’s meticulous in the way he weaves himself into your thoughts, ensuring you wake up and fall asleep with only him in mind.
And when he flirts with you, watching as your cheeks turn that irresistible shade of red, your voice faltering under his gaze—it’s everything to him. You turn into a hot, blushing mess, and he loves it. It fuels his obsession, makes him fall even harder for you, because to him, you’re the epitome of perfection. Cute, vulnerable, and entirely his.
—He’s the kind of guy who takes his time with you, the tension between you building like a carefully orchestrated symphony. When the moment feels just right—your faces close, the air thick with anticipation—he starts leaning in, his eyes locked on yours, ready to steal a kiss.
But then it hits you, the realization of what’s happening, and your face flushes a deep red. You turn away in a rush, looking anywhere but at him, your heart racing like crazy. He pauses, letting the moment linger, before chuckling softly. That low, amused laugh of his sends a shiver down your spine, and when you finally sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning.
“Cute,” he murmurs, his tone playful but laced with something deeper. Yeah, he loves teasing you—loves watching you squirm and stutter, loves the way your reactions only make you more endearing to him. And he’ll do it all over again, just to see that flustered look on your face that he can’t get enough of.
—He’s also the kind of guy who knows exactly how to manipulate you, slow and calculated, planting seeds of dependence and trust without you fully realizing it. He knows your vulnerabilities, your habits, and where to find you when you’re at your lowest.
So, when he spots you crying at your usual secluded spot, alone and trembling, he makes his move. Sitting beside you, his presence feels warm, comforting—like he’s the only safe harbor in a storm. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispers, “There, there, it’ll be alright. I’m here.”
As you cry into his chest, he murmurs gentle reassurances, “It’s alright, baby. Cry it all out.” His hand strokes your back, his touch deliberate and grounding, and he smiles. Not the kind of smile you can see—this one is hidden, smug, satisfied. His plan is working perfectly, and you’re falling deeper into his web. And oh, how he loves it—watching you lean into him, needing him, trusting him like he’s your savior. That’s exactly where he wants you.
— He’s the kind of guy who thrives on control, especially in moments of intimacy. The kind who, with practiced ease, unclips your bra with just one hand, never breaking the intensity of your kiss. And when he pulls back, his lips hovering just above yours, he’ll smirk and whisper in that low, teasing voice, “I’m not done with you yet.”
When you bury your face into his neck, trying to stifle your moans out of shyness, he doesn’t miss a beat. The scent of his cologne and aftershave lingers, intoxicating you further, as he lets out a deep chuckle, amused at your attempt to hide.
And when he’s got you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy, he makes sure you’re not holding back. He loves to hear you scream, loves the way his name falls from your lips like a prayer. Even when a phone call interrupts, he doesn’t stop. Oh no, he sees it as a challenge, a chance to tease you further. He’ll move slower, deeper, just to hear your breath hitch as you struggle to keep your composure.
If you try to stay professional, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape, he’ll smirk, his pace relentless. “Go on,” he’ll purr, his voice dripping with mischief. “Try to keep quiet, baby. Let’s see how long you last.” And with that, he’ll have you unraveling, barely able to focus, completely at his mercy.
— He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just tease you with words—he lets his actions speak louder. Even in public, fully clothed, he’ll find a way to make you lose your composure. He steps in close, his large hands resting on your waist, pulling you just enough that his hips press against yours.
That’s when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, pressing firmly into you. His voice drops, low and dripping with desire, as he leans into your ear and whispers, “Feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me. You’ve got me all worked up, and I don't think I can wait any much longer."
The heat of his breath against your ear sends a shiver through you, and his bulge pressing into you makes it impossible to think straight. His grip tightens slightly, and the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he loves driving you wild, even when you’re supposed to be keeping things composed.
— He's the kind of guy who leaves his mark on you, a silent declaration that you're his and his alone
— He's the kind of guy who would pin you against the wall, bite your lip, and pull your hair—taking control in a way that leaves you breathles.
—He’s the kind of guy who’ll leave you completely undone, your body trembling as you take every inch of his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks while you beg for mercy. But he doesn’t stop—he thrives on the way you break beneath him, his voice dripping with a wicked mix of praise and degradation.
“You're being such an obedient little cum slut,” his hand tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Taking me so well like a fucking whore, like you were made for my cock. My perfect little bitch.” he said, his tone low and velvety, sending shivers down your spine as he continued to fuck his cock in and out of you. Your walls clenching hard around his massive cock as he fills you up with his fat load, still pounding into your hole not letting even a single drop of his release go to waste. (He has a breeding kink)
And if that's not enough. His thick, veiny cock would plunge relentlessly into your dripping folds, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filling the air. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he ravages your insides with unbridled lust while you're in a mating press. He is determined to make you the mother of his child, so he will pound your fertile womb over and over again until it's full of his cum. If his cum is seeping out of your pussy, he would pump it back with his fingers inside while he also plays with your swollen clit making you overstimulated as you beg him to stop. (he just fucking loves you crying and begging for him and only him. )
— Hes the kind of guy who craves more than just conception; he yearns to enslave your senses, to make your body crave the feeling of being utterly filled by him. He wants ypu to beg for his cock, to plead for the intense pleasure-pain of being stuffed to overflowing, regardless of your reproductive cycle.
The very thought of you, round and ripe with his seed, brings him unparalleled satisfaction. He delights in the idea of your addiction to his cum, to the exquisite bliss of having your cunt packed to capacity with his thick, hot essence. For him, there is no greater joy than knowing you're forever changed, forever his, your body and soul irreversibly marked by his possession.
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luv-lies · 3 months ago
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cw. 18+ mdni, fem!reader, dom!nanami, established relationship, unprotected, 𝓂issio𝓃ar𝓎, 𝒹ogg𝓎 style, lots of praise, pet names sum. it’s your honeymoon and kento can’t wait to have his newly-wed wife all to himself
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your honeymoon in kuantan has been nothing short of perfect. most days were spent relaxing on pristine beaches, where the sun kissed your skin and the waves lapped at your feet. the weather was beautiful, and the food was delicious, each bite blissfully savored. and then there was the sex—insatiable. more accurately, it’s kento who’s insatiable.
“come on, push back against me. that’s it, that’s it. . . good girl.” kento groans, your pussy squelching wetly with each deep thrust of his hips.
it’s been a couple of hours since the both of you started, the sunlight only just peeking above the ocean waves now that it’s beginning to set into dusk. he’d made his intentions clear long before you returned to the hotel. the lingering touches on your lower back, fingers teasingly rubbing the front of your panties under a table, never going further than flicking the bud of nerves. the hand squeezing your jaw brought you back to him, fingers pushing deep into your skin and tilting your head back until your eyes meet his.
his thrusts never give up, his other hand gripping your hip tightly as he drew you back into him over and over and over. “my perfect wife,” kento grunts lowly, your gummy walls squeezing and swallowing his cock so deliciously good, his length so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. “so good f’me.”
if it wasn’t for his grip on you, you’re sure you would’ve collapsed onto the bed by now. your thighs tremble, clit twitching with need as his heavy, full balls slap against it. as much as it was exhilarating, it also felt so overwhelming. “ken, too much—” you whine, reaching back with your hands, weakly pushing at his abdomen where the muscles strained and tensed with each movement of his hips. you feel him lean over you, forcing your back into a nasty arch, hands on either side of your head, face squishing into the pillow as his pelvis smacks into the fat of your ass.
kento’s eyes remain locked on yours, each breath escaping his lips in heated puffs. his eyes travel down to where your hands push at him, briefly flickering to where the globes of your ass cheeks flatten against him before glancing back up at your fingers. he takes in the sight of your gleaming wedding ring, the one he placed on your finger. his pace slows considerably, reduced to toe curling, slow, deep thrusts inside.
you watch in slight confusion, his gaze making your stomach flutter in anticipation. it doesn’t take long until he’s grabbing at either side of your hips, briefly kneading the skin there. with an effortless motion, he flips you onto your back. “so gorgeous ‘nd needy,” he makes a point to roll his hips into yours, his dick plowing into you repeatedly, molding your greedy pussy to the shape of him with each unmerciful thrust. “and all for me.”
“kento!” you cry out lewdly. his calloused hands find yours, intertwining your fingers and kissing your wedding ring. you can’t help the moan that leaves your lips when he rolls his hips. “you’re taking me so well, sweetheart.” he whispers hoarsely into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin, peppering kisses across your jaw and down your throat. finally, he presses a soothing kiss to your lips, swiping the drool on the corner of your lips with his tongue.
kento always ensures sure you know how much he loves you. always making sure you can feel the depth of his love. whether it be gliding his hands over your skin to soothe your aching muscles or losing himself in you until the early light of the morning pours into the room. he belongs to you as completely as you belong to him. his lovely wife.
you moan softly into the kiss, his fingers quickly finding your clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers before using his thumb to tenderly caress it. he spells his name, intimately slow, k-e-n-t-o. he repeats this until you’re writhing, briefly pulling away from your love-bitten lips where a string of saliva stretches between your sodden tongues.
kento thought you looked absolutely beautiful beneath him, your tight walls spasming around his throbbing cock whilst his name fell from your lips oh so prettily. with another push into your slick cunt, he’s leaning down to kiss you again—sloppily, length dragging across your walls and allowing you to feel each vein as he fucks you.
you can feel your breath being knocked out of your chest, hips desperately bucking up to meet his hips. “please, i-i’m so close, i’m so close!” you can tell kento’s getting close too, his forehead resting against yours with deep grunts and shaky huffs of breath. his pace is unforgiving, a contradiction to the words of praise he unabashedly lavishes.
“come for me, darling.”
with a final thrust of his hips, your eyes roll back, lips parting with a silent scream. your pussy greedily sucks him in as you gush around his twitching length. the way you envelope him tightly, glistening juices dripping, creating a milky ring on his cock is the cherry on top. kento clenches his jaw with a groan, burying himself to the hilt. his cum bursts deep inside you, filling you up to the brim with a warmth you feel you can’t possibly live without.
he presses a kiss to your swollen lips, which you return almost instinctively. his hand moves to gently brush aside the damp strands of hair from your forehead. “are you okay, sweetheart? i didn’t go too hard, did i?” he asks gently, delicately caressing your cheek as he gradually softens inside you.
with a tired yet affectionate smile, you nod, allowing yourself to relax into his familiar touch. “i’m okay, ken.” you assure him, soft and pliable in the comfort of his presence.
kento reciprocates your smile, pulling you closer as he carefully rolled the both of you over so that you were laying on his chest. when he shifts, the tip of his cock nudges your spongey nerves. your hips jerk a little, the addictive feeling of pleasure never wavering.
he lets out a low chuckle when he notices your cheeky smile. “still needy, are you?” you sit up and rest your hands on his chest, thighs on either side of him, framing his hips. you teasingly drag your hands down to his abs, feeling the ridges of the taut muscles beneath your palms and fingers.
maybe you were insatiable too. kento certainly isn’t complaining. how could he say no to his wife?
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a/n. sorry if this is all really rushed !! i finished this early in the morning & vry vry quickly read over it before putting it in my queue. bare with me here ꒰ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ꒱ ‘m thinking this could be a prequel for this nanami fic
© 2024 LUV-LIES do not plagiarize, steal, translate or repost my works on any platforms!
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cathnospam · 2 months ago
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“I didn’t shave—“
“I do not…give a fuck. Open your legs.”
You and Bakugo have this argument at least once a month. You only need to wax your little lady once a month after your period , and it’s about that time to do so but you have 2 problems;
Your appointment isn’t until 2 more days, and you have a boyfriend that has been waiting a full week to eat you out.
“‘Suki I told you I hate—-“
“Why do you give a fuck about that? It’s HAIR.”
“I FEEL DIRTY.”
“You just took an everything shower.”
Bakugo NEVER understood the point of shaving your pussy anyway. He genuinely does not care whether there is hair or not on it, and after having an irritating crave to eat your pussy he definitely couldn’t care less.
“It’s a bush.”
“I don’t—- y/n the area I wanna suck—“
“Don’t be a pervert.”
He deadpanned at you, the Blondie also never cared for how blunt he was with his dirty words. Just two weeks ago you and him were eating cereal when he just casually spoke, “When I get home tonight I wanna eat your pussy against the door like I did last night.” As he gets up to clean his bowl.
No emotion
And no care.
He’s a damn savage.
“Your clit don’t have hair on it it’s just the lips.”
“OMY fucking—“
“Please.”
You blink, “what…”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Bakugo groans loudly and lays his head on your shoulder. And bites it, “OW!” The main reason why Bakugo haven’t let up is because you and him established a strict safe word rule. He knows he can be pushy with things he wants but he’d never want to make you uncomfortable about it. If you GENUINELY don’t want him to all you have to say is “TNT” and he’ll drop it no questions asked. And never bring it up again.
But here you are, contemplating.
Your thoughts get broken by a soft kiss on your jaw, his scarred warm palms lifting your his shirt , playfully tapping his fingers on your clothed panties, “I heard you playing with yourself in the shower.”
You freeze, feeling his devious smirk against your cheek, his natural scent and musk clouding your mind as he keeps kissing you, rubbing on your body, “You want it as bad as I do. I fucking know you do.”
“Remember last time?”
He had your knees to your ears last time, ass hanging off the edge of the bed as he spit, licked, and sucked all inside and on your pussy. His fluffy hair tickling your inner thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin so deep you could just barely grind against his mouth. Bakugo was always a nasty ass eater to the point you were embarrassed just watching him.
His ring and middle finger swirling circles on your clit as his tongue filled your aching tight hole, the way he stops for a moment to kiss the soft little nub , nearly making out with it making you roll your eyes because his pillowy wet lips felt soooooo good against you.
You remembered how he’d slap your ass a few times when you looked away for too long or covered your mouth, you swore he’d heat up his hands slightly just to do so.
You remembered how he’d hold your ankles up and he licked stripes against your pussy and his tongue teasing your other hole.
You remembered how he’d swished his head back and fourth while his lips captured your clit and tugged on it. Sending you over the edge while he sucked and groaned. Two fingers pumping inside you.
“You remember, huh.” His raspy voice against your ear, already teasing his fingers inside you panties, “You came so much you passed out right after.”
The more he spoke to distract you the further he got, eventually laying you down on his huge couch, to pulling off your panties, to opening you legs, to kissing each thigh, and down to repeating his exact actions from last time.
And no he did NOT care about the hair.
7K notes · View notes
kurooh · 3 months ago
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DOUBLE FANTASY ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN
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⊹₊˚. featuring threesomes with gojo satoru + geto suguru, nanami kento + higuruma hiromi, shiu kong + fushiguro toji, tsukumo yuki + kamo choso.
warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, threesomes, oral [m&f rec], spit roasting, double penetration, some degradation, choking, rough sex, squirting, sharing a cigarette, spit, clit slaps. | 4.5K words of FILTH
xoxo, juno. comment & rb if you enjoyed <3 !
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GOJO & GETO.
perhaps letting your two roommates take care of you after a messy breakup wasn’t a good idea—or is it? less than an hour ago, you’d come home sobbing, cheeks wet with tears and eyes puffy.
satoru and suguru had pulled you into a tight hug, internally thankful you’d broken things off with that asshole (they’d hated when he would come around) but also sympathetic towards you. it was a tough choice, which was then promptly celebrated over margaritas and shots on the couch. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were pressed flush against suguru’s strong chest, body sweltering with need hotter than a fire.
“s-sugu, i don’t think you can both fit inside.”
“not with that attitude, sweetheart,” suguru murmurs, hands settling on your hips as he places a small kiss to your cheek. “come now, anything’s possible if you believe in it.”
“bleh, you sound like confucius,” satoru fake gags dramatically, lining his cock up with his best friend’s. their sticky tips prod at your folds, and your heart races faster, rattling around in your ribcage so loudly you can hear it in your ears. although you’re a little nervous, the alcohol you’ve had helps to take the edge away; you impatiently wiggle your hips forward.
“i’m sorry . . ? do you even know who confucius is?” suguru asks incredulously, flicking his bangs to the side with a jerk of his head.
“i’ve seen you read enough of—”
“don’t do this right now,” you plead, voice whiny. “just fuck me already.”
“now, honey. you’ll have plenty of time to slut yourself out for us, don’t you worry.”
“nah, she’s right,” satoru quips, wrapping his hand around their cocks. suguru inhales sharply, unintentionally jerking his hips forward for more. “you ready for us, babe?”
you nod weakly, and the three of you moan in unison as satoru pushes their cocks inside you. it’s slow at first, but the stretch is one that you’ll remember for a lifetime—the burn of being split open on two cocks melts into something euphoric as each inch passes your entrance. satoru groans hungrily, his head falling back. snowy tufts of hair obscure his diamond blue eyes that he tightly squeezes shut, and a huff of breath leaves his lips.
suguru kisses your jaw, fingers trailing along the slopes of your body before finally sweeping over the delicate skin of your throat. you breath hitches when he whispers into your ear: “we’d always hear you begging to be choked harder. don’t you remember that, satoru?”
“hngh, yeah,” he swallows hard at the memory—he and his best friend always heard everything through those paper thin walls. they’d heard your dissatisfaction and vowed to satiate you someday. “and you’d always be going deeper, deeper!”
your cheeks burn with embarrassment. had your roommates really heard everything? how did they face you so easily in the morning after being kept awake each night?
“we’ll give you everything, sweetheart.”
suguru squeezes your throat experimentally, and the corners of his lips lift when you release a moan you’d been holding back for far too long. he and his best friend slowly start to move, rocking their hips into you and developing a smooth tempo.
“both of you are so fucking big,” you mewl, back bowing off of suguru’s chest. they’re filling you up and stretching you out and just as you think it can’t get any better, satoru’s nimble fingers wander to your clit. he curiously toys with it, eyes darkening lustfully once you react how he’d been hoping you would.
“perfect size just for you,” suguru coos, yanking you down by the throat. “satoru, spank her a little.”
he obliges, reading his best friend’s mind easily—a stinging slap lands on your clit, sending prickling shocks of pleasure through your body. the tips of their cocks kiss your cervix, pushing so deep you can’t seem to breathe. satoru gifts your swollen, sensitive clit with slap after slap; the force behind each one only increases until you’re crying freely.
but you’re not begging him to stop, you’re begging him for more.
“god, i always knew you were a fucking slut,” satoru chokes out, pausing to lick some of your slick off his palm. your stomach flips around at the simple action, something hot flashing through you when he closes his eyes momentarily and savors the taste. “finally . . got you to myself.”
then he looks at suguru, who rolls his eyes. “well, for the most part.”
“no need to sound so excited,” he deadpans, huffing beneath you. “as if you’d fuck any better than that damn ex boyfriend.”
satoru scoffs in disbelief, slapping your clit with renewed strength. his hips are still moving, still burying his cock and suguru’s inside you deeper. they’ve got you entirely stuffed—maybe this would be better than some turkey on thanksgiving. your clit throbs with each punishing slap, but your eyes still roll back each time. while they bicker, your oxygen deprived brain spins with arousal and tipsiness. you shudder, going still and barely even managing to warn them of what’s about to happen.
“fuck, i’m gonna—‘m cumming,” you sob, sounding fragile just before you’re about to break. flashes of heat chase their way through you, until they finally explode out of you, in the form of a soaking orgasm. out of patterned habit, satoru’s palm smacks your puffy clit, which only prolongs your intoxicating high further. the intense contractions inadvertently push their cocks a few inches out of you, and your cum splashes on their skin, eliciting pleased groans from them both.
“baby, did you just—”
“she did, satoru,” suguru confirms, biting back a moan.
“i don’t even—i don’t know what happened,” you pant, hissing when someone’s tip bumps against your twitching clit.
“‘s called squirting,” satoru supplies, entranced as he stares at your messy cunt. a mixture of slick and cum coats your inner thighs, and he can’t help but swipe a finger across your skin and then stick it into his mouth. he releases it with a pop, and eyes suguru knowingly.
his voice is now raspy, thick with desire. “let’s make it happen again, sweetheart. we can take turns, of course. but my face comes before satoru’s.”
NANAMI & HIGURUMA.
the smooth oak wood surface of higuruma’s desk is littered with papers hastily swept to the side, and the fabric of your skirt fans out over a few of them. pens and other stationary supplies are forgotten on the floor, along with your now wrinkled blouse.
“h-holy shit—‘romi, right there! just like that.”
“one can only hope that this’ll be enough luck to carry us through the trial,” higuruma grunts, nails digging crescent shaped indents into the fat of your ass. he’s gripping you tightly, chest heaving rapidly as he vigorously fucks his cock deeper.
“ah, hiromi,” nanami huffs, pushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead. they’d escaped their neatly gelled place on his head when the three of you had rushed into higuruma’s office to discuss the final procedures before your trial. “don’t be a downer . . . this is more than lucky. we’ll win, of course.”
you sob, clawing at higuruma’s shoulders. he’d discarded his suit jacket long ago, carefully folded it on one of his bookshelves so as not to ruin the cuffs and smoothness of the fabric. now, he’s rolled the sleeves of his white shirt all the way up to his elbows, and his loosened black tie swings in your face with each of his thrusts.
“wait, hiromi,” your clammy hand pushes against his stomach insistently, “s-slow down, it’s too much, i—”
higuruma looks toward nanami for instruction, and the latter simply pauses stroking his cock. he stands, pushing back the spinning chair he’d been sitting on, and steps toward the edge of the desk. a sheen of sweat covers your forehead and disrupts the smoothness of your makeup, but nanami doesn’t take much pity on you—instead, he lightly slaps your cheek.
“need me to show you too much, angel?” his voice is low and dark, words laced with a throaty rasp that has your pussy squeezing higuruma’s cock. nanami’s eyebrow raises as he pushes your thighs apart to take a look at the mess between them.
“seems to me like she wants you to,” higuruma nods toward your pussy, then loosens his tie and collar further. “after my turn, of course.”
nanami grunts in agreement, settling on the edge of the desk beside your head instead of the chair. the desk creaks weakly from the newly added weight, and for a moment the idea of it collapsing beneath the three of you crosses your mind. higuruma snaps his hips forward, unconsciously licking the sweat away from his upper lip when he starts up.
your hand lamely pushes against his stomach again, but he shakes his head and nanami reacts immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and slamming your hand down on the wood. whimpers leave your lips and the air is punched out of your lungs with each of higuruma’s strong thrusts; he’s so deep you can practically feel him in your chest.
“ken, i need—my clit,” you gasp, back bowing off the desk fruitlessly. your hips twist and jerk away from higuruma’s cock, for fear of being split open. “touch my clit, i need to cum—”
nanami slaps your cheek again, and your eyes roll back at the penalizing sting. “hiromi, you hear that? she wants to cum.” he mocks your words, then turns back to you, hazel eyes burning holes into your own. “and how do good girls ask to cum, baby? certainly not the way you just did.”
“‘m sorry,” you mewl, and higuruma slaps your clit and makes you shudder. “p-please, i wanna cum for you—i’ve been a good girl!”
“hm, hiromi? you think she’s been a good girl?”
you look up at higuruma pleadingly, tears gathered in your lashes and sparkling in the light. you’ve got that blissed out and dumb look on your face, completely at peace with being thrown around and shared between them.
“sluts take it,” he groans, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard. he yanks your body closer, further bullying his cock inside you. “‘nd you’ve been running from me—isn’t that right, babygirl?”
nanami clicks his tongue, and pinches one of your hardened nipples between his fingers. he looks down at you nicely, cheeks pink and hair mussed.
“maybe i’ll let you cum when it’s my turn,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips when you weakly moan his name as if he’ll give you permission. “for now, you’ll have to beg. now, go on and open wide, baby.”
the moment your lips part, nanami spits onto your tongue; he watches you expectantly and nodding in acceptance when you swallow, drunk on the taste of his peppermint gum.
“that’s right,” higuruma backs him up, looking down his nose at you expectantly. “speak now or forever hold your orgasm, sweetheart.”
TOJI & SHIU.
“so, princess, still up for lunch later?” shiu grunts around a chuckle, passing the lit cigarette to toji. the latter accepts it with a scoff, rolling his jade green eyes as he sticks it between his lips.
“yes,” you and toji answer at the same time, but your voice is muffled on shiu’s cock.
toji gifts your ass with a slap and exhales the smoke, handing the cigarette back to shiu with a glare. his once stagnant hips begin to move again, almost as if he’s rejuvenated from his little smoke break. shiu only laughs, cupping the crown of your head in order to ease his cock further down your throat.
“i’m surprised you’ve got the money for that, toji,” shiu teases, exhaling sharply when the tip of his cock bumps into your uvula and makes you gag. your throat constricts around his length and you let out a muffled whine in reaction to the stretch.
“you crazy or sum’n?” toji snaps, choosing to argue with his best friend while he’s balls deep inside you. his harsh thrusts make your pussy squelch, and shiu’s cum from earlier spills out onto the bedsheets below. “of course i’ve got the fuckin’ money for lunch, but you’re gonna be the one paying, dumbass.”
his fingers find your swollen clit and he pinches it, making you gasp around shiu’s cock. you choke, gagging so hard tears pool in your eyes—shiu strokes your head comfortingly as you pull off his cock, coughing hard.
“you okay, babygirl?” and he looks at toji disapprovingly, but he only continues to fuck you. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix lightly with each thrust, and when he feels like he’s not going deep enough, he lifts your hips to pull you back. “toji, that was mean.”
“mean . . ? shiu, my girl can fuckin’ handle it. ain’t that right, baby?” he looks to you for confirmation, quirking a brow while the scarred corner of his lip curves into a smirk.
this whole mess had started when you’d spent a night in with toji, watching movies and taking shots every now and then. you’d gotten drunk, swaying on your feet and giggling as you’d pointed to the tv screen dazedly.
“oh, toji, look! that guy looks like shiu!”
he could see the resemblance, and grunted, “damn, he does. ugly just like him too.”
“shiu isn’t ugly!” you jumped up drunkenly to defend his best friend’s appearance, waving your arms around dramatically. “he’s very good looking, actually.”
“oh, really? he doesn’t have any muscle, though.”
“toji, don’t be silly,” you laughed at your boyfriend, “‘course he does, it’s just under all those clothes of his. if he took ‘em off, you’d know what i mean!”
“so you got a crush on shiu?” toji asked in disbelief, his cheeks flaring a deeper pink as he took another vodka shot. “aw, i should let him know.”
one thing led to another, and shiu had come over for breakfast. then your little crush had gotten out, and a bet was placed—who could fuck you better? the condition for the loser was then set in place: whoever lost would buy lunch for the three of you without question.
“y-yeah, toji,” you mumble, forehead pressing into shiu’s pelvis weakly. he’d been the first to fuck you, and now it’s toji’s turn with your pussy—you’re sure you won’t walk smoothly ever again.
“can’t hear you,” toji taunts, lifting your hips and yanking you back onto his cock. the new angle forces him deeper, stretching your cunt out even further. “wanna repeat that for me, doll?”
“ngh, f-fuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back. his cock slams into that sweet, sensitive spot that’s deep inside you, and the tears that had been building in your eyes finally pour down your cheeks. the mascara and eye makeup you’d worn for the breakfast smears against shiu’s skin and makes messy tracks down your face. he curiously slips a finger beneath your chin to make you look up at him.
“aw, baby. i really can’t wait to hear who fucked you better . . . my back certainly wasn’t cracking as much as his is.”
“shut it, shiu,” toji groans, savoring the broken moans that freely leave your lips—gasping ah’s and whines that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. “hand me the fuckin’ cig.”
shiu obliges, chuckling softly when he notices you pawing around his thighs in search of his cock. you whimper when you finally get his tip back in your mouth (with his guidance), slowly taking him in inch by inch. he groans, tossing his head back when he finally bumps into the back of your throat.
“m-mind if i fuck your mouth, doll face?” he asks, thighs twitching expectantly. a vein in toji’s forehead bulges at the way he steals his pet name for you.
you shake your head shyly, blinking slowly while toji fucks every single thought out of your head. he’s deliberately holding himself back so you’ll go dumb on his cock, unable to scream anything but his name. yes, this is how he’ll show shiu who can fuck—show him that you’re his girl, his doll face.
tendrils of smoke waft over your break before dissipating in the air as if they were never there. you shudder as toji’s fingers reach your clit, rubbing sloppy circles on the sensitive nub even though your hips rear away. you still haven’t recovered from the overstimulation shiu caused with both his tongue and fingers, but that’s okay. he’ll have you cumming on his cock regardless.
with a deep groan, shiu cups the back of your head to keep you steady, and he shoves his hips forward, his cock slamming far down your throat. you gag, but he’s merciless—doesn’t give you more than a second to breathe before he’s at it again, setting a brutal pace that matches toji’s.
“ugh, fuck—want ya to cum on this cock for me, doll,” he groans, starting to slap his fingers against your clit. your legs kick out in reaction, and you hump your hips back against his hand. toji’s fucked you so hard you can’t even feel shiu’s cum dripping out of you anymore; he’s seconds away from replacing it with his own thick load and having you hold it inside you during lunch.
you nod dumbly on shiu’s cock, starting to sob louder as your own orgasm hurtles toward you. the high is absolutely inescapable, and your watery eyes meet shiu’s when you tip your head up. to the best of his abilities, he’s sweetly talking you through it, his words jumbled although you manage to hear a few clearly.
“how ‘bout we all cum together?” he suggests, wiping a stray tear from your face with the pad of his thumb as if he wasn’t the one that caused it.
“whatever, just as long she does first,” toji warns, his husky voice carrying a tenderness that only you can hear. “got that, shiu?”
like a cheshire cat, he smiles in response, sticking the worn down cigarette between his lips. he takes a drag and thrusts as deeply as he can go before holding your head down at his pelvis. you can hear his quiet moan beneath the clapping of skin against skin and all the other noise; his cock shoots ribbons of white down your throat and he shudders when you swallow it all eagerly, looking up at him for more.
toji throbs against your cervix, and he grabs your asscheek in one of his hands to tug and slap at. “‘m gonna cum, shit . . . wouldn’t ever wanna cum outside of this pretty pussy.”
his fingers work your clit until you’re arching your back and crying out, gushing on toji’s cock with no end in sight. wetness sprays against his pelvis and abs, and he groans, fucking you through it.
“such a mess, doll,” he groans, slipping a hand around your throat and pulling you off shiu’s cock. he instead pins you against his muscular chest, looking over your shoulder through hooded eyes at shiu, who hasn’t gone soft yet. “fuckin’ love it, though.”
toji places a few wet kisses to your neck, moving close to your ear. “so, doll face? where’s lunch gonna be? shiu’s treat, of course.”
YUKI & CHOSO.
“c’mon, you don’t really plan to just sit and watch us, do you?” yuki pushes her blonde bangs away from her forehead with an enchanting smile playing on her lips. she playfully tilts her head to the side, eyeing choso and his seated form.
“well, i . . . you said you’d teach me,” he offers lamely, his reddened cheeks only darkening. he catches your eyes on him too and awkwardly crosses his legs, trying to hide the tent in his pants.
when you’d finally had enough of your boyfriend’s ineducable inexperience, you’d decided to bite the bullet and ask your best friend. yuki had been receptive from the start, her eyes gleaming while you’d explained the situation to a willing choso.
“oh, you won’t learn anything from over there,” she laughs, waving him over to the empty space beside her on the bed. “y’know, sex is pretty hands on.”
choso settles beside her, and the bedframe creaks as it accommodates the new weight. his fingers are trembling as they brush over the tender skin of your inner thighs, and his eyes widen when they come close to your dripping pussy. slick is smeared all over your skin and shining in the low light, utterly enticing to the both of them.
yuki spreads your legs further, and you draw in a sharp breath, lower lip slipping between your teeth.
“come closer,” she coos, pointing at your clit with a smirk. “that’s her clit . . . ‘s the secret to the female orgasm, choso. go on, give her a lick.”
without question, choso adjusts himself so he’s on his stomach, and he experimentally licks your clit. his silky tongue is flexed and nervous, dipping down further to taste the wetness trickling from your slit.
“f-fuck, choso,” you cry, insides lurching deliciously at the feeling. one look at yuki—her cheeks are colored pink, tongue unconsciously darting out occasionally to sweep over her lower lip—and another at choso, whose movements are gradually becoming more insistent, has a sweltering heat coiling deep in your stomach.
your hips jerk forward, pelvic bone nearly nailing him in the bridge of his nose, and choso’s head rears back in concern. “‘m sorry, are you—”
“our girl’s loving it,” yuki hisses, not even missing a beat as she cups the crown of his head, manicured nails digging into your boyfriend’s scalp as she forces his head back down. he doesn’t resist, letting out a muffled moan when his face lands directly in your pussy. slick smears across the lower half of his face and he feels the saliva pool on his tongue from how hungry he is.
choso’s nose bumps into your swollen clit, and a pitched whine tears from your throat. “need—i need more, please,” yuki settles onto her stomach beside choso, palm leaving his head. her fingers impatiently push past his chin, stroking lightly against your dripping pussy, and she quietly moans in delight.
you watch slack jawed as yuki pushes her fingers into her mouth, and her eyes squeeze shut. her hips grind against the bed, sheets rustling softly beneath her body. choso’s too caught up to notice, dark strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“cho—ah, shit—use your fingers, baby.”
your boyfriend obliges obediently, carefully pushing his fingers inside you and tugging back to let yuki take over with her mouth.
that heat inside you ignites into an inferno the second her mouth finds your clit. her lips lightly wrap around it and her tongue sweeps over the swollen bud; to tease you a little further, she lets her teeth occasionally nibble at it.
“this what you wanted?” choso pants, voice lilting curiously as his eyes rake over your body. he’s always been rather shameless when it comes to looking you over, but after this, he’ll finally be able to back it up with a hundred percent. the heave of your chest and parting of your bitten lips is enough of an answer, but he wants to hear it from you. his fingers curl inside you, pressing into a spot that scratches the unbearable itch in your brain perfectly.
“y-yes, cho!” and you’ve got stars in your eyes, feeling an unfamiliar pressure straining in your lower abdomen. “wanna—wanna cum on your face, please.”
“you heard her,” yuki quirks a brow, thumb working your clit in place of her tongue. she’s got a wildness in her eyes, with the lower half of her face sticky like choso’s. “let’s make our pretty girl cum together, hm?”
choso flushes all the way to his neck but nods, his two fingers pushing deeply over and over. a small sting accommodates the stretch, but is quickly forgotten when their faces push against one another’s in their rush for a taste. your slick is sweet like ambrosia, and they’re far too greedy to take turns with your cunt.
your clammy fingers push into yuki’s flowing tresses, while your other hand cups the crown of choso’s head and pushes him impossibly closer. her moans are softer than his as she finds your clit again, licking desperately, almost as if she’s begging you to cum.
meanwhile, choso places a hand above your pelvic bone, palm pressing into the soft skin—you’d mentioned that fingering wasn’t fingering without that small detail and he hasn’t forgotten it since—and it’s becoming difficult to breathe without panting. whiny moans fill the spaces in between your babbled words of bliss, and yuki knows that she won’t be able to get enough of you once this is over.
“ooh, fuck,” you sob, nearly choking on your words when your back uncontrollably arches off the bed. your fingers tighten in her hair and your nails scratch against choso’s scalp, making a mess of his once neatly tied buns. “yuki, ‘m so close, can’t hold it—”
she’d known what had been coming the moment you’d asked for choso’s fingers. she’s unable to stop herself from smiling against your clit, and choso’s tongue bumps into her own as he fights for a piece of you too. he’d initially been all for this so he could learn how to make you tick, what you really meant when you’d beg for his mouth.
his skin is hot as it pushes against hers, their cheeks puffing up a little as they fight for dominance over your clit. they’re shaking their heads all too much, and choso’s grunting while yuki does too, sending vibrations through your already sensitive clit. that pressure burns through your body, and your legs begin to tremble on either side of them as it grows more intense.
“hmph—cum for us, pretty girl.”
similarly, choso tugs away for a moment and lets out a huff, pressing down hard while his fingertips push into your sweet spot, “let us taste it, baby.”
their simple words do the trick, and with a gasp, your pussy begins to gush waterfalls right onto their faces. yuki eagerly slurps up the slick and cum from your cunt, with no regard for the way it’s still fluttering sensitively. choso barely gets a taste, only getting the tip of his tongue wet, and he pulls back with an annoyed scoff.
“yuki, that’s—”
“y-yuki!” you interrupt, voice breaking as you pathetically try to writhe away from her. with choso sitting back, she’s able to grab you by the hips and drag you close, insistently licking you through the dizzying high. “‘s too much, wait—choso!”
“yuki,” he scolds with a shake of his head, but makes no move to pull her away. honestly, if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to. “that’s no fair, i didn’t even get a taste. and she’s my girl.” choso’s words are pointed and a little whiny, and yuki just rolls her eyes.
“then come here ‘n try again. just look at her, she’s dying for more . . aren’t ya, pretty?”
7K notes · View notes
nereidprinc3ss · 3 months ago
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diva
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in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)
fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL
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As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 
Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”
“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 
“Whose side are you on?”
He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 
“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”
“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”
His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 
Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 
“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”
“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”
Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”
Your jaw drops. 
“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”
Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 
He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”
“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”
Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 
He bites his lip thoughtfully. 
“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”
“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”
He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”
“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”
“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”
You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 
“Don’t call me grouchy.”
“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 
The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 
“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”
Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”
“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 
“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”
Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”
Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”
While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 
“What’s up?”
“I wanna move to the couch.”
He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 
“What are you doing?”
Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”
“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 
“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 
He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”
“I’m cold. You’re warm.”
“This is… unprofessional.”
You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”
That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 
“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 
“Tired.”
“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”
“Well… that’s all it was.”
“Mhm.”
“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”
“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 
“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”
His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 
“Oh. I knew that.”
And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.
“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 
“Sleeping.”
You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 
“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”
“Like… in the mornings?”
“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”
“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”
You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 
It slowly fades, and you sigh. 
“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”
“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 
“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”
“I’d love to be a cyborg.”
“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”
“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”
“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”
He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 
“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”
“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”
“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”
“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”
You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 
“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”
You scoff. 
“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”
“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”
“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”
You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 
“What trouble?”
“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”
You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 
“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”
The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 
“Oh,” you murmur. 
A moment passes. 
It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”
“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”
He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”
How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?
When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 
“Spence?”
“Hm?”
“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”
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hoshifighting · 4 months ago
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hi can i request svt's reaction to their s/o being cockdrunk and using their cock as a toy bc she's ovulating 👹👹
warnings: smut, overstimulation, ovulation, teasing, dirty talk, clit stimulations, hair pulling, ass spanking.
seungcheol: dying inside, but god, he loves it. he’s gritting his teeth, trying to hold on as you ride him like it’s the only thing you need. “shit, baby, you really gonna use me like this?” he’d growl, hands gripping your hips to guide you. he’s sensitive as hell, but he’ll take it, no matter how much it wrecks him, whispering in your ear about how he’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. (also would love how fast you get wet)
jeonghan: whining at this point, but still so into it. he’s teasing you the whole time, even though he’s losing his mind. “so desperate, huh?” he’d smirk, cock twitching with every thrust. he’d make you grind on him slow, pulling you down by the neck to whisper filthy shit in your ear, making you need him even more.
joshua: fucked out and blushing, but he’s doing everything to make sure you’re satisfied. “you’re ovulating, huh? can’t get enough of me?” he’d pant, voice shaky as you bounce on him. even though he’s close to overstimulation, he’d still talk sweetly, whispering how he’ll give you everything you need, no matter how sensitive he gets. (best bf ever award)
junhui: loves how wild you get when you’re ovulating. “damn, is it day one?” he’d grin, even though he’s groaning from the sensitivity. he’d slap your ass, leaning in to bite at your neck, knowing it drives you crazy, making sure you’re completely ruined.
hoshi: he’s whining from how hard you’re going, but he’s not stopping you. “fuck, babe, I’m so—ahh, fuck, I’m so sensitive.” he’d gasp, hips bucking into you. he’d grab your thighs, spreading them wider, and mutter, “holy shit, you’re gonna milk me dry…” he pushes deeper.
wonwoo: would be groaning under his breath, but still letting you use him however you want, because he's thebest boyfriend ever :( <33. “shit, babe, I can’t—fuck.” he’s biting his lip, trying to hold it together as you grind down on him, overstimulating him to the max, hands on your waist to pull you closer. he’d stroke your clit softly, just to see you completely lose control.
woozi: he’d try to keep it together, but his voice is cracking with every moan. “you’re fucking crazy when you’re ovulating,” he’d mutter, barely able to keep up with how desperate you are. he’s thrusting up into you harder, just to make sure you get exactly what you want, because oyu're his princess and his body is completely yours—yeah, the muscles, everything, all for you.
minghao: he’s into how wild you get during ovulation. moaning louder than usual, but still somehow keeping it together. “you’re really not gonna stop, huh?” he’d pant, smirking even though his cock is twitching from overstimulation. he’d press his thumb into your clit, watching you go absolutely feral, all while whispering about how you can take as much of him as you want. all of this with his head’s thrown back 😩.
mingyu: he’s destroyed at some point, but the second he understands why you're that horny, he’s doing everything to keep you going. “you’re using me like a fucking toy,” he’d gasp, voice shaking from how sensitive he is, but he’s still guiding your hips, making sure you get every inch. he’d talk filthy in your ear, knowing it makes you even hornier.
seokmin: overstimulated as fuck, but he’s still moaning your name, hips bucking into you. “you need me that bad, baby? oh fuck— then use me, use me all you want..” he’d whimper, fingers digging into your hips as you ride him like you’re in heat. he’d rub your clit, even though his hands are shaking, just to make you cum again and again.
seungkwan: he’d be a whimpering mess, but he’s loving how wild you get. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he’d groan. seungkwan as an ass lover, he’d grab your ass, slapping it lightly, moaning when you grind harder, telling you he’ll let you use him however you want.
vernon: almost dehydrated, and fucked, but he’s letting you take control. “you really can’t get enough, huh?” he’d murmur, voice shaky as you ride him like you’re desperate. he’d bite his lip, but he’s still grabbing your thighs, pulling you closer, muttering how he’ll give you everything. because you're his everything.
chan: thinks that his cock will fall at some point, but he’s letting you fuck him senseless. “y-you are so wet that it keeps slipping out babe.” he’d pant, his hands gripping your waist as you ride him. he’d rub your clit, pull your hair, kiss you sloppier & slowly, whispering how fucking hot you are when you’re this needy.
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nymphoniah · 5 months ago
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lessons learned | logan howlett
AN: here's a little drabble about logan fucking you from behind, keeping you in a headlock, squished between his biceps <3 and also some dirty talk here and there!
pairing: mean!logan x afab!reader
content/tags: NSFW, minors DNI (18+ only), dom!logan, choking, dacryphilia, name calling, porn without plot, dirty talk, creampies, unprotected sex, pet names (princess, doll, etc.), size kink, mark leaving (ie. hickeys), breeding kink, brat taming, rough sex
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logan sees the way you watch his arms hungrily, your lust blown pupils observing the way his muscles twitch when he's feeling tired. he knows the chokehold he has on you.
just a poor little thing, wrapped around his finger.
"i see the way you look at my arms, darlin", he grunts, manhandling you so your back presses against his chest, his toned arms snaking around your waist, keeping you locked in place.
"you don't even try to hide it," logan adds, pressing kisses against your shoulder, his hands working at the straps of your tank top, slowly sliding them down to reveal your tits.
"such a dirty girl, hm?" he teases, rolling the sensitive buds between his thumb and index finger.
"were you ever taught that it was rude to stare?" he hisses, tugging at your nipples, making you wince out in pain. logan smirks at your audible displeasure, now turning his attention from your tits to your neck.
"i’m gonna mark you up doll, ‘oughta teach you a lesson somehow," he growls. logan presses a kiss against the shell of your ear, making his way down to your nape, planting wet kisses along the way.
you lean forwards, giving him easier access to your neck—and when you give him an inch, he takes a mile.
his kisses get more erratic, sloppier, messier, hungrier. he can’t hold himself back, he needs to mark you, and absolutely wants to show the whole world that you’re his.
and so he sinks his teeth into the supple skin of your neck, paying sweet attention to how your weak moans escaped from your lips. he’d nip and suck at your skin, hard enough to leave those love bites you both oh-so carnally desire.
your brain is all fuzzy from the stinging pain you felt on your neck, mixed alongside the growing pleasure you felt between your legs as he simultaneously paws at your tits.
“i can’t take it lo, s’too much,” you whine, shutting your eyes tight. tears start forming around your waterline as he continues his assault on your neck.
just as your vision starts to get hazy, he wraps his left arm around your neck, keeping your face snug between his forearm and bicep.
“be a good girl and fuckin’ take it,” he commands, a singular claw popping out of his right hand, slicing through your mini-skirt to reveal your lacy black pair of panties.
sheathing his claw, he hastily pulls them down to reveal your sopping wet cunt. “fuck me…” he hisses, admiring your cunt in all its glory.
“such a dirty fuckin’ whore, you getting off on this?” he says smugly, slipping a finger between your folds, observing the way your pussy sucks him in.
you weakly nod as you remain sandwiched in his headlock. teetering between the lines of passing out and losing consciousness, you mumble out a string of words—something along the lines of “i need you to fuck me,” or “fuckin’ put it in”; they both mean the same thing to logan anyways.
he obliges, with one arm wrapped around your neck, and the other hastily working at the belt of his jeans. in one swift motion, his boxers and jeans hit the floor in tandem, freeing his cock from the confines of the tight denim.
he spits in his hand, pumping his cock a couple times before he finally lines himself up, and slides himself in, down to the hilt. your pussy sucks him in like a vice, the two of you moaning in unison.
“you’re so tight for me, princess.” he groans, thrusting into you at a rapid pace, fully sheathing himself out, and pushing his full length back into you.
the sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. the pace of which he fucked you made you dizzy, the grip around your neck adding to the immense pleasure you felt in your cunt.
you attempt to press kisses against his bicep as the muscle secures you in place, but you fail to do so, as shown by your wine red lip stick smudged all over his arm.
“such a naughty whore, suckin’ me in like this” he teases, his free hand pressing against the bulge on your stomach, disappearing and reappearing with every thrust of his. “need this dick to fill you up, huh?”
and you whine as much as your parched voice allowed you to. “want you so bad, lo” you mumble incoherently. “need you stuff me with your cum.”
“such a filthy mouth for a sweet little girl like you,” logan grunts, the movement of his hips getting sloppier. “beg for it.”
“need you to fuckin’ breed me,” you moan, “make me yours,” you cry out— and that’s what makes logan snap.
with a few final deep thrusts, he finishes inside you. his hot ropes of cum fill your cunt to the brim; your arousal mixed with his cum leaks out of your sopping hole before he even pulls out.
he keeps his cock inside you for a minute, pumping whatever he has left inside of you, and finally pulls out. he winces, already missing the way your gummy walls wrapped tightly around his cock.
“need to keep that in you…” he says playfully, plugging your cunt with his thumb, the calloused pad making sure that his cum is stuffed deep inside you.
“now let that be a lesson for you, doll,” he quips, removing his thumb, slipping it into his mouth to taste the mixture of the two of you.
he then brings his thumb to your bottom lip, inviting you to have a taste for yourself. the heady taste of his cum combined with your slick had you moan around him.
he pulls his thumb away from your mouth with a pop, and you look up at him with your fucked-out eyes. you simply nod your head and give him a lazy smile.
surely it wouldn’t hurt to stare at him every now and then.
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imawreck · 3 months ago
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Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader
Summary: You and Bucky broke up a few months ago against your wishes, and you’d been trying to move on. When Bucky sees you flirting with another member of the team, he leaves for the next mission to avoid getting in your way. Unfortunately, the mission goes bad, and Bucky isn’t himself when he comes back. He also has a lot to say…
Author’s Note: I realize that in most of my fics Thor is the other romantic interest/situationship, but you CANT tell me that man wouldn’t flirt up a storm with a beautiful woman any chance he got. Also, this is my first smutty fic so feedback and comments would be much appreciated! This is on the more explicit side, so please read with caution.
Warnings: Cursing, mentions self loathing/guilt (it’s Bucky, kinda normal), choking kink, Possessive!Winter Soldier, flashbacks, hair pulling, fingering, metal arm kink, dominant!winter soldier, probably some more but those are the big ones.
Word Count: 4,850
Breakups are ugly most of the time, and almost always one sided.
You and Bucky had been apart for at least three months. You’d stopped counting, wanting to forget it and focus on anything else. It was easier that way, to ignore the heartbreak and clutter up your life with other things to do.
Unfortunately, you still lived in the same tower on the same floor, right across from one another. He was constantly around, and no mattered how hard you tried, you just couldn’t avoid him.
It was hell.
And it was only hell because Bucky hardly gave you a good reason for the break up. Sure, you had your arguments. Mostly about his past and how much better he thought you deserved, to which you’d list all the reasons he was wrong. In reality, those weren’t really arguments. It was just Bucky having a low point, which you were more than willing to help him work through. Outside of those moments, you had felt that your relationship with Bucky was near perfect.
So when he had come back from a mission and broke up with you, his only reason being ‘I can’t be with you,’ it’d been a slap to the face. Like someone had shoved a knife in your heart and twisted.
The worst part was that he wouldn’t even allow you the chance to talk to him afterwards. Every time you were in the same room together alone, he’d find every reason not to speak with you.
So, you’d taken the hint and were now trying to figure out a way to move on.
That was made a little easier when a certain God of Thunder made his interest known to you. Thor was sweet, charming, and a little goofy. Not to mention handsome, with his blonde hair and sky blue eyes.
He’d made an effort to woo you not long after you’d parted from Bucky, and you’d informed him that the breakup was hard for you and that you couldn’t really do something new right now. Thor had been surprisingly understanding, and even took to just being friends quite well. Granted, he was still flirty, but he knew where you both stood and was always happy to lend an ear when you needed one.
He turned out to be just the friend you needed.
From the outside looking in, none of the others thought it was ‘just friends,’ especially when Thor would openly show his interest in you. Especially to a certain Super Soldier.
Bucky was painfully aware of what was going on between you and Thor even though he desperately tried not to be.
His super hearing picked up on the soft laughter you and the god would share, on the hushed whispers you’d exchange late over a mug of coffee when you thought everyone was asleep. His every fiber was attuned to you, and he couldn’t help but fixate on your presence.
You were like gravity to him, and he always found himself near you when he knew he should be as far as humanly possible. He saw the little looks you shared when Thor would compliment you, noticed your shy smile when the god would enter the room. He could tell that Thor was winning you over slowly but surely.
He couldn’t fucking stand it.
So it wasn’t a big surprise when he shipped off on the next mission possible.
You worried, your heart still set on loving him, but you tried to pay it little mind. And after a few days, it actually helped. You felt better, found yourself smiling more. You were beginning to move forward.
That was, until the jet was reported missing. Then Bucky was all anyone could talk about in the tower.
Thor tried his best to keep you in the dark about most of what was going on, and it wasn’t hard seeing as you were just a rather good strategist and not a serious Avenger. You were only really included in skimming over preplanned attacks and making sure they hadn’t missed anything critical.
But word still spread, and worry was ever present.
Needless to say, it was very strange when Mr. Stark called you into a private meeting with himself and two other of the elite team.
“Y/N,” He spoke softly in the kind of tone that lets you know that whatever he says next is going to ruin your whole week. “There’s a situation with Barnes.”
You frowned, eyebrows scrunching at him from where you sat at the rather empty end of the long black table. “I’m confused. Bucky and I broke up months ago. Why are you talking to me about it?”
Steve, who you’d befriended while dating his best pal, looked at you with poorly concealed pity from his seat next to Stark. “Because we know he still means a lot to you and that you’re our best hope in this situation.”
That didn’t make you feel better about whatever was going on at all. “What do you mean ‘this situation?’” You eyed them both, before dragging your eyes over to Doctor Banner who hadn’t done much more than stare at you with a concerned expression bordering on panic.
Stark pressed his fingers to his forehead, “Barnes got triggered on his mission and has infiltrated the tower. We have reason to believe he’s after you.”
You gaped at him. That didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important, at least not as important as one of The Avengers. “Me? Why me?”
“We’ve silently shut the building down and we’re working on evacuating the floors without anyone freaking out.” Tony went on, ignoring your questions, “He doesn’t know that we’re aware he’s here, and we’re trying to keep it that way.” Tony motioned towards a monitor, and the image of Bucky popped up on the screen.
Only he was in your room, and he was dragging his fingers over the picture of the two of you that was perched on the nightstand. They way his fingers smoothed over the glass, the slight pinch in his brows as if calculating instead of recalling. It was like he’d never seen it before in his life. Like he had no connection to the image of himself.
It was a picture he had taken, his arm extended and a smile on his face with your lips pressed to his cheek. You had meant to take it down and stuff it in the box under your bed with all the other memories you had hid from sight, but it was just too painful. You needed something to hold onto.
You watched through the screen as he moved around your room, taking note of certain things and taking careful precautions to ensure that anything he moved was set right back in place. It was eerie to watch a man who was once so comfortable in your space tread with so much hesitance. Like it was the first time he’d been in the space all over again.
“Y/N.” It was Steve’s gentle timbre that brought your attention away from the screen this time. He tried to smile, though it was clearly forced. “We need you to lure him down towards the lower levels. We have to get him to a room where we can better contain him. If he finds out we know he’s back and not… him, then he could snap.”
“You want to use me as bait? For the Winter Soldier?” You stared at them both with wide eyes, panic blooming in your chest. “This is insane!”
Steve sighed, “Y/N… Bucky told me about the incident that happened in the beginning of your relationship.”
Your attention zeroed in on the blonde’s words, your breath hitching.
“He told me what could’ve happened… and what didn’t.”
You walked down the corridor of the Stark tower office floor heading back towards your desk from a late night research meeting with a few of your coworkers. You had decided to stay later than the others so that you could collect and organize the information you needed for the meeting with Mr. Stark the following morning. It was very late, and you were tired, the heels you wore had begun to irritate the soles of your feet hours before.
You clutched the files you collected in your arms, heels clicking on the glossy floors and echoing into the dimly lit corridor. So dim that you didn't see the silhouette of the man standing just feet from you until it was too late.
You only saw a flash of silver before the door beside you was torn open and you were roughly shoved inside. Cleaning supplies clattered onto the floor, spilling liquids over your feet as you cried out. A hand clamped over your mouth, and your head hit the wall with a thunk.
Stormy blue eyes stared at you, cold and unfeeling. Eyes you had seen just days before smiling at you and filled with life.
Your lips moved to say his name against the cool metal of his hand, but his grip on your face was nearly bruising. You could only stare back in fear and attempt to press your body further from him.
He didn't speak, only stared at you and kicked the door to the closet shut.
Fear was a living thing in your stomach, writhing as his eyes snaked down to your red heels and back up again. His head tilted to the side, as if he was trying to remember something. But his eyes remained cold and unrelentingly empty. His flesh hand came up to press a finger threateningly to his lips.
‘Quiet.’
You weren't stupid enough to scream, not with the way he was looking at you, with how close he was. When he removed his hand, you did exactly as he wanted. Silence hung in the small closet, suffocating you. Would he kill you? What did he want? Why hadn't he killed you already?
The cool metal of his palm slipped further down, wrapping around your throat and pressing against your thundering pulse. Your head pounded along with it, and a foggy feeling settled over your mind.
But your lungs still filled with air, and you remained aware. The pressure of his hand was ever present, but it was light enough not to cause real damage... Almost like he didn't want to hurt you.
His tongue darted out to lick his lips, the movement catching your eyes. His body leaned forward, his nose pressing into your neck and his warm breath hitting your skin. Goosebumps rose in its wake, and that lick of fear heightened again. He was acting so strangely, and the longer it went on the more unsettling it was.
When he pulled away, there was a heat in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A hunger, and… and recognition.
“Hello, Beloved.”
“We know that he didn’t hurt you, and that he displayed… certain feelings towards you.” Steve’s voice brought you out of the memory, dragging you back to the reality at hand.
The one where he wants you to put yourself smack dab in the path of the Winter Soldier.
“You’re serious about this?” You blink up at him, trying to gauge if he was joking or not. Level headed as Steve was, you trusted him with your life. But this? This was terrifying and completely unexpected. Ridiculously dangerous.
“It’s the only nonviolent way we can think of. And we’re almost certain there’s no high risk for you.” Steve tried to give you a reassuring smile, tried to hide the hint of unease that shone in his tense shoulders.
“You’ve all lost your mind.” You laugh, sighing and raising your chin. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Apparently, so had you.
You stared at the metal doors of the elevator, your heart pounding with each toll of the floors passing. This was probably—no, was— the riskiest thing you’d ever done in your life. You trusted Steve and Mr. Stark, but your brain was trained to find the flaws in plans like this. And so many things could go wrong.
“It’s okay, Y/N.” Steve said calmly into your ear, startling you. You’d forgotten they’d given you the earpiece. “I’ll be here the entire time. I’ll guide you through the compound and make sure you stay out of danger.”
You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if they could see you.
“Bucky is leaving your room. We’re going to drop you off in the commons area of your floor. All you have to do is make some noise and then head for the stairwell. Just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this.” Steve sounded so confident in your ear, but it did little to soothe the nerves.
The elevator leveled out, and the doors quietly opened. The large living room opened up before you, unnervingly bright and welcoming despite the danger you knew lurked just down the hall. You stepped out onto the carpet, walking towards the kitchen. Your palms sweat, heart pounding, as you made your way up to the cabinets.
You just had to make some noise. Easy, right?
But your body wouldn’t move.
“Y/N.” Steve’s voice called in your ear again, gently coaxing you from where he watched the cameras. “Make some noise, and then head for the stairs.”
You swallowed, nodding again, and reached with shaky hands towards the cabinet. You grabbed a bowl, and hesitantly set it down on the granite counter. The echoing pok of the ceramic felt too loud in your ears, like a gunshot.
“Good, now move quickly. He’s just down the hall headed your way.”
The words sent a chill down your spine… and something else followed. Something you’d never felt before.
You headed towards the stairs, but your feet felt like lead weights. Like you couldn’t move fast enough even though you knew you were going as fast as you could.
But you could hear the faintest scuff of boots coming behind you and the sound sent your heart into a frenzy.
You raced down the stairs, tripping a few times before righting yourself and continuing your decent down towards the lower levels. Your floor was four levels up from ground level, which meant you had six floors in total to descend before you could get to the containment floor.
Six flights of stairs being chased by The Winter Soldier. A superhuman man who was definitely faster than you, and probably wanted to do something terrible to you. Like a wolf hunting a sheep.
Oh God.
The thought only served to spur the panic rising in you. You kicked up your speed when the door slammed behind you, footsteps pounding after you as the dark silhouette of Bucky Barnes rounded the stairs two flights above.
He took the stairs four at a time, his long legs swallowing up the distance between you. The panic clawed its way up your throat in a strangled cry, and the sound just seemed to quicken his pace.
“I’m not fast enough!” You tried to keep your voice even, tried to keep it quiet in the echoing stairwell so that the soldier behind you would hear.
“You’re almost there, Y/N. Just keep up the pace. Two flights left and—“ but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.
You watched in shocked horror as Bucky’s figure leapt over the railing and plummeted towards the ground. He dropped several flights before his arm snapped out and wrapped around the railing. The sound of metal hitting metal rang out around you as the railing dipped under the crushing pressure.
He hauled himself back onto the stairs just before you. Those cold eyes found yours, dark hair framing sharp features, painting him into something primal. Something wild.
That feeling pounded through you again, skittering along your spine and raising the hairs on the back of your neck. You still couldn’t place it, not with him stepping towards you with a look that promised violence.
You heard Steve’s voice ordering something over the earpiece, but it was distant. It became clearer a moment later. “We’ve got a team heading in. Just… just hang in there.”
You swallowed, but your throat had gone dry in the presence of the assassin before you. His eyes held you in place as his towering form finally stopped a stair below you, leveling with you face to face. So close you could count the stitches in the Kevlar of his suit.
You felt your body shaking, heard your heart thundering in your ears as your chest rose and fell with each short breath you managed to drag into your lungs.
And he watched every move you made.
His head titled to the side exactly like it’d done the first time you’d been trapped with him. His gaze never left you, eyes wandering over your face and heaving chest before that faint look of recognition settled into those hollow eyes.
And then that heat you’d seen before consumed them.
He stepped forward, and you answered with a step back. For each one he took, you pedaled backwards until your body was plastered against the wall. When you tried to flee back up the stairs, his metal hand planted itself against the wall inches from your head.
You were utterly trapped.
Rough Russian left his lips in the softest whisper. The sound was the same as you’d heart him say before, though you didn’t understand it.
Not until now, as the earpiece Steve had given you translated his words as he spoke them.
“Hello again, Beloved.”
Those blue eyes bored into yours, as his other hand came up to brush your cheek with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of.
“He’s kept me from you for so long.” Bucky’s body leaned forward, caging you against the wall. His metal hand remained pressed against the wall beside you, and the other dragged across the skin of your neck and shoulder in an almost reverent manner.
Bucky’s— no, this wasn’t Bucky. This was the part of Bucky he kept farthest from you. This was a man known for cruel, unimaginable violence. An assassin known by reputation around the world by both hero and criminal alike and feared by all. This was the Winter Soldier.
Winters lips brushed your jaw, stubble tickling the column of your throat as his voice rumbled against your skin. “Kept you to himself. Never let me touch you. Worried I’d damage you, Beloved. Couldn’t see you needed me.”
His teeth nipped at your skin, and a shiver rolled down your spine in answer. That feeling tugged at your mind again, spurred by his words. But still, you couldn’t place it. Not with your mind consumed by his statements and barely contained yearning.
When his head lifted to find your eyes again, the fingers of his right hand tangled themselves in your hair and pulled hard enough to have your scalp stinging. His next words were guttural and biting, “And then he let you go.”
Winters grip loosened a bit, but his hold on your hair remained. “He pushed you away, and then that god tries to take you from me?” His eyes held you, demanding your utter attention as his head shook slowly, “You don’t belong to him.”
Tugging your lip between your teeth, you clenched your eyes shut. God, you wished Bucky would say that to you. Having Winter here saying these words with Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s face. Touching you with familiar hands…
Heat had begun to pool low in your belly.
The words were spoken in English. “Open your eyes.”
There was no room for objection in his voice, so you did as he said. With his jaw was set in an angry line, and those blue eyes boring into your soul, he leaned in closer. “He thinks that being with you is too dangerous, that you aren’t safe with… with us.”
“What?” Your heart hammered in your chest at his words. It was the first real reason as to why Bucky had broken up with you.
Those silvery blue eyes zeroed on your lips as he spoke again. “He thinks we can’t protect you, that I’ll hurt you. That somehow being further from you keeps you safe from what comes with being what we are.” His metal hand left the wall in favor of brushing over your lower lip and trailing the cool tips of his fingers down to the dip of your breasts and back up to the column of your throat. “I’d never hurt you, not the way he has. Not if you didn’t want it.”
“W-what do you mean?” You just knew he was picking up on how your heart beat harder as his fingers trailed over your skin. Or the way you kept shifting on your feet to stave off the heat thrumming in your veins with an all too familiar want blooming and begging for his hands to explore more.
The faintest hint of a smile graced his face as he gave your hair another gentle tug, then loosened his grip once more. “You like this. I’ve seen how you react with him. How you quietly treasure the marks he leaves on your skin even when he feels nothing but guilt.” That metal hand slipped over your throat again and pressed on your neck exactly as he’d done the first time you’d seen Winter. Your head spun at the pressure, but you could breathe easily under the cool press of his palm as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered. “I see how badly you wish he’d touch you with this hand,” he squeezed your neck and loosened it quickly, “How badly you want those marks. How badly you need me.”
You had no words. Nothing to say as he wrung out the truth you’d thought was hidden from him— from Bucky.
Bucky was notorious for avoiding any situation that would make him use the metal arm. He would much rather let it hang there, or act as if he didn’t have it at all. That included when the two of you would get intimate. He never dared to bring it anywhere near you no matter how many times you’d reminded him it was fine, that you weren’t afraid of it. He outright refused to allow it to touch your delicate skin, to let such a catalyst for agony so close to something as precious as you.
Winter knew that you’d secretly craved to feel the cold metal in contrast to his warm skin when he held you. He knew that you would always find it more satisfying when Bucky would lose himself and get rough with you when things got heated. How his flesh hand would leave bruises on your thighs or hips to keep you steady as he thrust himself deeper.
Just the thought had you aching, and here was Bucky’s darker half offering you everything you’d ever wanted.
You were losing your fucking mind.
“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but the words were flimsy and meaningless. He knew the truth, but that didn’t mean you had to say it aloud.
His metal fingers dug into your jaw, his grip near bruising as he tilted your head up to level your eyes with his. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Dollface.” His lips were a hairs-width away, his warm breath fanning over your face.
The scent of him was intoxicating, muddling your mind even further with heady leather and metal invading your nose. The hint of that aftershave you’d missed so much since Bucky broke your heart.
Winter was tearing you apart at the seams.
“Please,” you whispered. Please what? You didn’t know. You could hardly think straight. That feeling was so strong, thrumming along with your pulse and the ache for something. Anything.
“Tell me I’m right.” He mumbled against your skin. Soft lips, a vast contrast to his rough demeanor, to the calloused hand that remained tangled in your hair, trailed down your cheek. “Tell me that you want me. Not the pathetic excuse for a god, or him. That you want me.”
His metal hand released your face, drifting over your neck and dragging over the left side of your chest. He circled once, thumbing over your nipple with a knowing look filled with every sinful promise known to man.
And then he went lower and lower…
His fingers caught the waistband of your leggings, the chill of his fingers raised goosebumps across your stomach, only serving to worsen that burning need.
“Doll,” a command and a question wrapped in one word.
All you had to do was admit your darkest most guarded secret. Confess, and he would give you what you wanted most. What Bucky was too afraid to do.
You opened your mouth, the words tumbling out as he gave your hair another tug.
“I want you.”
That smirk grew just a fraction more, his fingers slipping past your waistband and toying with the hem of your panties.
Fuck, did you wish you’d gone commando today.
“Who am I?” He asked, teeth nipping down your neck hard enough to know they’d leave marks. “I want you to say it, Y/N.”
Those fingers slipped further, rolling over your aching clit in a teasing stroke before he pulled them away again.
If he wasn’t a literal assassin, you’d consider strangling him.
“For fucks sake,” you gripped his arm, your voice unfamiliar in your own ears, ragged and broken. “Winter, please.”
He didn’t waste time, deft, cool fingers dipping into your core with confidence. Soothing that aching heat.
Fuck.
His thumb circled slow as he pumped his fingers, his mouth leaving wet kisses along your jaw up to your lips where he paused long enough to catch a glimpse of your face. You knew you looked like an utter mess, but those blue eyes showed nothing but twisted delight. He leaned forward and tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, bitting hard enough to make you groan.
Winter’s answering grunt of approval urged you further towards the edge of oblivion those perfect metal fingers were working you towards.
God you were so close. Each movement, every touch and bruise he left on your skin pushing you closer and closer. Just a bit more, a fraction more and you’d—
His fingers wrenched away, gone in an instant.
Your eyes, closed from the pleasure just moments ago, snapped open just before the doors to the stairway above and below you burst open. Floods of agents filed through the doors, and a gun fired.
The sharp sound echoed in the confined space making you flinch. Winters back pressed you against the wall, a solid shield of muscle keeping you out of harms way.
Then the weight was too heavy. His body crushing you as he slumped toward the floor. You screamed, immediately thinking the worse as your eyes searched his form in a panic.
But you found no blood, thank God.
“He’s fine, Y/N.”
Steve’s hand on your shoulder had you flinching back, head snapping to his suit clad form. “The gun—“
“It’s just a tranq. I promise, Bucky will be fine.” His face was the picture of practiced reassurance.
A horde of agents rushed forward and cuffed Winters hands and dragged his unconscious body out of the stairwell and further towards the confinement room. Steve remained with you, his eyes flicking to your neck a few times and checking you over to make sure no serious damage had been done.
When you’d gotten yourself back to your room away from the prying eyes and the relentless questions, the reality of what had happened slammed into you.
You just let the Winter Soldier finger you in a fucking stairwell.
And you liked it.
Plunging your fingers into your hair, you took a shaky breath. What the fuck were you thinking? Had you lost your damn mind? Bucky broke up with you three months ago! You were done; over, moving on. He could remember this, for Christ sake! How would you explain it?
Panic writhed in your stomach, but so did the faint ache of need that reminded you of what had just happened mere minutes ago.
The feeling of his metal hand on your skin, the feeling of those fingers working you perfectly and the pressure of his bruising grip.
And that feeling that you couldn’t place.
But now you had a word for it.
From the thrum of your heart as he chased you down the stairs, the promise of violence and sinful pleasure in his eyes. The roughness of his actions…
It was the thrill.
You liked the chase. You liked how rough he was. The delicious blend of panic and pleasure.
And he’d been interrupted before you got the release you’d craved. That you needed.
Frustration boiled to the forefront of your mind, a dozen different strategies with it.
He’d made you confess your darkest secret only to leave you high and dry.
And damn him if he wasn’t going to finish what he started.
2K notes · View notes
ghost-proofbaby · 7 days ago
Text
the hat rule. (e.m. x fem!reader)
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the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.
summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.
pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.
wc: 13.3k+
happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.
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If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.
And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.
The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s. 
He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.
Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.
And then, there was Eddie.
Eddie fuckin’ Munson. 
“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.” 
“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?” 
Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.” 
“Cut the pet names, Munson.”
You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say. 
Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume. 
Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest. 
And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion. 
You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this. 
“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?” 
You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation. 
“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.” 
You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control. 
It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.
That’s just how the friendship worked. 
The friendship. 
Friend. Nothing more, nothing less. 
Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.” 
“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.” 
“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”
He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that. 
You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?” 
“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”
“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for. 
You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly. 
“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.” 
And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite. 
There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does. 
His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.
Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?” 
Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long. 
Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”
Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all. 
It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst. 
Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.
You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.
Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’. 
Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time. 
“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”
“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand. 
“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”
“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.” 
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”
“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.” 
You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm. 
“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.” 
“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt. 
When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though. 
The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots. 
He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.
And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser? 
Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips. 
“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.
You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously. 
You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.
Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.” 
“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process. 
The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish. 
“You think I’m pretty?”
It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs. 
You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him. 
“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.” 
“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”
You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?” 
He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?
And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.
His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.” 
“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her. 
You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you. 
“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.” 
He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.
In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head. 
He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited. 
It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head. 
“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.” 
“Took too long,” you shrug innocently. 
“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.
You should probably behave yourself. 
“No.”
But this is more fun. 
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”
“No,” you confirm a second time. 
And you’re done with this game of back and forth. 
The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.” 
Damn right, you know about the hat rule.
You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.” 
“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” 
Perfect. 
You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on. 
“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”
And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.
You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.
Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.
You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction. 
When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup. 
Good. 
The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.
Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one. 
You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead. 
Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you. 
Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets. 
Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy. 
“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?” 
“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”
Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night? 
He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night. 
“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.” 
Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her. 
Where the fuck is Eddie? 
“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab. 
Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.” 
Fuck. 
As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head. 
“Trying to find a certain cowboy?” 
“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.” 
“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”
“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy. 
You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat. 
“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!” 
The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.
You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke. 
“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” 
Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.
He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her. 
“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?” 
Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any. 
“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?” 
You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t. 
He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.” 
The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”
You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave. 
You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased. 
“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.” 
“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.” 
Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips. 
“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.” 
He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?” 
Over my dead body. 
You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him. 
You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”
As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip. 
From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat. 
“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.” 
Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you? 
You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were. 
Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.” 
Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again. 
“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.” 
“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?” 
“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis. 
You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.” 
It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said. 
“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you. 
A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad. 
You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie. 
You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.
A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him. 
You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished. 
That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head. 
You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat. 
You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you. 
When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all. 
“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.” 
“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”
“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.” 
You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan. 
Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises. 
“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?” 
Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.
“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.” 
With that, you make your grand escape. 
Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-
“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?” 
You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously. 
“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?” 
“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.” 
You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.” 
“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.” 
“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.” 
“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.” 
“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.” 
Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.” 
“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.
And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world. 
“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….” 
You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.
Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend. 
“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”
At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking. 
The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity. 
He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this. 
And fuck, you really want this. 
“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.” 
He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?” 
“Yep.”
Another ding, another buzz of your phone.
Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule. 
“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car. 
You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.” 
“And you remember the hat rule?” 
Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”
“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.” 
His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of. 
You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling. 
“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first. 
In that case, that’s my pussy now.
You hope he ruins you. 
In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head. 
Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips. 
Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out. 
Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him. 
Eddie simply fucking your brains out. 
Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly. 
The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you. 
It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat. 
Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here. 
You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it. 
He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin. 
You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right. 
“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”
He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target. 
His thigh. 
Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction. 
You’re looking straight ahead. 
There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.
You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day. 
“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher. 
His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser. 
“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.” 
The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher. 
And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.
By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up. 
You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather. 
And then he flips the script. 
You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into. 
Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear. 
Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely. 
“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”
As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench. 
You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.” 
“Still playing games I see.” 
In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.
When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?
You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up. 
He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now. 
“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them. 
“Never.”
You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back. 
But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles. 
You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh. 
The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?” 
You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment. 
“I-”
“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck. 
“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open. 
A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him. 
You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it. 
He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring. 
“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for. 
“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.” 
You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.
Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them. 
You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway. 
You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car. 
“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him. 
“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.” 
That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night. 
It sends your clit throbbing. 
You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?” 
He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs. 
No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely. 
You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you. 
One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment. 
Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name. 
Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”
A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only. 
Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you. 
“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”
Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet. 
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his. 
His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?” 
Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off? 
Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours. 
And - oh.
Oh. 
That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off. 
You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived. 
He wants this. You want him. 
“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth. 
His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey. 
“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”
Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words. 
You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face. 
“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths. 
“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.” 
A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient. 
But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards. 
Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest. 
He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later. 
“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.
You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along. 
You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience. 
His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care. 
“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.” 
He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants. 
The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned. 
“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?” 
His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right. 
“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.” 
When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.
“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”
“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.” 
Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you. 
“What?” 
Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening. 
He’s wanted this, too? This entire time? 
Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”
“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?” 
Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you. 
“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?” 
“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.” 
“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”
“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.” 
He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?” 
“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.” 
His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head. 
That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed. 
He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress. 
“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?” 
You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss. 
Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared. 
“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.” 
“Whatever you say, cowboy.” 
You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence. 
He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours. 
You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about. 
You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them. 
“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.
“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”
“Take off the vest, Eddie.” 
Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor. 
“And the boxers.” 
You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does. 
The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of  precum slip down his shaft. 
He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants. 
Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you. 
“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?” 
He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare. 
He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission. 
Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself. 
Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind. 
You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive. 
The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. 
“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.” 
“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out. 
You don’t answer him as you both moan out. 
You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly. 
It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his. 
“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.” 
Nice. And. Slow.
Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you. 
“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.” 
His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips. 
“Do it like this, sweetheart.”
He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern. 
Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly. 
The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull. 
This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there. 
At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat. 
You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head. 
Just like a cowboy. 
“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie. 
“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.” 
You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .
A hand on your throat. 
He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t. 
“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck. 
You nod.
“Tell me with your words,” he commands.
“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.” 
When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath. 
“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?” 
“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”
When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.
It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago. 
Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you. 
You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory. 
Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you. 
It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner. 
“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me, Eddie.” 
Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue. 
Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful. 
Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips. 
Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone. 
“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”
You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.” 
His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.
Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied. 
“You didn’t cum.”
“What?”
“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.” 
You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips. 
“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”
“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.” 
And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him. 
“Get on all fours for me, baby.” 
Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.
When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.
You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass. 
A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening. 
You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when- 
“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”
“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak. 
He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.” 
You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue. 
“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt. 
Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously. 
“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.
He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.
“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.” 
And let him hear you, you do. 
Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name. 
“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.” 
Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.” 
You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more. 
More, more, more. 
There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way. 
Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises. 
You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap. 
Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over. 
You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears. 
You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs. 
He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him. 
The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.
You cum hard for him. 
You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.
He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away. 
Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body. 
“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.” 
One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all. 
“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”
“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.” 
You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?” 
“Yeah.” 
He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear. 
“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.” 
Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?” 
“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air. 
The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.
All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality. 
He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”
“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content. 
“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?” 
“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?” 
You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world. 
Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table. 
Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.
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poisoned-pearls · 1 year ago
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wanting to include azul reflexively slapping people bc it’s absolutely hilarious that octopi do in fact just. Punch people vs. not knowing how to describe someone doing a light slap that doesn’t hurt for any longer than a second without overusing ‘lightly’
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