#im laying in bed kicking my feet and giggling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harringtonswriting · 2 years ago

Text

okay this took me way longer than i wanted to like, fully read and digest but oH MY GOODNESS JADE 🥺💕

this is absolutely so breathtaking, so wonderfully delightful, adorable, sweet, beautiful... i could go on for hours about how much i LOVE the tangled!au and how well you wrote this

im gonna put more thoughts under the cut so i dont clog the dash but pls know i am in LOVE with this au

Flowers made up of a thousand colours, petals dripping with dew, their anthers heavy with pollen. A field of every flower he's ever seen and a hundred others he's not familiar with. He has really, truly, never seen anything like it. Not even the spectacle of the Palace could hold a candle to what he sees before him. No books he'd read growing up had ever conjured an image as sharply magical as this.

your imagery? your descriptions? breathtaking. like i can see this and how gorgeous it must look in the sunlight and wowowow steve's girl is SO talented

A rainbow of light arcs through the air and caresses your cheek, and the wind chime hanging in the window tinkles softly with a warm summer breeze. The tower echoes with your huffing breath. The pan is too heavy for you to hold any longer and you let it drop with a wrist-tugging defeat.

i love this description so much, like? i can close my eyes and see what steve sees and it's beautiful, like probably more beautiful than tangled itself, i love this version, your version SO much 💕

The hair on his head and tucked behind his ears is comely as corn silk but much darker. It shines in the descending sunlight now flooding the room. There's a golden tinge to everything at this time that leaves no inch of his person unscathed; his eyes glow with it, his irises a melting brown that reminds you of rare, thick honey.

god i am SO in love with your steve and the way you describe him; he's glowing and he's a treasure himself like who cares about the tiara when we have tangled!steve?

He tries to intimidate you. Steve is not very intimidating. He frowns and he looks unhappy rather than angry, the worst he dips into is a pestered annoyance. His stomach gurgles in the ensuing silence.

the commentary about steve i'm 🥺 even though this is an au and you have total free reign, which is wonderful, you still manage to capture the steve-ness of steve harrington

You look like one of the women from his storybook. A water nymph. A siren. The room is warm with steam, and his cheeks, hot to begin with, emanate enough heat to warm your tub again as he makes the comparison. Your looks alone might draw him to drowning.

WOW STEVE IS IN LOVE HUH? good for him!! admire his gorgeous girl!! i love that steve has a storybook and he's seeing this magical girl, and just the consistency of the water imagery and concepts? yes please? i am falling even more in love

Eddie takes a step forward, his shoes like a thunderclap across the wooden floor.

AHHHHH EDDIE i am in love with him now too and we've had him for like fives minutes. he's gonna stir stuff up i think and i am ready for it, i love him and i love this au SO much 💕💕💕

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

You want to see the floating lights. Steve wants his satchel back. You come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial… sorta. tangled!au

10k words, reader insert, fem!reader, medieval times (ish!), begrudging allies, fake dating/marriage, lots of changes from tangled movie but it’s got the spirit, I tried to be inclusive of all hair types but it is magical and floor length nonetheless, magical realism, TW for abusive mother + narcissism, mother is awful, steve is gonna show her the world is a good place!! allies to friends to lovers, pining

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Steve's hands are bleeding by the time he works his way into the tower, raw from the rough grit of old hewn stone. He hisses with every handhold he finds, adrenaline staving off the worst of the pain as his eyes scrabble for the next ledge.

Five feet, three. His hand slaps into the dark wood of a window ledge and he heaves himself up, the joints of his arms screaming in protest. Were it not for the rumbling of horse hooves like an earthquake outside of the grotto he might've given up, hoped for a soft landing.

The threat of being caught propels him forward.

He lands on the tiled flooring of the main atrium of the tower with an audible plop of fabric, his satchel clunking hard by his hip.

"Stars," he says. He breathes hard, trying and failing to slow his heart now he's found sanctuary.

He lifts his cheek from the mosaic beneath and peers around the room. He gawps.

It's mostly dark, and still he can make out the intricate, masterful artwork decorating the curved wall. Flowers made up of a thousand colours, petals dripping with dew, their anthers heavy with pollen. A field of every flower he's ever seen and a hundred others he's not familiar with. He has really, truly, never seen anything like it. Not even the spectacle of the Palace could hold a candle to what he sees before him. No books he'd read growing up had ever conjured an image as sharply magical as this.

He pushes up onto his elbows. Sunlight drips into the room from the wooden shutters he’d crawled through, illuminating the feet of each cabinet, a washing basin, and the brick oven under a staircase that ascends into the tower. He sniffs and finds the stick of coal dust heavy in the air; somebody lives here.

Steve's quickly proven right when you swing from behind an alcove near the kitchenette.

He startles backward and away from you as you advance, a cast iron pan held aloft in delicate hands and wielded with an intimidating confidence.

"Holy- Wait! Wait, please," he cries, holding his hands palm out in surrender.

Steve doesn't suppose you'd been expecting such a feeble intruder. He'd feel a strike against his dignity if it hadn't worked — you slow in the centre of the room, your breath coming in quick pants as the iron pan in your grip shakes.

You're scared.

You're beautiful.

"What do you want?" you ask, a pleading sort of twist to your question. "I don't have anything. I don't have anything worth taking."

"Please," he says loudly. "I don't want anything. Sanctuary for the night, nothing else."

Your chest rises. Steve feels smarmy, but he finds his eyes drawn to the valley of your chest, the bodice of your dress. A soft and buttery orange sewn with the palest pink and lilac embroidery. It's a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, lovely enough that he wonders briefly if you're of royal descent, but the dress itself is a peasant's gown.

His eyes rise back to your unhappy face. Your brows are pulled up at the starts, a delicate display that betrays your fear.

You glare at him.

"You can't stay here," you assert.

"One night." Steve pulls his satchel into his lap to procure a small coin purse. He'd love to say it was his coin purse. He cannot. "I have silvers. I can pay you."

He will not be paying you anything. He won't rob you, though. He's not a total miscreant.

"You can't stay," you say again, raising your iron pan higher above your shoulder. He sees a flash of something at your hip. "My mother–"

"Holy stars, is that your hair?"

You seize up, making an almost inaudible sound of dejection. "No."

"Are you sure? It looks very much like hair."

Steve anchors his hand to the floor and leans downward to get a better look. You turn with him, attempting to shield your long hair from view and only helping him along. It sways with your movements, the ends near long enough to dance over the floor.

"You have to leave. Leave!"

Steve bites the inside of his lip. A rainbow of light arcs through the air and caresses your cheek, and the wind chime hanging in the window tinkles softly with a warm summer breeze. The tower echoes with your huffing breath. The pan is too heavy for you to hold any longer and you let it drop with a wrist-tugging defeat.

"I'm not trying to scare you. But I really can't leave. I won't harm a hair on your head," he adds with a smile, eyebrows slightly raised in wait of your laughter.

You don't laugh, nor do you smile.

"My mother, she'll come home any minute now," you say unconvincingly.

He tips his head to one side. "Then I'll speak with your mother and get her permission to stay."

"She won't give it."

You're really too handsome to be frowning as you are. Steve wants to do as he does with all pretty people and make you smile, but the task feels insurmountable. You want him to leave. He can't.

"If I leave, I'll be killed," he says. While it's not a lie in its entirety, neither is it a truth.

Your grip tightens around the handle of your pan. "What?" you ask worriedly.

He feels guilty for garnering your concern though it's exactly what he'd been aiming for, nodding his head gravely.

"I'm being pursued by ruffians. For days now. I only need to hide here for the night while they clear the forest. They'll look for me elsewhere, after."

His storytelling voice is clear. Admittedly much too dramatic and yet you eat it up like a child devours spun sugar. Your hands press to your chest, frying pan held in your palm like the pommel of a sword.

"Ruffians?" you repeat.

He swoops in. "Not to worry. They didn't see me scale the tower, or even enter the valley." He gives you a commending smile. "You're very well hidden."

"Not well enough, clearly."

"I got lucky."

You back away from him. You don't turn your back to him, smart girl, only widen the gap between your two bodies with a fluttering unease.

"I wish I could help you," you whisper urgently, "I wish I could. But my mother, if she finds you here, I- I'm not sure what she'll do."

Steve blinks dazedly. "She would kill me?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then whatever it is will be a kinder fate."

That shatters the very last of your resolve. You visually err on what to do next, how to handle his being here. Steve’s head races with thoughts of the palace guards, of Thomas and Carol, and of you — your skin lit by the sun, and your long, long hair.

"Do you want some water?" you ask quietly.

The relief he conjures is as authentic as it comes. "Yes. More than anything."

—

Your mysterious stranger sits at one end of the table in Mother's seat while you sit across from him, a small clay drinking cup encapsulated by his large hand. You're making no effort to hide how closely you're watching him, though if he's under the impression it's for safety's sake then that's best.

He's very, very fine.

You haven't seen a man in person before, and if they all look like this you might wish you'd ventured out of the tower sooner. He wears a worn brown tunic that shows evidence of numerous careful darnings, its top button popped open to reveal a tiniest hint of curled hair disappearing downward.

"The flowers," he says after an aching pause. "Are they painted? They must have been a huge expense."

You follow his gaze, surprised at his question in two ways. That he would ask, and that he would think somebody else did them.

"They're how I spend my summers."

"Looking at them?"

You laugh from the pure joy of the complement he's implying, unused to his awed reaction. Mother usually nods or hums at a new unveiling, and one time you'd earned a, "That's wonderful, darling."

You're not sure she'd actually been looking at the time.

"I painted them myself."

The stranger's jaw drops. "A little thing like you?" he asks.

"I'm hardly little," you deny, neither of stature nor burden.

"You're young, aren't you? You can't be more than twenty summers."

"What a funny way of speaking," you murmur, more to yourself than him. "I'm twenty. I'll be one and twenty, in a few days."

His eyes narrow. "Well, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"You aren't married?"

You try not to be offended and fail spectacularly. "Most don't get married until they're nearing five and twenty!"

"Most," he agrees. "But a girl as pretty as you? Who can paint like this? Don't tell me you've been hiding from every man in the kingdom."

You turn your face from him in case he can tell how flustered you are. Two complements in one day is unprecedented. Your heart bump-bump-bumps.

"Are you married?" you ask swiftly, hoping to redirect this line of conversation away from something as treacherous as your own isolation. Any answer would expose you.

"I am, actually. She has the most gorgeous shine to her face, and her laugh is melodic and sweet as anything, a tinkling sound. She's bronze-skinned, a slight thing, but she's worth her weight in gold."

He grins. You can't help but smile in response, infected by his endearing affection.

"What's her name?" you ask, voice near a coo.

"Argento."

You stare at him. His smile gets so big it looks like it could bruise his cheeks.

"You're talking about money."

"She's a brilliant bedfellow, isn't she? She keeps me warm and fed every night. She's a good girl." He sighs and crosses his arms behind his head. His attempt at nonchalance is ruined when he cringes in pain and drops them gracelessly back into his lap.

You cover your mouth and laugh. He's funny. Mother doesn't make half as many jokes.

Mother. As if the mere thought of her is enough to summon her presence, a shrill call echoes from the bottom of the tower.

"Y/N, darling, throw down the rope for your mother!"

You jump to your feet, slippers sliding against the mosaic floor in a hurried scratch. "You have to hide," you whisper harshly.

The stranger pouts at you. "Seriously, let me talk to her, I–"

You shake your head voraciously at his loud volume and press your finger to your lips, eyes begging with him to be quiet.

"Please," you whisper, "hide. I'll hide you 'til tomorrow, when she leaves in the morning."

He doesn't move.

"Y/N? I don't have all day!" The irritation in her voice is obvious.

"Please," you whisper again.

He gets up with a mild eye roll. You rush to the window and look down at your mother where she stands at the bottom, looking impossibly small.

"There you are! What are you waiting for? I'm not very happy with you, darling."

You lick your lips. "Sorry!" you call, turning to the rope spooled to the right of the window. You throw the rope over the hook at the top of the frame, pausing when you see the stranger lingering in your peripheral vision at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing? Go!" you whisper.

He nods toward your hands. "Couldn't have thrown that down to me, could you?"

You shoo him away, his easy laughter doing nothing to assuage your racing heart as you drop the length of looped rope down to your mother. You wait until she's secured her foot in the loop before you start to walk backwards, lifting her weight.

It doesn't get any less laborious as you grow up. By the time she's reached the top of the tower you can hardly breathe. You cough so hard you feel nauseous.

"Holy stars, you sound ghastly. And it's completely unbecoming to cough like that without covering your mouth. You know that."

"Sorry, mother."

She hums. You can't decipher what it means, but it likely isn't something forgiving.

"I hope you had some time to think about our argument."

You hold your clasped hands behind your back, hair tickling your knuckles. "I did… I'm sorry, mother."

She stares at you for a moment from under dark eyebrows before her face lifts, the wrinkles in her soft forehead appearing more prominently as she says, "Darling, why do you do this? Why do you insist on making me angry?" She raises her hands to your neck, long fingernails weaving seamlessly into the mass of hair she finds there. "You know I'm only trying to protect you."

"I know," you say, tears burning hot behind your eyes. You will them away. Crying will make it worse, it always does.

She toys with your hair, eyes on your shoulder. You have the peculiar feeling that though she's looking at you she isn't truly looking at you, but through you. Her eyes are distant, unfocused.

Her finger wraps into your hair, twisting a strand behind your ear over, and over, and over. You shift uncomfortably at the tugging feeling at the back of your scalp but don't protest to her touches — any touch at all feels like a gift. Mother isn't generous with her affections.

"Maybe I've been too hard on you," she murmurs.

You loose a pained breath as she takes her hand from your hair and brings it to your face instead. She draws a line from the corner of your eye outwards, a kind, soft petting that gives you goosebumps.

"No, mother. I'm grateful for everything I have. I was being unreasonable, I don't need anything else. I… shouldn't have asked about the stars."

"No, you shouldn't have."

She moves from you to hang her robe up on the hanger. You tamp down your frowning because mother hates when you make her feel guilty and try to decide how it is you're going to escape to your bedroom for the night. You have lots of questions you want to ask the stranger.

You spot something out of the corner of your eye as your mother flits to the kitchen. There, on the table, sits two clay cups half empty and at opposite ends. You side eye your mother and find she's distracted herself with putting a wooden log into the oven's belly, grumbling about how you've neglected your afternoon chores.

You throw yourself in front of the table with a thud.

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, disgruntled.

"Nothing! I mean, I'm cleaning up. I forgot to empty these cups of paint after I finished."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

The thing about mother is that most of the things she says are neutral. Anybody else might think she was being light-hearted or blasé. She phrases everything so meticulously.

But she is not kind.

You laugh breathily and turn to the cups. Your heart leaps into your throat when you find the cup isn't the worst of what might give you away. Hooked over the back of the chair is the stranger's leather satchel, a ratty old thing sagging with the weight of its contents.

You take it. The zipper snags and the cause of the weight reveals itself in a clinking upheaval, a flash of light across the floor. You throw yourself over the chair to grab for it, a mindless scrambling, silver and gems cool and sharp under your hand. You shove it back in the satchel, no clue what it is. You've never seen anything like it.

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, her voice occluded by the soft bubbling of the cooking pot.

"It's dusty down here!" you call.

"Yes, well… it's to be expected when all you do is paint all day, darling."

"You're right," you say quietly. "Of course you are, mother."

Steve hadn't suspected your room would look as plain as it does. You've a simple bed with a modest quilt and one tired looking pillow, though it's been made with neat folded corners. A stuffed rabbit sits at the bottom, lavender velveteen with a pink button nose. He doesn't touch it, though he'd like to. He's not sure he's ever touched a stuffed animal before.

He can hear you talking to your mother, or rather your mother talking at you. He must say, she doesn't sound like the easiest woman to get along with. But Steve's never had a mother, so maybe that's just what they're like.

You have a small table to one corner covered in small trinkets. Shells, stones, papers loose and bound. He flips open the soft cover of a book and finds it filled with pencil sketches, corner to corner of every page.

You've drawn the most mundane things in remarkable colour and detail. The cooking pot over the stove top, the washing basin, the wooden table. Your slippers, your hair brush. Ordinary things in extraordinary detail, and extraordinary colour.

He pauses at a loose leaf of brown paper tucked toward the end of the book. It's a bird on the window ledge, a fruit dove. The face and beak are in great detail, white feathers made corporeal by the smudge of hard pastel. The wings are rough, white and pale pinks and greens unrendered.

Footsteps sound up the stairs.

Shit, Steve thinks. They're a hurried sound. He's been sussed. He turns on his heel to find a place to hide.

"Shit," he says, climbing the circular platform that holds your bed and collapsing to the floor, wriggling on his back until he's hidden underneath the bed and sheets completely.

He holds his breath as the door creaks open.

"Um… mister… uh, stranger man?"

He waves his hand from under the bed.

"Oh, right. Move over," you say, and then you're getting under the bed to join him.

Steve moves over and suddenly you're there beside him, the two of you pressed arm to arm under your bed. Your smell is impossible to ignore, the fruity fragrance of jasmine and milk-soap. He stares at your face as you settle, your eyelashes fluttering, your subtle smile.

You turn your head to his. The two of you flinch in tandem, eyes flying away from each other to the underside of the bed.

Oh, Steve thinks. Holy stars.

You've painted lanterns on every slat. Purple paper lanterns that glow orange and yellow in their centres, tens of them in different sizes. It's as breathtaking as your field of flowers downstairs despite the major decrease in scale.

"Wow," he says, on impulse, "these are amazing."

You inhale happily. "Thank you. The floating lights are my favourite thing. They always come out-" You cut yourself off with a cough. "Well. I love them."

"'Floating lights,'" he quotes. You're strange.

"I wanted to go see them, but…"

"But mother said no?"

"No," you murmur weakly. He takes it for yes. "She doesn't believe they're not stars."

He can hear each individual breath you take this close and suspects that you can hear his own. It's a funny thing to be this close to you when he doesn't know you beyond your painting and your too-long hair. He can see a lot more of your details, your tiny bumps and fine hairs.

"What's your name?" he asks quietly.

"I'm Y/N." You lay your ear against the wooden floor to look at him. "What's your name?"

"Steven. Steve will do just fine."

"Steve," you say, like you're testing it out. "Steve, you lied to me."

His eyes widen.

"Did I?" he asks, trying to disarm you with a smile and failing yet again.

"You lied," you whisper. "What's in the satchel, Steve?"

"It's not what you think."

"I think it's exactly what I think."

You're giving him a hard stare. He smiles and smiles and smiles, his facade cracking the longer you look at him. His breath all falls out in a rush, blowing the hair from his eyes as he sighs. "Alright, fine. I lied about the ruffians. In my defence, there isn't a big difference between those fools from the palace and true ruffians."

You sit up and wack your head on the bed slats above. Steve reaches out to help though there's nothing to do.

You push his hand away. "Palace guards?" you ask in an urgent whisper, hand held to the top of your head.

"Obviously. They don't just let you walk out of there without a fight… Wait, why are you surprised?" He measures your sheepish face. "You conniving, deceitful gir!"

"I might not know what it is, but I can tell it's not the kind of thing someone like you would have on his person," you say, grumbling at his insults.

His injustice at having been tricked drops away. "You don't know what it is? You've never seen a tiara?”

Your embarrassment is adorable. You change the subject deftly. “You lied to me, let’s not forget. You’re in danger because of the consequences of your own actions. Can’t believe I fell for your sob story. I should tell my mother exactly what kind of man I have hiding under my bed.”

“Who you’re hiding under your bed with.”

You climb out from under the bed with an irritated harrumph. Steve untangles a length of your hair that’s gotten wrapped around one of the beds feet before you can yank your own head back and follows you out.

“Don’t be mad,” he says.

“You’re a criminal,” you say angrily.

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Your furious whispers pause when your mother starts to sing downstairs. Steve can see the debate on your face. Yes, he’s a liar, yes, he’s a criminal, and yes, you should churn him back out into the valley. Send his untrustworthy self on his sorry way and wipe your hands of him entirely.

To do so would mean admitting to your mother that he’s here.

“Just… don’t talk to me. And don’t steal anything.”

He grins. “As you wish, my lady.”

—

“Y/N?” a voice asks in the dark.

It’s impossible to relax with him here. You’re worried he’s going to slit your throat while you sleep. You’re doubly worried he’ll see your unattractive resting face. Warped priorities aside, you can’t make yourself sleep.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“The floating lights?”

Your eyes fly open. You get the disorienting feeling of blindness and blink in the dark until you can make out the faintest glow of moonlight under the door. “Yeah?”

“Those are called lanterns.”

You swallow a rough breath. “Lanterns.”

“Mm-hm. They’re made of paper. You light them and send them up with the breeze. The ones you’ve been seeing, they’re probably for the lost princess.”

“The lost princess?”

“Yeah. The entire kingdom floods into the town and each person lights a lantern for her. It’s more of a festival these days, but… They're supposed to help her find her way home. If she’s really lost, that is.”

You hum something, an attempt to reply, but you're too distracted to say anything else. Floating paper. A lost princess. You close your eyes and clouds of purple, pink and orange burn against your eyelids.

—

"You want me to what?"

"I want you to take me to see the lanterns."

Steve's back aches from sleeping flat on the floor all night long, and his shoulders scream every time he moves from climbing, and his hands are gross and sore with scabs, and he truthfully doesn't have the patience for this conversation.

"No."

"Fine. Don't take me, and I will keep the tiara as an innkeeper's fee."

"There's usually breakfast at an inn," he says.

You slap a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him. You've drizzled the surface with honey and placed red berries over the top to form a smiling face. The heat of the porridge has melted the berries into blobs that break from their skin when he pokes them with a spoon.

"Oh," he says. Nice.

He looks up to find you dressed in a different gown than yesterday, this one made up of a green bodice with white sleeves and a white skirt. The bottom hem is sewn with dainty yellow flowers, the bodice with vines in a darker shade of green. It's a very sweet dress on an otherwise sweet looking girl, if you ignore the formidable twist of your brow.

Fine, he'll bite. Your frown is sweet too.

"I'm not taking you anywhere," he says, about to scoop up a bite of porridge. He's starving.

You pull the bowl away from him, his spoon diving straight into the gnarled wooden table.

"You'll take me, or I'll tell the first palacemen that I find who you are and where you were."

"This isn't how you negotiate."

"Good thing I'm not negotiating."

"Why do you need someone to take you? Your mother left just this morning by herself."

You raise your eyebrows.

Steve sighs. "And if I did take you… then what? I suppose you'll want safe passage home, as well?"

You slide his porridge a little bit closer to his outstretched hand.

"You'll be coming back this way anyhow."

Well, yeah. He didn't know you knew that. Steve sighs, the most pained and inconvenienced groan he can muster because everything is awful and he's hurting in six different places. You don’t budge.

"Fine. Fine! I'll take you into the city to see the lanterns, and I'll bring you home. And you will give me back my satchel and my- uh, findings."

You push the porridge toward him. "That was easier than I expected."

Steve wishes he could pretend your smugness wasn't sweet, either. Because he isn't going to make this easy for you, not one bit.

He watches you pack your bag from the table and feels very, very sorry for you. For starters, you don't really have a bag, only a sack for potatoes now emptied. You take two clean dresses down from the clothesline they'd been hanging on and fold them before putting them at the bottom of the sack carefully, and then you're clueless.

"It'll be five or six days," he says, "now I've lost my horse."

Lost isn't the right word. His stolen horse had sprinted off into the forest and left him stranded. Another ailment to add to his list — thrown bodily off of a stallion.

"Do you have any better shoes?"

You look down at your pretty slippers and grimace. "No."

"You don't get out much, do you?"

You ignore him and pull a case of things out from under the small counter in the alcove of your kitchen. You drop a roll of linen bandages into the sack and shove the case back under the counter with your foot as you bring out a block of cheese and a box of matches.

Poor girl, he thinks.

"Don't worry too much about it."

"I'm not worried," you say, topping your provisions off with a punnet of fruit and the last of your fresh flatbread covered in a beeswax wrapping. "This will be fun."

—

You're scared enough to feel tears welling in your eyes.

Steve walks ahead of you, shoes hidden by lush green grass as he makes his way toward the valley's exit. You're not sure he's realised you're not behind him, or maybe he has and he refuses to wait. You've finished bricking the secondary entrance to the tower closed again, and while it seems obviously disturbed you have no choice but to hope mother doesn't steer around the back anytime soon.

Your adrenaline has been pumping ever since you jimmied the tile and unlocked the trap door. Your chest physically aches with anxiety, and your breath has begun to feel short and shallow.

"Are you coming?" Steve calls.

You heave the potato sack over your shoulder and take a step forward.

The earth is soft and hard underfoot, an impossible sensation. You rock your heel back and forth and test the uneven ground for purchase. The temptation to reach down and touch it for the first time is high but Steve's still watching you, so you hurry toward him and try not to fall over. You take a huge, calming breath.

It smells gorgeous out here. Despite keeping the window cracked and the tower clean, there's a lived-in smell that can't be escaped. Out here, you can practically taste the earth. The crisp air burns your nose.

Steve keeps a fast pace and neither of you talk. Your companion isn't happy about his predicament and you can't blame him, you've practically taken him hostage. He isn't a poor sport either, and he hasn't been cruel. Quiet, he parts the ivy covering the valley exit and lets you pass.

The world is even bigger from there.

"Stay close, okay? I don't know what kind of vagrants we'll come across this far from town."

You swallow a lump in your throat. "Uh-huh."

You stay likely too close, your arm gracing his own every now and then. Each time you pull away and each time you end up drifting back toward him. The quiet is impenetrable. You don't know what to say to a man. To anybody. Mother's usually the guiding force of every conversation, and her insistence has left you poorly equipped.

Steve seems content to languish in silence.

You walk. You watch the sun move, heat burning your skin by midday. You're not used to walking such long distances or being so exposed to the elements, and by evening you hurt everywhere. Your face shines with perspiration and your shoes chafe your ankles raw, each step a barb.

As if things couldn't get worse, guilt grabs and holds you. Guilt and fear. What will mother think if she finds out you've left? What would she say? How ridiculously naive, darling. I told you, you aren't to leave the tower. Do you seriously think you know better than I do? Do you think I'm stupid? I'm hurt. I'm hurting that you'd think so low of me.

You try to shake the thoughts away. A shiver rushes down your spine.

Steve holds a hand over his eyes, turning his head to the West where the sun approaches the horizon.

"It'll be dark in a few hours,” he says.

You nibble the inside of your cheek, voice hoarse and throat dry from your lack of conversation. "Will we camp for the night?"

He shakes his head, the sun climbing up his neck to paint his brown hair blonde. "If memory serves, there's an inn not far from here." He smiles. "You'll like it."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah."

You kick a small stone. "How do you know where we're going?" You'd been on a dirt path now for an hour or two, or rather two dirt paths, worn by carriage wheels. "Everything looks the same."

"I'm an excellent navigator."

Sure enough, he navigates the two of you toward a pretty little inn snugly hidden between a crop of towering, leafy trees, a shock of beige and brown in an overwhelmingly green landscape.

"Le Vilain Caneton," you read off of the sign, giving him a bright smile. "That sounds nice."

"What did I tell you? You're gonna love this."

—

Steve doesn't feel bad, at first.

He throws open the door. The handle slams hard enough into the wood behind it that he's surprised there isn't a cracking sound. He ushers you inside, finding that the handle hasn't broken a hole in the wall because there's already one there.

It's sleazy, all things considered. Steve has avoided this place pretty much his entire adult life after a trade gone wrong, and while he feels his appearance has changed enough to spare him a skirmish he affects the Steven Harrington manner. Two-timing baby Stevie is nowhere to be seen.

He's still a two-timer. Case in point.

"Isn't it charming?" he murmurs to you, hand held aloft behind your back. Not touching but ready to if you step back.

"Yeah," you say weakly. "Really cute."

Adorable.

Steve takes a step that encourages you forward into the main area of the room. The smell of cheap ale blooms and the floor is sticky with it. He regrets how it will likely ruin your pretty slippers but he isn't a coward, walking you right up to the bar where a scary looking guy stands wiping glasses with a dirty rag.

"Are you the innkeeper?" he asks jovially. "We'd like a room."

Scary guy squints, looks between you and Steve with apprehension.

Steve's trying to scare you, not get caught. He throws his arm over your shoulders. You shrink under his touch. It's too late for him to pull away, guilt softening the grasp he has on your shoulder as he lays down a thick facade.

"My wife's tired as a lamb from walking all day, could we get a hot bath drawn with that?"

Scary guy spits into the cup with a scoff. "Judy?" he calls out gruffly.

Steve beams. You curl into him slowly, a flower turning to the sun, hiding from the cold. You still smell of jasmine milk soap after all these hours of walking, but he doesn't miss how the lengths of your hair have grown dishevelled with sweat and wind. He wonders how long it might take you to brush free the knots and tangles. He wonders if you do it in the bath.

You turn to him with your face shining with a trust he doesn't deserve, like you're seeking his protection.

"Steve, I don't have any money," you whisper.

His hand rests in the nook of your neck. "That's alright. Consider it part of your innkeeper's fee."

"Does this come with breakfast, too?" you ask genuinely.

Judy, a tall, lithely woman who can't be more than thirty takes her station behind the bar and smiles at you before her eyes follow Steve's arm to his body. He freezes at the calculating tilt of her head, the subtle but not invisible squint.

"Breakfast is an additional two silvers."

"And for the room and bath?"

"Ten for the room, five for the bath, two for breakfast." Judy grins. Her hair is like copper, shifting around sharp cheekbones. "Seventeen silvers all together."

Steve frowns but hands over the money.

Judy takes you up the first flight of rickety stairs to your room, and nods toward the bathing room as you pass it. She shows you where you'll be spending the night, a ramshackle room with a bed made of what Steve suspects to be more straw than padding. He's relieved at the thick quilt set and folded at the bottom. It looks clean enough.

"I'll knock when the bath is drawn. Will that be for both of you?"

And so. Steve had feared this, feared the bath in general, and had forgotten to explain this fear to you.

"Both of us," he says, nodding.

You're thankfully smart enough to keep any grievances you have at that to yourself. At least, until the door closes, and you pin him with a look that's a mixture of betrayed and furious. Your eyebrows pinch together.

"Why did you say that?"

"It's what's expected of us."

"By who?" you ask, near belligerent.

He shushes you, a frown of his own taking form. "By everybody. It's what married couples do, they share the water when travelling. And it wouldn't be proper for you to be in the bathing room by yourself, how could your husband protect your honour?"

"You're not my husband."

He shushes you again, this time with a severe expression that finally has you giving pause. Your eyes flash with fear and quickly clear. You take a step back.

He holds a hand out toward you amicably. "Sorry. But it will be much safer for both of us if we can keep our ruse alive. Someone as handsome as you, it isn't right for your reputation to be travelling with me while you're still unmarried, you know? And for me…" He doesn't want to explain the horrible truth to you. If Steve refuses to leave you, to share you, to let men do what men would like to do to you, that might invite a riot.

"I don't have a reputation," you say.

He shrugs. "It is safer for us to be married." He hesitates, remembering why he'd brought you here in the first place. The horrible truth may be unseemly, but it could be enough to get you to bow out. "If we aren't married… Well, it doesn't bear saying."

"What?" you ask, a curious thing. He loves it, and not only because it works to his advantage.

"Men will take anything they find beautiful. And without care."

Your fingers tighten around the mouth of your potato sack bag.

"I see," you say. "Of course. I knew that, mother always says, but."

He winces at the reminder of your cruel mother. He feels cruel himself, suddenly, for scaring you on purpose as your mother likely does, for being another member of the opposition in your life. All you want is to see the Princess' lanterns, so much so you've hidden under your bed and painted their colours painstakingly onto each slat of supporting wood. A hidden wish, and one you'd deigned to share with him. He starts to think, Maybe I should just take her. How much could it possibly cost me?

But Steve's from nothing. He was born from nothing, he grew up with nothing. He is, in the grand scheme of the universe and its many, many stars, nothing. Another orphaned boy destined to waste his life stealing coppers from coin purses and sleeping in doorways.

The sooner he gets that tiara, the better. No more sleeping outside. No more staring up at the wine dark sky and wondering if any of those blistering stars can hear him.

If they can, they aren't listening.

You put your bag down on the floor. It thunks.

"What have you piled in there, sweetness? A mountain?" he asks, momentarily distracted.

"Nothing!" you rush to say, standing in front of your bag like it might hide it from his view.

The door knocks before he can question you further. "The bath!" comes Judy's solid tone.

"Thank you," Steve says, "we'll be right out." He nods at you. "Your change of clothes?"

You search through your bag with your shoulders to him, hunched to shield the mystery.

"You can keep your secrets," he teases lightly. The stars know he keeps his own.

Through the hallway to the bathing room, Judy kicks open the door, points to the bath as though he might not see it otherwise, and then the small weight by the doorway to keep the door closed. There's no steam to the water.

"How conning," Steve mutters, closing the door after Judy's departure.

"What?" you ask, your voice curiously strung.

"The water’s barely hot."

"I've never had a hot bath before."

He looks at you through the corner of his eye. "Never?"

"Sometimes mother would pour warm water through my hair, but no. Does it hurt, when it's too hot?"

He can't help grinning at you. "Some of the time," he concedes. "It's a nice kind of hurting, though, do you know what I mean? You'll feel much better after." He chuckles, sticking his finger into the water. It isn't not hot, but it could be better considering its cost. "Not that this could ever hurt you."

"A nice kind of hurting," you mumble.

"Mm. You should try to be quick, they might want the bath for someone else soon."

You nod, eyes darkening with your remembered predicament. You hug your clean dress to your chest. He thinks, suddenly, that your hair looks very heavy, and that it must hurt your neck.

"I won't look," he says, voice soft with sincerity.

Your shoulders relax.

He sits with his legs stretched out and shoes pressed to the door to stop a potential intruder, listening, trying not to listen, as you peel out of your clothes. Your bare feet sound strange over the wooden floor, a shushing sound. Your dress and corset fall in rustling waves.

You gasp as you step into the water. "Oh," you say, the small sound imbued with a simple, common pleasure.

He feels the tension like fog over the kingdom waters in summer, when the heat is tangible and the nights are short. You look so soft in your clothes. Outside of them, Steve can only imagine.

He tries very hard to push it from his mind, feeling an unwelcome heat rise anyhow. He blames it on the humidity of the room.

You pitter for a moment, in awe of the heat.

"How–" His voice gets caught. He clears his throat, tries a second time, "How do you wash your hair?"

"I lather the soap in my hands and–" You seem to be victim of the same affliction as he is. "Steve, could you pass me my soap? I'm sorry, I've left it on the vanity with my dress."

"If you want me to help you, you need only ask. I've been said to have very hard-working hands."

"I thought you were a thief?"

Steve stands up grudgingly. He usually has much better luck with the ladies, yet all his joking flirtation soars straight over your head. Not that he actually wants it to land, nor does he think he could handle your attention.

He doesn't look at you as he grabs your bar of soap. He unwraps its beeswax covering and hands it to you, looking decidedly at the damp wall opposite. He feels your wet hand touch his. Your skin is so hot it startles him, and the bar of soap slips between your outstretched fingers, slamming and sliding somewhere unknown.

"Shit," he says. "Alright, best cover yourself."

He hears quick movements in the water as he turns to you, throwing his gaze to the floor, only a split flash of your naked skin to be seen. Your soap has rounded the corner of the wooden tub, lying behind your straight back. He kneels to pick it up, scowling at the scum sticking to its underside, and nearly headbutts your forehead as he stands.

He springs back, and he stares. You have water running in rivers down your face, your wet hair framing your shining cheeks, pooling down. It covers the swell of your chest so precisely that Steve bites his tongue, forcing his eyeline back to your waiting face. You have water in your eyes like tears, their lashes turned to triangles, clinging to one another.

"Steve?" you ask, holding out your hand.

Hair shifts over your body like a dancing shadow, or a beaming light. He isn't sure. There's something about it that feels extraordinary, not just in the length of it.

He passes you your soap. Ridiculous, he thinks. Imbecilic. Your hair is hair and nothing more. While you're achingly pretty and you have a fine hand, that is where your remarkability ends.

"Could you turn around again?" you ask, flustered.

He turns around.

—

"You brought your pan?" Steve asks you, bewildered. He's standing by the small, thin window, metal-wrought panes that filter the last of the sun's rays.

You stand shivering by your potato sack and frown at him, setting the pan on the sheets. "I think we might have a more pressing issue."

"We don't have anything." He seems to appraise your condition. "How do you usually dry your hair?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"How cryptic! I'm afraid you're destined to freeze here, my heart. Or we could take you home, where you may comfortably perform whatever ritual it is that you perform and dry your hair."

"Wasn't there a fireplace downstairs?"

"We aren't going back down there."

"We aren't," you say in agreement, turning his distaste of the collective pronoun back on him. "I'll go by myself."

"That is a horrible, terrible, awful idea."

"I'm not going home. I want to– I’m going to see the paper lanterns."

Steve sighs. After your bath, he'd taken the smaller basin of clean water and washed up, now standing in front of you in his only change of clothes, a darker, navy tunic buttoned to the throat and simple slacks. His shoes are tightly laced even at this hour. You look down at your bare feet and feel majorly abashed by their new blisters and haphazard bandaging. You can't make yourself put your slippers back on.

He continues his sighing as he crosses the room. He's still grumbling when he opens the door.

"Well?" he asks, holding it open.

You pat his arm gently as you pass. "Thank you."

You trek down the stairs, careful with each footstep that you aren't trodding on a misplaced nail or scary splinter. Wood changes to stone flooring, tiles of a terracotta colour that are large and misshapen. You keep your eyes on them as you cross the room to its only source of heat, a blistering hearth just shy of the room's stage and piano. Somebody sits behind it on the piano bench, though they aren't playing the piano at all, but a great wooden instrument you've never seen.

"What is that?" you ask Steve.

He doesn't bend under your attention. He frowns ever so slightly. "What?"

You point to the instrument as conspicuously as you can.

Steve takes your shoulder into his hand and guides you toward the fireplace without malice. He's prompting you along, as you've stopped in the middle of the room.

"You've never seen one of those?" he asks.

"Not in any of my books."

"I guess they're still new. That's a vihuela. It's a… it's a nice sound."

You nod appreciatively, and feel much happier as Steve pulls a nearby chair as close to the hearth as he can without garnering any disgruntled looks from the other patrons. You sneak a peek at their faces. Most are naturally intimidating; there are men with weathered, unkind faces lining the walls with tankards of ale in hand; there are travellers such as yourselves, though they look hardened, sharper than you ever could, coin purses on tables as if daring you to try lifting them; there are women, sparsely, who are sharper in a different way. They remind you of a summer rose, darkly red, a gorgeous head of petals distracting from a thorny stem.

You sit down in your chair and feel the heat of the fireplace greet your chilled skin, and your soaked back. Your dress has soaked up much of your hairs dripping, the kind of unfortunate happenstance that might spiral into your hypothermic death. Steve puts his chair beside yours and turns his entire body toward yours. You like it. It's like he's hiding you from everybody else, replacing their sneering gazes with his fed-up acceptance. You find extreme comfort in this feeling, as though Steve is the only person in the room with you.

"Turn to me."

"What if my hair catches?"

"You aren't close enough for that."

You turn to Steve completely. You look like lovers, you must, worse when he takes your slippers and holds them on top of one of his thighs. He has wide thighs, and they make you feel a feeling you don't understand. Everything you know about men has come from Mother or books. Mother claims them to be evil in their entirety. Of the few books you have, and fewer that talk of men beyond the factual, none have ever mentioned why their legs look like that, and why it will make you feel like you've swallowed something much too hot.

"I'll make sure your hair doesn't go up in flames," he promises grandly, unnecessarily, "consider it one of my guidely duties."

A shy, pleased smile takes your lips. "Thank you."

"Yeah, you're welcome." He closes his eyes and tips his head back. "Stars, I'm hungry."

"I have–"

"We'll buy dinner. They have hunter's stew here, have you ever tried that?"

"No."

He laughs, crossing his arms across his chest. "Of course not. Alright, this will sound gross, but it's really old stew. Years old, maybe decades. They keep adding and adding to the pot with whatever’s in season."

You don't know everything, or anything, really, but you know that sounds like food poisoning in a bowl. "How doesn't it kill you?"

"They keep it really, really hot, all day long."

You like the way he says it, even if he's maybe making fun. He almost sings each word, a melodic cadence to his pronunciation that endears you further.

"And you've had it? What does it taste like?"

"See, you'd think it tastes a bit muddled, right? But it's good. You'll like it."

He makes no move to get up and get the aforementioned soup. You aren't particularly hungry, leaning back just a little so the brutal heat of the flames can warm your damp shoulder. The wetness of your dress is fading, warmed but still undeniably wet, and you wonder if the heat is hurting your hair. Mother always says to keep your hair as far from the hearth as you can at all times, and gets angry when you sit too close.

The soot, darling. The soot will cling to your hair and ruin it. It is, in Mother's opinion, the most beautiful thing about you.

Mother. She shouldn't be back home for days now, and still you're worrying. Mostly about being caught. But if you're caught, and she knows you left…

You have a strange love for your mother. The kind that makes you feel sick in intensity. You want, at all times, to please her. And you know this isn't something she would approve of, Stars, she'd be so disappointed in you for taking this risk.

You stare up at a wooden beam past Steve's head and try not to tear up. Anxiety eats at you until there's nothing left but your skin, your insides a tangled dark whorl of misery. She must know you've left home. She must know how terribly ungrateful you are for everything she's sacrificed. She must know–

"Are you okay?"

You blink hurriedly and face Steve, hoping this will dispel the quick-welling tears clouding your vision. It doesn't work: blinking can’t erase years of pent up worry. You wipe your eyes before they can roll down your cheeks and humiliate you further.

"I'm okay," you say.

Steve frowns again. He's a frowny guy.

"What's wrong?" He takes your elbow into his hand.

"Nothing. Uh…" You smile through your embarrassment. "We don't light the hearth at home, often, and uh, I think the smoke is irritating my eyes." You nod for emphasis.

Steve does not believe you, clearly, but he squeezes your elbow and nods back.

He looks at your face until you're uneasy.

"I'll go get that stew,” he says, patting your arm.

You feel strange once he’s gone. It's nice to be by yourself for a moment. You've spent the majority of your adult life alone while mother goes here, there, and everywhere. You're never allowed to go with her, too stupid for the outside world and all its challenges.

You look around the room now and wonder if this is really the world she means. Sure, it's foreign, and it's unsettling, and without Steve by your side you might not be left alone as you have been, but you'd expected more. Where are all the insects that make you sick, and the men with cutlasses and shackles?

Your eyes drift to the vihuela player. He's moved to sit at the opposite side of the fire. He strums lackadaisically at his instrument, his shoulders against the wall and a cup of mead at his feet. It's obvious nobody's given him any coin in a while.

Behind him sits the piano, glimmering with the flickering firelight. You've read about them, you've even seen drawings of harpsichords, but never heard one played. You wonder what it sounds like. Any music at all is amazing to you. All you've ever heard is singing. One song.

Steve returns with two bowls of hunter's stew. You're scared to try it but horrified that you might look like a coward in front of him. Again. Your tears had been bad enough.

You swallow a spoonful and your eyes water unbidden. "Oh, wow."

"Good, huh?"

You try not to cough. "It's rich."

"I guess you haven't had stuff like this before, huh?" He forks through his bowl and pulls out a big pale vegetable roughly cubed. "You like potato?"

"Yeah," you say, and before you've finished he's pushing the potato against the lip of your bowl and pulling the tines of his fork free. It falls into your stew with a small splash. "Oh. Thank you."

You try to eat as much of it as you can but start to feel sick somewhere in the middle. You set your bowl aside and Steve, bowl emptied, drops his next to it, wiping his hands together and standing.

You look up, puzzled.

"Come on."

Your hair isn't quite dry, a tugging weight for your neck as Steve slides his hand over your warm shoulder. You worry it might never full dry again, not without a helping hand.

He leads you up the small platform to the piano.

You look to him inquisitively.

"It's alright. I asked them if you could try it. Just try not to play too loudly and disrupt the bard."

"How do you adjust how loud it is?"

He pushes down on your shoulders until you're sitting on the bench. "You play softly. It's going to be a little loud no matter what. Don't smash the keys."

"Are they fragile?" you ask worriedly, holding your tensed fingertips above the white and pitch keys.

"No," he says, laughing without any judgement, "move over, I'll show you."

He sits on the bench beside you. There's not a whole lot of room, and his arm presses hot to yours. He places his hand above the keys like he knows what he's doing, and presses down. He plays a line of notes, the sounds a plinking rising melody that has you gasping in awe.

"Don't," —he presses down a huge chunk of keys, and the sound is awful— "do this."

You look up to see if anybody's glaring. Then you burst into giggles, face pressed to his shoulder on automatic as you try to smother the sound. He laughs warmly near your ear.

You probe curiously at the keys and try to make a song. You don't know how, don't know one note from another, you can't fathom how someone might make this into anything more than the bard's lazy fingerings.

"Do you know anything?" Steve asks.

Do you know anything? Mother demands. Darling, I've told you a million times…

"No. Sorry," you say.

His voice is sincerely sweet, like he's confused you'd ever be sorry, "For what? I can play you something. Choose a song."

"I only know the one."

He blinks at you. You shrink into yourself as he averts his gaze, knowing what he's thinking. How useless you are.

The song starts slowly. Steve taps one key, and then another. It lends and lists into music suddenly, the repetition of a simple melody. He doesn't sing, just speaks the words as he plays.

"She sends me a flower to hold me," he says, an echo of song in his tone. "She sends me a flower to– night." He moves his hands up to a higher sound. "She loves me too much, so she's told me. But if she loved me, oh loved me, she might… Come to see me, oh sweetheart, come to see me, oh lover, come to see me, oh darling." He smiles at you. "Come to see me to– night." He clears his throat, hand stilling. "You'd sing the bridge again, but I think I'll spare your ears."

"Is that yours?" you ask him.

He drops his hand into his lap. "No. Steve Harrington doesn't pen love poems, I'm afraid."

"Only plays them."

His smile turns to a smirk, so sticky it's catching.

"You're not the mouse I'd thought you were," he says.

"Was this realisation before or after I tried to maim you with a cast iron pan?"

He's about to answer, a spark behind his eyes, when the door opens wide enough to split its hinges. The origin of the hole in the wall is clear, and he waltzes in with a band of men behind him, grinning.

"Oh, for Stars’ sake," Steve mutters.

"What?" you ask.

The man at the front of the group of men — or, as they step into the light and reveal themselves, boys — sets his one un-patched eye on you and Steve, smiles like the devil, and croons, "Stevie!"

Steve's smile is gone.

"Eddie," he says tiredly.

"You're back!" Eddie looks you up and down, and his expression turns to one of complete surprise. "With a wife? My, my, we have been busy."

Steve stands, and Eddie, in all his darkness, dark hair and eyes and tunic, his grin turns mean. You hide behind one of Steve's thighs, hesitant. He drops his hand against the top of your head.

"Why's it matter?" Steve asks.

"It doesn't." This Eddie sounds all too cheerful. "What does matter, I'm afraid, is the debt between us."

"I don't owe you anything."

You watch with widened eyes as Eddie unsheathes his sword. The scabbard has a mottling of shiny reds and blacks, and the blade glows silver to white in the light. It's sharp.

Steve pulls a small knife from his hip. You hadn't realised he was carrying a weapon.

Eddie takes a step forward, his shoes like a thunderclap across the wooden floor.

"I'm afraid my Sweetheart here doesn't agree."

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

eddie isn’t a bad guy he’s just confrontational <3 thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider reblogging i promise it makes a huge difference <3

#jade has gone above and beyond YET AGAIN #im laying in bed kicking my feet and giggling #i am such a sucker for this au and i am so happy it exists #if you havent read this or read anything else jade has written pls do #you are in for a TREAT #fic recs #bree talks #jade ☀️

2K notes · View notes

moss-c0uch · 1 year ago

Text

what ever algorithm mechanism introduced me to vantacrow should NOT have i am going crazy over this man

#🧺.txt #im watching his stream rn #and #ugh #sleepy voices always get me #low energy with a voice i like is all it takes #giggling kicking my feet laying on my tummy in my bed #need to watch nijisanji more…#nijisanji #vantacrow bringer #.♡. charovs favs

6 notes · View notes

rayvven · 2 years ago

Text

girls when "all this time- thats how much i love you"

#laying in bed kicking my feet and giggling i love my new blorbos #im gonna be sooo so so normal about them

2 notes · View notes

sttoru · 6 months ago

Text

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. bragging about your oh-so-perfect boyfriend to your friends certainly has its (welcomed) consequences. . .

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff & smut. p in v -> unprotected. missionary. sweet but also nasty and condescending. creampie. body worship. size difference / - kink. nicknames ‘(little) princess, baby’. name calling once. not proof read bcs im sleepy. wc. 2k+

“right! he’s so thoughtful,” you sigh dreamily as you chat with your friends over the phone. you’re laying on satoru’s bed, kicking your feet up while you remove your make-up. of course, you had to call your girls to tell them all about the little date you just had with your boyfriend.

satoru’s in the shower, so you’re taking the time to relive the experience.

“here she goes again y’all,” one of your friends sighs dramatically, to which the others follow with giggles of their own. they know that you can go on and on about your partner. they’ve heard all of it before.

you grin and roll your eyes, rubbing the cleansing wipe over your lips, removing the light pink gloss you had on. you’re all giddy as you recall what satoru has done and given to you this evening. you’ve been pampered—spoiled rotten.

“hey! don’t blame me,” you retort with a chuckle. your friends laugh and urge you to go on since they’re only joking. the stories you tell are always either adorable or heartwarming, and thus they’re happy to listen. plus, debriefing you on your love life is free entertainment.

it’s not unusual for you to stray from the main story. you ramble about the restaurant you’ve visited, the pretty green scenery you’ve walked past, the museum you’ve visited, the way satoru paid for everything and how he made sure to pick activities you’re interested.

you get an occasional ‘aww’ or ‘cuteee’ when you mention your boyfriend’s loving gestures. from the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s gotten you, to the fact that he carried you back into his apartment the moment you told him your feet were hurting.

walking in heels wasn’t the smart move you thought it was, though luckily you had a thoughtful lover by your side.

“he’s just so handsome ‘n stuff. god—“ you squeal, not even bothering to dampen your excitement. you hide your face behind your hands for a split second, gaining a few fan girling squeaks from your friends as well. they’re happy that you’re being treated like deserved.

you don’t hear the door of the bedroom open since you’re too busy gushing about satoru. you’re focused on your small pocket mirror, careful not to forget a spot on your face. you notice that your friends have gone quiet, but you don’t question it.

“his gentle personality is honestly such a turn-on,” you mumble as you rub off the concealer from under your eyes, “and his subtle yet possessive touches? phew, don’t get me started.” you continue to babble on about how hot satoru is when he gets mad, unable to point out a flaw.

you’re about to comment on your friends’ sudden silence when a hand lands on your shoulder. you freeze and finally make eye contact with no one other than satoru—hovering over you from behind. he’s smiling down at you and mumbles a quick, ‘hey, baby’, before kissing your forehead.

you try to explain the situation, yet have no idea where to start. you can hear a friend of yours snickering and another faintly whisper an ‘oh, girl. . .’

before you have the ability to get another word out, satoru cuts you off, waving at your front camera for a second. his smile reaches his eyes and his dimples show;

“hey ladies, mind if i steal my girl from you?” satoru asks as he puts an arm around you. he places his cheek against yours, awaiting an answer. your friends are left speechless at the sudden turn of events.

the white-haired man appears extremely good on screen. he’s basically blessing them with his handsome looks. the towel hanging over his head indicates that he just came out of a fresh shower. there’s a visible vein running down his neck—nearly bulging out of the skin—as if satoru’s holding himself back.

once your friends snap out of their daze, they greet satoru and nod, exchanging quick ‘see you later’s. your boyfriend thanks them with another one of his charming smiles. he waves at the camera again, “bye bye, thank you.”

the call ends and the bedroom falls quiet. you stare at your screen which fades to black, completely dumbfounded. you quickly sit up—your mind a chaotic mess full of thoughts.

“satoru, i uhm, i didn’t know—“ you attempt to form an explanation, though you realise that it’s likely futile. satoru’s probably heard every word that left your mouth. you look up at him, your voice a quiet whisper, “how much did you hear?”

the sorcerer grins. he’s so enamored with you; everything you do is adorable. he grabs your hands and holds then into his larger ones—thumbs gently rubbing your skin. he pulls them up to his lips so he could place chaste kisses on your knuckles.

“everything, princess,” satoru hums, rotating your hands to place kisses on the inside of your wrists. there’s a subtle blush on his cheeks that even reaches his ears. no matter how calm and collected he may seem, he’s still but a complete sucker to your love, “talking about me to your little friends, hm? how cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine. you feel your tummy turn as you’re slowly guided onto your back. multiple kisses cover your body—from head to toe—like a canvas getting painted on. satoru’s taking his sweet time, admiring the art that’s your physique.

every piece of clothing that comes off is a step closer to the grande revelation. the masterpiece that is you. moving from one empty spot - filling it with his kisses - to another. sighs of content leave your lover’s mouth with each reveal, as if he hasn’t seen the sight of your naked body before.

“does this turn you on, baby? my ‘subtle touches’?” satoru mutters against your breasts, remembering your earlier words. his blue eyes stare up at you through his white lashes. not wearing his blindfold may overstimulate him due to his abilities, but he’ll risk anything if it’s to admire you the best he can.

he chuckles when you nod. your boyfriend kisses your hard nipples—taking his time to swirl his tongue around both of them just to feel your back arch off the mattress. your hands holding onto him for life is extremely thrilling. “it turns me on too,” satoru confesses quietly. his slender fingers reach the hem of your panties, “you turn me on so fuckin’ much.”

your breath hitches when your underwear gets tossed somewhere across the room. you’re dripping, obviously. there’s no way you couldn’t get turned on by the way satoru’s been worshipping your entire being.

you can also see the effect you have on him; he’s sweating. the vein on his neck seems to grow more visible when your cunt is revealed to him.

“there she is,” satoru grins in satisfaction. he seems to be in a daze for a second before he regains composure. he looks at you for a quick check, needing to know if he has your consent before he continues. the moment you nod, your lover separates your legs.

you sniff and try to hide your embarrassed expression behind a hand. satoru’s quick to pin your wrist above your head so you wouldn’t have the chance to do any of that. “keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he leans in to place a swift kiss on your lips.

“mhm,” you nod after returning the peck. the white-haired man utters a small ‘thank you’ and undoes his sweatpants with his free hand. he fumbles with his boxers—unable to keep himself from trembling in pleasure from the view alone.

your small body underneath him is a sight he’ll never get tired of. that face of yours morphing into one of pleasure whenever you’re intimate is one of his favorite things to witness. thus why the missionary is his go to position.

“c’mon,” satoru kisses your cheek as he manages to pull his erected cock out of his underwear. it’s standing tall, the tip pointing right at the place it wants to be buried at—your wet, warm and inviting pussy, “you were so loud when talking with y’r friends ‘n now you’ve gone quiet on me.”

satoru pouts, “it’s not fair. i wanna hear my princess too.”

you almost choke on your spit because of how whiny yet demanding satoru sounds. you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, firmly holding your hand down above your head. you’re still flustered by the entire situation. you open your mouth as tears gather in your eyes, “i’m sorry, i’m jus— ngh!”

you can’t even get your words out. the lewd feeling of satoru rubbing his tip between your folds completely catches you off guard. he grins, as if he planned on doing that the moment you tried to speak. he’s such a tease.

“shh, shh, i know,” satoru coos mockingly, acting like he’s not doing it on purpose. you can’t blame the man; he’s been rock hard ever since he heard you praise him so openly through the phone. your lovely voice speaking so highly of him was driving him nuts.

you’re so appreciative for all he’s doing and it makes the sorcerer want to spoil you even more. to give you the love and affection you deserve because of how precious you are—even if you don’t realise it.

he wants to give you more. more, more, more.

without thinking, satoru pushes his cock right through your tight cunt. he shudders at the sight of your poor, small pussy struggling to take his fat dick. he can’t hurt you, he knows. especially with the amount of times the bulbous head of his cock nearly bruised your cervix.

though, it’s difficult not to go all out. you’re so accepting of everything he does—satoru can see that by the way your eyes stare at him. it’s all love. the light reflecting in your pupils makes them sparkle beautifully. he cusses under his breath, “y’re so pretty, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck. y’re making it so hard.”

satoru tries his best not to plunge his cock all the way to the hilt. he reaches halfway with each thrust, the thwacking sound increasing by the second. your legs automatically wrap around his waist and your fingers squeeze his.

“toruuu, fmhh, so big,” you babble, the drool forming in the corners of your lips threatening to drip down your chin. each soft yet firm thrust seems to resonate within you, evoking a sense of pleasurable contentment.

satoru lets out a haughty chuckle at the sight of you going cockdrunk already. he’s still trying to hold his urges back by focusing on your satisfaction alone. “i’ll give you something else to brag ‘bout to y’r friends,” he pants with a confident smirk, kissing your jawline as he ruts into you,

you’re embarrassed by your current predicament. despite that, you find yourself enjoying every consequence that your actions have caused. your moans echo in satoru’s ears, each slap of your bodies connecting sounding twice as loud.

his thick cock is stretching you out so well. your cunt is working overtime to make space for every inch. your boyfriend gently bites your bottom lip, his breath faltering when you clench around him in response.

“‘re ya gonna tell them?” satoru asks through a guttural moan. his hips move non-stop, aiming to please you until you lose your mind. he’ll live up to the expectations set no matter what. he kisses the swell of your breasts, “are ya gonna tell ‘em how you let your ‘lovely’ boyfriend fuck you like this? how y’re a complete slut for his cock?”

you don’t know how to react to his dirty talk. it’s getting you wetter, that’s for sure. your thighs shake around his waist and your tummy feels like it’s doing flips. satoru doesn’t leave it there, “gonna tell them about how good i fill you up, yeah? dirty little girl telling all her friends about our private life, tsk tsk.”

it’s overwhelming. the sudden increase in dirty talk makes you want to cum on spot. you feel like you’re being degraded, however satoru’s touches make you feel appreciated and loved. his hand holding yours above your head never leaves you—a sign that this is still him making love to you.

“am—am not gonna,” you hiccup. the words simply roll of your tongue without much thought. you’re mindlessly responding to your lover. “am not gonna tell them anything,” you continue before cutting yourself off with a string of whiny moans when satoru plays with your clit.

satoru shakes his head, increasing the pressure and speed in which he’s pumping into you. he loves the view of you being so helpless—succumbing to the pleasure he’s granting you. “sureeee, i believe you,” your boyfriend snickers and pushes his pulsing cock in further. his tone is soft but condescending, “i’ll trust my little princess to keep her mouth shut f’me.”

you’re getting so close. your nails dig into his skin and your noises get louder. you’re right on the edge of euphoria. the clit stimulation along with the feeling of being filled to the brim is enough to make you see stars.

satoru nods at your desperate whimpers that alarm him that you’re close to climax. “i got you, baby. cum f’me—i got you,” he places sloppy kisses all over your face and rams his cock in and out of you in a stronger rhythm. there’s nothing satoru wants to do in this world more than to flood your insides with his cum.

his cock doesn’t stop prodding at your sweet spots and it’s making you approach that peak; the peak of pleasure that’s going to push you over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover and he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. “it’s okay, do it f’me,” satoru encourages you once again through a husky whisper.

you’re thankful that you have such an attentive partner. he can go from teasing you to comforting you and it’s the most reassuring thing ever. you’ve never had a man hold you so intimately while he’s balls deep into you.

“g’nna cum,” a strangled moan leaves your throat when you try to speak. your chests are pressed together and your heartbeats match—like the perfect pair you are. satoru feels his balls clench with an aching feeling, needing to release every last drop they have stored into your tiny cunt.

just thinking about the way you were bragging about him again, is enough. “take it—fuuuckk—take it all, baby,” the white-haired man takes a deep breath in and can’t help but bury his entire dick inside of you, that one last thrust making you yelp.

you reach your climaxes at the exact same time. your fluids mix as you feel satoru’s thick spurts of cum coat your insides a sticky white. your body spasms and your boyfriend instantly soothes you by rubbing your back. his own legs are trembling a little, but you’re far more important.

you don’t utter a word and simply focus on regaining your energy. all that you can say are incoherent babbles. “easy,” satoru kisses the corners of your eyes and relishes in the fact that he’s fucked you full of his cum. it’s a reminder of just how much he loves you.

a few encouraging words and hugs later and you’ve calmed down. you don’t fully grasp the reality of the situation until the adrenaline and other hormones drop down to a normal level.

you’re suddenly reminded by your previous words and this time, you succeed in hiding your face into the crook of satoru’s neck.

it’s certain that he’s greatly enjoyed overhearing you talk about him to your friends, but it’s still a somewhat embarrassing memory you wish to forget. “not a word, please. j-jus act like you haven’t heard anything,” you mumble quietly now that you’ve come down from your high.

satoru laughs softly. he can’t help but tease you after that—it’s a given. you’re still so caught up on what happened and it’s endearing.

however, satoru wouldn’t be him if he didn’t tease you about your little comments. without pulling out, he tilts his head back and stares down at you with a faint grin, “do i have to act like i haven’t fucked you silly just now too?”

“satoru!”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

8K notes · View notes

xodarling · 10 months ago

Note

I have really bad brainworms for Stelle.. Perhaps overstimulation (or edging, whichever you prefer) for her? I'd like to think that there are two options for her. Either she doesn't know how any of this works which leaves room for corruption, or she does know and enjoys every second of it

Sexual training - xodarling

includes: sub!stelle, innocent!stelle, fem!reader, strap on, lowercase writing, usage of y/n, corruption kink, overstimulation, edging, established relationship, pet names (puppy, baby), pet play lil bit, u have boobis, needy!stelle, praise, g!p stelle, reverse size kink, accidental orgasms

a/n: why not both😜😜😜 also im really sorry this is so late

at this hour, most of the astral express is asleep, probably for the next twenty four hours knowing how little sleep all of them get; it’s very hard doing this job. except for you and your lovely puppy-like girlfriend, stelle.

“a-ah..! p-please, please..!” she whines out with her adorable husky voice, you giggle softly in response, “poor baby..” you coo. stelle originally knocked on your door right when you were about to fall asleep with a pout on her face and glassy eyes, and her pajama pants had a very noticeable bulge.

she whined and complained about how her stomach felt weird and how her ‘private’ was bigger and felt stiff! you and stelle have been dating for just a month but it wasn’t rocket science to see the tall girl was naïve to most things sexual.

you told her that you knew what was happening and would help out your girlfriend, her face brightened and her tail would’ve started wagging if she had one. now, you’re here. stelle laying flat on your bed, her gray hair all fluffy and a mess, flushed cheeks, and her very endowed penis flopping against her stomach and yours.

“o-oh..! ssho good..!” she slurs out, tightly clutching the pillow she’s resting on and burying her face into it. you chuckle again and start to plow your strap in faster, your hips slapping against her ass, “feels good? i’m glad, baby, only the best for my puppy.” you coo and pump her behemoth cock with your hand.

her tip is desperately leaking pre-cum. by the looks of it, stelle probably never had an orgasm in her life. with one specific angle change, stelle moans and arches her back, her hand start to fling everywhere as she desperately looks for something to cling on to; she settles for your smaller hands resting on her waist.

“there it is. you’re doing amazing, baby.” your gentle tone warms up stelle’s heart and her face gets even redder, “it’s.. so hot. n’ soo good..” she moves her hips to meet yours in a desperate attempt for more pleasure, “i know, puppy, it’s okay, i’m here.” your gently hold both of her hands as you aggressively fuck her ass.

“it feelss.. so weird..! something.. o-oh..!” she whines, her kicking her feet as the unfamiliar feeling of an orgasm starts to approach. before stelle could hit that euphoric feeling, you pull the silicone toy out, softly giggling as she whines and clenches down on nothing.

“poor baby..” you coo, immediately slamming in and continuing your pounding. stelle lets out a whine and arches her back again, seeing the large trailblazer being reduced to a whiny, flustered mess is so exhilarating. the tip of your large cock hits spots inside of stelle that she didn’t know existed, she won’t be able to live without your cock anymore, she knows that.

stelle clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes, she’s gonna cum again and fast, more whines leaves her throat and then you stop again. stelle squirms and kicks her feet in dissatisfaction, thumping your fluffy mattress, “no complaining.” you gently scold her and she shuts up.

her large hands scramble up to your chest when you accelerate once more, groping the fat of your tits as you wreck her insides. her large, calloused fingers flick and tug at your nipples, hoping to keep the last bit of sanity she has left. your smaller fingers dig into her hips and you bite your lip, making your pace go from fast to impossibly faster.

stelle aggressively smacks your tits, wordlessly telling you that that weird feeling is coming back, “hold it.” you grunt out, sweat trailing down your forehead, “i-i don’ nggh.. know how..!” she whines, her grip on your breasts tightens which makes you hiss in pain. her dick flops around, because your force, because she’s moving it herself, you don’t know, her eyes are screwed shut as she tries to ‘hold in’ this feeling.

the tip of your silicone cock hits her spongy spot again and again, her hands detach from your bust and scramble around your fluffy bed. stelle may be naive but she’s not stupid, kinda, she tries her absolute hardest to think of anything else while you force her walls into your shape. it doesn’t work, she tries thinking of anything, like the way oleg’s bones cracked one time while she walked with him; anything that’s not this!

it doesn’t work. stelle feels something climb up her shaft and fast, her moans rise in pitch and dull nails sink into your bedsheets. her hips buck three times and then she lets out a deafening moan, coating you, the bed, and herself all in her cum. stelle’s eyes completely roll back and a dopey smile appears on her lips, what a feeling, she’s addicted now. months of built up sperm exploding out of her tip.

to say you’re disappointed is an understatement, you told stelle to hold it and look what happened! her cum is everywhere! but you can’t stay mad at your puppy for too long. your hand wraps around her cock again and your hips don’t relent, “what did i tell you, baby?” you gently ask, “..h-hold.. itt..” she slurs back, drool leaving her mouth a little, “..i-i’m.. shorry..”

the orgasmic rush slowly fades away but your shaft doesn’t stop shaping stelle’s walls, she squirms and whines, her tip no longer leaking her hot cum and instead red and throbbing with overstimulation. if you could, you’d bend her in half and pound away but she’s too big, you settle for just pounding.

she shakes her head and makes her gray hair so much fluffier, it’s adorable. her ass contracts around your plastic shaft, the lube that you rubbed all over her hole slushes in reaction. stelle whines and sticks her tongue out, making her pant like a tiny little puppy. her orgasm already faded away and now it’s just a burning feeling of overstimulation.

“you look so fucking sexy, stelle.” you chuckle and wrap your hand around her cock again, aggressively pumping her large and stiff dick. her cock throbs in pleasure, “n-no.. it f-feels weird..!” she slurs, looking up at you with big, glassy golden eyes. or, at least she tries, the never ending pleasure makes her groan and throw her head back each time.

the onslaught of pounds into stelle’s hole made her feel something that she didn’t know was humanly possible, something that made her float and the surroundings around her become blurry and spin. her legs were in the air and kicked with each prod at her spot as well as a scratchy yelp. wet slush sounds and her moans bounce off the walls of your room, probably being heard outside in the hallway.

your pace intensified, becoming more and more frantic as stelle’s core began to tighten again. her body shook violently with each powerful thrust of the strap, making stelle let out a symphony of whimpers as well as slaps from both of your flesh on the others. “oh g-god..! a-again..!” stelle screamed out, the pleasure was too much, her tip was burning and the heavy cum in her balls was ready to explode once more.

“y-yeah?” you ask and she responds with a nod and whine. honestly, your hips burn and you’re getting really tired so this was fantastic for you. with renewed vigor and determination, you somehow go faster, to the point where you have to bite your lip because of your aggression. stelle kicks her feet again, her golden orbs are rolled back showing the whites of her eyes.

there’s sweat dripping down your forehead and some on your upper lip, this is one extremely intense workout out. stelle’s doing no better either, she’s also sweating so much to the point where your sheets are a little damp, which would be disgusting if you the two of you weren’t fucking like animals.

suddenly, it happens. stelle screams as the orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsed spasmodically, and she cried out as she released that tight knot. cum erupts from her swollen, red tip onto her abdomen and yours, some on both of your breasts, and even her hair got touched with sticky, white fluid.

your hips don’t stop until her behemoth cock stops spewing out her sperm, hands tightly gripping her hips and then releasing once you stop. breathing heavily, stelle’s body goes limp, her knees feel weak and unsteady, until the addicting pleasure fades away. not to disturb her, you pull the large toy out very carefully, the lubricant still staying on the toy and her ass.

after a moment, stelle speaks, “t-that was.. insane. w-what did you to me? i never.. felt like that before.” she utters being heavy pants, “don’t worry, puppy.” you coo, “just relax, don’t think.”. stelle listens and closes her eyes, enjoying and fully taking in the aftermath of your fucking.

gingerly, you unharness the strap around your waist and place it down the soft mattress. stelle seems unaware of your movement as you crawl all the way up to her head and shift around so your cunt is hovering over her blissful face. she feels something drip onto her chin and when she opens her eyes, her eyes widen.

her mouth opens to question but you shush her. “shh, i know this is selfish, baby, but i worked so hard to please you. don’t you wanna do the same for me?” and, of course, like the loyal puppy she is, she nods yes.

“i’ll teach you, stelle, just think of it as training!” you happily said, your nails massaging her scalp and your nether area lowering onto her lower face.

#stelle x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #trailblazer x reader #sub!hsr #sub!honkai star rail #stelle smut #sub!stelle #sub!trailblazer #dom!reader #honkai star rail x reader

565 notes · View notes

urhoneycombwitch · 8 months ago

Note

im gonna be at work for high night 🙄 so save my self-indulgent idea for later lu

reader who keeps hitting the snooze button on their alarm and groans knowing they need to get up for work but they just really cannot find the motivation to. The bed is warm and they're so comfortable and what's the harm of calling out....

Eddie who notices they're still laying down, eyes closed and in that fighting off being awake state and he knows there's only so many snoozes they can hit before they're definitely going to be running late so he sneaks under the covers....

and he doesn't come back up again until reader is awake, a tired, but satisfied smile on their face as they blink up at the ceiling. He presses some kisses to their lips/cheek/neck, slick and smelling like them, going "Hi, pretty. Ready to get up now?"

nauuurrr anon 😞 we will miss you but hope u see this after ur shift 💖 eeeheeeeheeeheee I’m literally kicking my feet behind my back sleepover-style giggling at this. that ellipses is so sinister I gotta help it out

+18 mdni

cw: R receives oral + fingering while sleeping (has been previously discussed as a 👍), somno, Eddie’s a soft!dom

___

Eddie’s always so attentive to your needs and state of being- he’s naturally super empathetic. by no means a morning person himself, he learns quickly that the rhythm of your day is usually set by how you wake up.

he’s dealt with the consequences of you having been off to a bad start, before- it takes a huge amount of cajoling or kisses or swinging by the diner for waffles to shake you out of a grumpy funk. and based on the way you’ve been tossing and turning this morning, you’re about to have the most miserable work shift ever.

what he doesn’t have this morning, though, is a lot of time- waffles will have to be for another day. he’s got an even better idea for a sweet wakeup.

he moves slow, weight in his hands on either side of your sleeping frame, kissing as he moves down your body. first to your bare shoulder. then to the side of that pretty nightie’s strap. one for your pebble nipple, peaking through the silk.

Eddie trails his kisses down- one on your stomach, one for the bump of your cunt- pulling the sheets away as he goes.

with fingers nimble and dextrous, he feels for the band of your underwear while keeping his eyes on your face, careful to pause if your expression changes. the goal is to keep you pliant, for this next part…

he gets his head under the edge of your nightdress, pussy fully exposed to the eager lappings of his mouth. with one hand on your stomach to keep your center grounded, Eddie slips the middle two fingers of his other hand into your slippery cunt.

a soft shift of your hips, a whimper, and Eddie moves his hands with your pelvis, using the momentum to dip and catch your clit in his mouth.

he follows with his head as your hips sink back down into the mattress, sucking hard on your beating clit as he goes.

you must’ve been having a dirty dream, ‘cuz you’re already so tight around his fingers, slick pooling in his palm. he laps noisily into your cunt, wet squelch of his fingers bringing you to bleary consciousness.

“whuh- uh- oh fuck, Eddie-”

your legs jerk close on impulse, trapping his head between your thighs, and Eddie thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven. fully clothed, about to cream his jeans from eating his girl out. sure, he’s down to meet god, but can it wait a second?

“was dreamin’ you- ah, yeah, there- dreamin’ of you doing this to me. fuck…” your voice ends in a hoarse rasp, your hands shooting into Eddie’s hair, tugging at the roots.

he ruts into the mattress, cock leaking steadily into the fabric of his briefs, humming with pleasure against your clit.

your back arches off the mattress, he hears that tell-tale, breathy little gasp, and you’re gone- clenching around his fingers like a vice, flooding against his pistoning fingers.

he’s gone just as soon as you, coming in hot spurts with each upstroke against the quilt below, moaning into your pussy.

he kisses a sticky trail back up your body, sliding your nightie strap into place, loving and firm- “morning, princess. go take a shower, and no complaining. as a thank you for the wake up gift- ‘kay?”

you wouldn’t dream of complaining, nodding easily to his command, sleepy and sated smile on your face. your arms reach to encircle his shoulders, and Eddie leans in for a kiss- he tastes like you.

#eddie munson x reader #lu’s anons #e.m. thots from lu #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #somno #tw somno

205 notes · View notes

bxtchycaprisun · 8 months ago

Text

obstinate (6) | a. anderson

summary: you’re a new medic in the WLF base. you’re young, hardworking, and the thing that abby anderson hated the most, stubborn.

notes: fem!reader, medic!reader, protective!abby, soldier!abby, mutual pining, fluffyyy, they are both horny fr, no smut yet but like… you get a little something, manhandling?

taglist: @caitlinisfruity @mattm1964 @liabadoobee @shady-lemur @sweet-lover-girl @novadanversss @paleidiot @ratdungeon @elliesrealw1fe @feelsoseencantdream @mai5mai @thatonementallyillsimp @stunkbiggu @ellabsmasc @vii-v

an: this isn’t my best work and i know this series is probs long forgotten but i still wanted to put this out there! plus there’s a surprise at the end 😚

MDNI!!

after shutting the door gently behind manny, and staring at the wood, abby grins giddily. you were approximately ten feet away, in her room, sleeping under her sheets.

last night, you and her had both given in. you had quit your fighting, you had come to her. and she knew that now it was her turn.

she looks over her shoulder, seeing your figure below the covers, and she sighs. the clock reads 5:51 in the morning.

your face, while peaceful, was still sunken with exhaustion. she walks, her steps gentle and as quiet as she can make them, to your side. once again, she settles beside the bed, against the thin sleeping bag.

she took your hand that was still hanging over the bedside, pushing it silently towards your chest, and pulling the covers up your shoulder.

she turns to the side, leaning up on towards her window. she tugs the blinds down, securing any crooked ones individually with her thumb, to ensure the room was as dark as possible.

she wanted you to sleep as long as you could. she’d let you sleep for days on end if you’d wanted.

she sighs quietly, laying on her back with her hands clasped at her stomach. the sound of your breath coaxes her into the exhausted state she was in only ten minutes ago, and she quickly falls asleep.

. . .

the sun is already shining bright above the stadium when you’re eyes finally flutter open. you groan softly, rolling on your stomach, and clutching the sheets. you nearly fall back asleep when the smell of pine that had been invading your nose all night finally registers in your mind.

your eyes shoot open as you quickly remember where you are, and you sit up. you scan the room with parted lips, your cheeks growing hot as your memories return.

“i want you to stay this time” she had pleaded. and you told her you would. you smile to yourself as you realized you had meant that. most mornings like this would be filled with regret, followed by you silently grabbing your shoes and fleeing.

but not this morning.

you slide to the edge of the bed, eyeing abby’s shelf of cds to your left. as your feet hit the floor and you take your first step, you quickly feel yourself get caught on a firm, warm body.

“oh shit-”you yelp, tripping over abby’s sleeping form and practically kicking her in the ribs as you fall, sprawling embarrassingly across the floor with the groan.

abby springs up completely, her eyes blown wide as she clutches her stomach. her sleepy gaze focus on you, leaning forward worriedly.

“what is it? are you okay?” she asks quickly, reaching out to you as you pick yourself up.

you turn around quickly, your ears ringing from the awkwardness.

“you- you overslept” you quickly stammer, clutching your surely bruised knee from the fall. “its almost ten!”

you expect abby’s face to contort into worry, but it turns into something else entirely. she starts laughing, clutching her tensed stomach and doubling over.

“what?” you question with furrowed brows, your cheeks hot. “abby..”

“sorry im sorry-” she practically snorts, her cheeks growing pink from her laughter.

“you just-” she giggles breathlessly, “you stepped on me.”

“i didn’t mean to!” you whine, still not finding the situation very funny. “i thought you were gone, you were supposed to be gone.”

“i- i got manny to take my patrol” she breathes out, her laughs slowing but a bright grin still tugging at her lips.

“you-” you look away, finally letting out a small laugh. “i’m so sorry, are you okay? i could’ve broken your ribs!”

abby shakes her head, still clutching her stomach as she laughs uncontrollably again.

“i’m fine, i’m okay.” she assures, watching you like you’re the most inexplainable thing to enter her life. which you are.

“you’re so…” she stops, looking away with a grin. she wanted to say something far too endearing, like adorable, or sweet. but she decides on something tamer.

“clumsy” she finishes, shaking her head. “are you okay?”

you let go of your knee, and rub your ankle absentmindedly.

“just bruised,” you laugh weakly once again. “probably less than you are.”

she sits up, grabbing you gently by the arms and pulling you to your feet. you look up at her, brushing your hair out of your face.

“you missed your patrol?” you ask her with a small frown. “why? i would’ve… waited. like you asked”

abby blushes, shrugging her shoulders gently. she holds your wrists in her hands, not wanting to let go.

“manny owed me.” she says simply. “i didn’t want to make you wait. we’ve got important things to do.”

“important things?” you ask with furrowed brows. “like what?”

“like… training you” she says with a coy smile. she finally lets go of your arms after giving them a gentle squeeze.

she adds on to her statement before you can open your mouth, bending down slightly to meet your eyes.

“just… for a little while,” she nods quickly, her voice slightly nervous.

“i may have been.. wrong. with the way i handled things with isaac” she finally admits, pressing her lips together.

“okay…” you say slowly, watching her with careful eyes.

“but,” she sighs with a smile, “i still want to.. give you some pointers. y’know, before i send you out there.”

your eyes flicker up to meet her, lighting up completely, and your lips pull into a beaming smile.

“you- you’re going to approve me?” you ask hopefully.

“i will..” abby breathes, bringing up her fingers to your forehead. she pulls a piece of hair out of your eyes, her touch fleeting but electrifying. “as long as you entertain this. okay?”

“depends…” you start to hum sneakily, watching her reaction. she narrows her eyes, and tilts her head, preparing to insist .

but you quickly smile, laughing to yourself.

“kidding,” you finally assure. “i’ll entertain it. as long as you let me go.”

“i will,” she nods. “i promise you. just give me today. one day.” she takes a step forward, her eyes sincere. “that’s all i ask.”

you smile, your lips pressed into a fine line. after a short moment, you give her a nod.

“okay,” you say gently. “i’ll give you today.”

abby’s face brightens even more, and she rocks on her heels with her shaky palms now clasped together.

“okay,” she repeats back, looking off to the side and up the stairs.

“use my shower,” she nods towards her bathroom door.

you follow her eyes, seeing the full sized bathroom shared between her and manny; a luxury most wolves didn’t have. all of your showers took place in a communal restrooms where privacy was out of the question.

“all my soap and everything is in my room,” you sigh out.

“use mine,” she says once again, trying not to sound too excited about the idea. “i don’t mind.” she adds nonchalantly.

you nod, turning your head and smiling to yourself. but you quickly furrow your brows and look back.

“but my toothbrush-” you start but are quickly cut off.

“don’t worry about it- we’ve got a whole bunch of unused ones in the closet.” she responds, but her cheeks turn pink.

“cause of manny,” she quickly adds on. “he.. has a lot of guests.”

“ah,” you laugh slightly, “and you don’t?”

you immediately regret your question, as you quite frankly didn’t want to know the answer. it wasn’t your nature to be so flirtatious, but with her, you couldn’t help yourself.

“no,” she says immediately, her tone more sincere than the previously playful exchange. “no, i don’t.”

you blush, mimicking her mannerisms and rocking on your heels. you’d never say it out loud, but you were beyond happy to hear her say that. you didn’t want anyone in her bed. that is, anyone but yourself.

“alright,” you breath, breaking away from her as you walk towards the bathroom.

“take your time,” she calls out, watching you as you shut yourself in. as the door clicks, she springs into action, rushing giddily to the kitchen.

. . .

after finishing your far too long shower, you finally shut the water off. it had been a long time since you felt so.. clean, so rejuvenated. in fact, maybe it had been forever.

you groan softly as you dry yourself off, leaning over her ceiling high mirror.

the soap you used smelled like her. you smelled like her. not just from the shower, but from everything. the last night had restored you, and it had been in her room, in her bed. it wasn’t just the sleep that made you feel better, it was abby.

your fingertips run over your bare skin, and you sigh as you feel where her hands had grazed you the night before.

she cups your shoulder, pushing your dazed, and cried out frame backwards on the bed. “you should get some rest,” she mumbles, pulling the blanket over your figure, and waiting for you to lay down.

your skin feels hot, and you let your head fall into your palms.

shakily, she moves closer to you, tilting your face down. she keeps an unsteady hand on your neck as she brings her lips to your forehead.

you sigh out frustratedly into your hands, suppressing the noise into your skin. abby was just outside the door, preparing to train you.

but there was so much left unsaid.

she wasn’t just letting you go on patrol; she was letting you in.

and you were letting her in too.

you hear a small knock on the door, and look over as abby cracks it open.

“clothes,” she calls out, sticking only her hand through the opening.

you smile, chuckling to yourself as you take the fabric from her fingers. she closes the door gently, and you turn back to the mirror.

“fuck…” you sigh out, staring at your reflection. “okay..”

you silently get dressed into the outfit she had given you. the cargos were too big for you, but you belted them securely around your hips. the shirt was soft and loosed. it smelled, once again, of pine. of her.

you both knew you could just go back to your room to retrieve an outfit. yet you didnt. and she didn’t ask you to.

you take several minute to compose yourself before finally opening the door to the bathroom. you are immediately hit with the smell of bacon.

abby peaks her head around the corner, sporting that signature grin you had grown to adore.

“i made us some breakfast,” she smiles, handing you a piece of toast as she flips the bacon.

“gotta get my-” she starts but falters with wide eyes. “-you ready for our day.”

you lean against her counter, watching her as she finished up.

she looked so good. her muscles half flexed as she flipped the bacon, hair loose and wavy, her hardened nipples poking through the fabric of her shirt…

“you’re staring,” she interrupts your spiraling thoughts with a sly grin, turning to meet your eyes.

you’re breath hitches, surprised but also not at her boldness. you shake your head, brushing off her flirtation. baby steps, you thought.

“i- im just starving,” you immediately defend.

she nods, plating the bacon and an unnecessary amount of toast, and handing it over.

“eat up,” she smiles, and you take it gratefully.

you grow oddly silent as the two of you eat, but it’s comfortable. it feels familiar.

the two of you keep your eyes on your plate, both glancing up at each other, yet your eyes never meet. abby’s foot brushes against your ankle. she thinks about pulling away, but she doesn’t.

“so..” she trails off, watching you with a curious and careful expression. “do you want to talk? about last night?”

you pause, furrowing your brows in thought. you knew this would be brought up eventually, but you remained hesitant.

“i don’t know..” you shake your head. “i don’t have much to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything,” she says immediately back, leaning towards you and clasping her hands over the table.

“just.. just know that there’s nothing wrong with you. everyone has a breaking point…” she trails off, frowning. “hell, it’s a miracle you didn’t reach yours earlier.”

you look away, suddenly feeling embarrassed by your unannounced arrival last night, but her voice calling out your name breaks you out of it.

“hey,” she whispers. “i’m glad you came to me. in fact, i want you to come to me.”

she pauses, her tongue rolling on the inside of her cheek.

“you’re my friend,” she finally speaks, her voice slightly caught in her throat.

you watch her with a quivering bottom lip, feeling like you could cry from her words. it had been a long time since you’d had a friend. someone you could go to no matter what.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you both fall quiet again. the window is cracked at the edge of the room, and you sigh as you take in the fresh air.

“so,” you finally break the silence, finishing as much as you could of your food. “what does our.. training consist of?”

“well,” abby leans back, stretching her arms behind her head with a long yawn. “i want to see you shoot.”

“can do,” you nod, “what else?”

abby smiles at your line of questioning, tilting her head as she watches you.

“i want to see what you can lift,” she says.

“uh-” you laugh weakly to yourself. “you won’t be impressed.”

“i just want to see,” she assures, laughing along with you. “i mean- i know you can’t compare to..” she trails off teasingly, gesturing to herself with her large hands.

“oh hush,” you shake your head, “don’t get all cocky on me.”

“okay okay,” she puts her hands up, her eyes never leaving yours.

“anything else?” you sigh out.

“yeah,” she says, a little more slowly this time. “i want you to uh- you know- fight me.”

you’re face gets hot as memories run through your mind.

her knee digs into your thigh, pinning your leg down as she glares at you from above. each of your hands are in hers, sprawled out above your head.

you shake your head, struggling to snap out of it as you look up at her.

“we’ve already done that once,” you reply, almost in a whisper. you keep a gentle smile on your face, but your heart races at the topic. “you don’t need to prove what we both know again.”

“yeah?” she leans forward. “and what is it that we both know?”

you narrow your eyes at her, sighing in slight frustration. even though you were getting along far better than you ever had, you both had the same stubborn and teasing nature.

“abby,” you breath. “just because i can’t- overpower you, doesn’t mean i’m not ready.”

“i know, i know,” she nods, looking off to the side with a sigh. “you said you’d entertain me on this. i’ll play fair this time, i just want to give you some tips in combat.”

you breath in, rubbing your temples gently as you shut yours eyes.

“fine, fine,” you agree. “you’ve got a deal.”

“alright then,” abby smiles, standing up and reaching a hand out to you. “let’s get started.”

. . .

abby had been pleased with your shooting skills out on the rooftops, and even with your lifting in the west gym.

she knew little, next to nothing actually, of your past before coming to the wlf. but she did know you were training to be a soldier in your childhood.

as she walked by your side through the stadium, glancing down at you fondly every few seconds, she finally had the chance to talk to you about it.

“so you came here a few months ago,” she confirms as the two of you converse. “and you came with a group but they all got stationed at unit 10?”

“that’s right,” you nod, staring down at your feet as you make your way towards the field.

“does that- you know- make you sad?” she asks you softly. “being separated from the people you came with.”

“not really,” you reply honestly. “i wasn’t particularly close with any of them. they were sick of fedra, and so was i. we were all helpful to each other on our way here but..”

you trail off, pressing your lips together. “it was just that. they weren’t family.”

abby frowns, looking forward as your words make her chest tighten.

“do you miss your old qz?” she asks.

“most of the time no,” you say simply, looking up at her. “but sometimes i miss the freedom.”

you cross your arms over your chest, padding quietly beside her.

“most of the people i was around weren’t.. good people,” you say softly. “but with that.. there wasn’t any friendship. any real emotional attachment.”

you pause, feeling her watch you as the two of you make your way outside into the cloudy arena.

“you make that sound like a good thing,” she says with a laugh, but her tone was devoid of any humor.

“sometimes it was,” you admit. “made loss a lot easier.”

abby stops walking, turning to you fully as she observes you with a gentle expression.

“is that why you’re so reserved?” she asks softly. “you don’t want to get attached to people?”

you’re suddenly very aware of the sincere tone in her voice. if it had been any other person asking you these questions, you would have fled long ago. you weren’t one to open up, or complain about your past.

in fact, you had it a lot better than a lot of people this day and age. you never knew your parents, or had any family. you never had many close friends, and you never fell in love.

you’re life may have been pretty lonely, depressing even. but it was free of heartbreak. it was free of grief.

you had the feeling abby’s was the opposite. and so did she.

“i don’t want to be reliant on anyone,” you respond simply. part of you hoped that would be the last of her questions, but another part of you begged for her to ask more. you wanted her to pick you apart, bit by bit until she knew you inside and out.

“you can love people without being reliant on them,” she says, but you can’t help but shake your head in disagreement.

“i don’t know,” you whisper, “i think loving is reliant.”

abby smiles bittersweetly, watching as a gentle breeze travels through your hair.

“maybe,” she shrugs. “but it’s worth it.”

you shrug in return, looking up at her.

“maybe..” you repeat back as she takes several steps away from you.

the grass is dewy below your feet, brushing against the too-long cargos that cuffed your shoes. you shuffle backwards as well, looking around at the outdoors surrounding you.

you were still in the base, on one of the few outdoor patches that was left open for training. to your left were dogs, and horses, and ducks shut in stables. and on your right there were yards of garden boxes.

“don’t get distracted,” abby teases gently, watching as your eyes gloss over and take in the scenery.

“sorry,” you smile, looking up at the sky. “i haven’t been out here in ages.”

abby frowns to herself, that familiar feeling of regret settling in her stomach. it wasn’t often she second guessed her decisions, but when it came to you, things were different.

in her attempt to protect you, she somehow missed how unhappy you had been. she was harming you more than saving you. but she was determined to change that.

“okay..” she finally sighs out, going into training mode. “i’m not just gonna- come at you again i swear. i just want to show you some self defense.”

you roll your eyes ever so slightly, finding the whole situation silly.

“you know i’m not completely inexperienced in combat, right?”

abby shakes her head, her demeanor still playful, but also genuine.

“scars fight different than what you were used to. guns won’t be enough. once they get their hands on you…”

“okay okay..” you say with a small groan. “i get it. axes, and torches. show me what to do.”

abby smiles, straightening her back.

“alright,” she nods. “turn around.”

you furrow your brows slightly, but do as your told, turning your back to her.

“i’m gonna… im gonna grab your waist okay?” she whispers, quickly coming up behind you and snaking her fingers just below your ribs.

you shut your eyes, trying to breath steadily as she wraps her strong forearms tightly at your belly button.

“the worst position you can be in is getting attacked from behind,” she says quietly into your ear, causing an eruption of goosebumps to run up your spine.

she was thankful you couldn’t see her face, her red cheeks and forehead glistening with an anxious sweat. the wind whipped your hair slightly against her skin, and she nearly lets out a sigh.

“okay… now if they lift you.. you need to crunch your abdomen and kick your legs,” she instructs. “try it.”

“o-okay…” you stammer, holding your breath as she lifts you like it’s nothing.

“now..” she laughs weakly, her nose against your neck. “pretend i’ve got a dick, kick me there.”

“kick you?” you gasp out, eyes widening at her instruction.

“just- do it gently,” she chuckles. “i’ll be fine, just kick me.”

you bring your ankles up, and slowly bring one foot back down, kicking gently on her right thigh, just beside her crotch.

“good.. good,” she praises, smiling to herself. “you just gotta do that but harder.”

she reluctantly lets you down, her hands sliding away from your waist a little too invasively to be considered platonic. you turn back around to face her, your mouth pulling into a grin.

“and if my opponent isn’t a guy?” i ask.

abby’s expression falls slightly, her lips tightening into a thin line. she knew you were only messing around, but she didn’t like to imagine the idea. to imagine a situation where you wouldn’t be able to fight back.. a situation you couldn’t escape from..

she narrows her eyes, crossing her tensed arms over her chest.

“kick harder,” she says firmly, and looks away.

. . .

the two of you continue your training session for nearly two hours, and abby shows you just about every defense mechanism in the book. how to block, how to kick where it hurts, how to punch without shattering your knuckles.

while she was admittedly pleased at how quickly you caught onto things, the entire situation as a whole was getting her riled up.

she knew that ending this training meant sending you out. something that, while she knew was going to happen eventually, she wasn’t prepared for.

it wasn’t often she allowed herself to truly care for anyone beside her close circle of friends she had grown up with.

she was living in a war, and while she had many great relationships in the wlf, she also had a lot of loss. death was an every day occurrence, and losing a peer, whether that be a familiar grunt, medic, cook, or even comrade, was something abby often experienced.

she had grown used to detaching from the people around her. she was someone everyone could rely on, yet it was rare a loss fazed her.

but you were different.

she liked you, she cared about you. you didn’t fall into the large sum of people she could tolerate to see die, you never had.

you were one of her own now. like nora, manny, owen, and mel. maybe something even more important.

you were hers.

and she wasn’t going to let you go.

“now duck!” she yells, throwing an only half charged punch your way and grinning as you successfully dodge.

“block, now throw!” she had shouted over a dozen times, the two of you maneuvering around each other as abby commands. “good, good girl now back up- back.”

you shuffle your feet backwards, this time not waiting for abby’s cues to start your movements.

duck, block, throw, back.

“you’ve got it,” she smiles, her entire body now shining with a thin layer of sweat, the strands of her braid clinging to her neck and forehead.

“cmon now, i’m done telling you what to do,” she finally urges, panting as she raises her fists.

“show me you can do this.” is all she says before you march forward, successfully dodging her soft hits, dancing around her stance as you push her chest back.

the two of you go silent, the only sounds filling the outdoors being the grass crunching below you and your short bursts of breath. you circle around each other, touching, and pulling, and grazing your dampened skin as you train.

abby’s eyes narrowed, her irises fiery as she leans in. she grabs your belt loop, tugging you a little more aggressively towards her chest.

you’re surprised for a moment, whimpering as she goes to bring a gentle but firm hand to your throat, when you roll away from her grip, using your newly trained skills.

abby smiles at your maneuver, going once again to tackle you, but you’re already prepared.

this was it.

it was time you prove to her that you can do this, that you can be out there.

you weren’t a defenseless medic waiting to be killed off in the field. you weren’t unprepared, or stupid, or reckless.

you were reliable, and strong, and caring, and capable.

and in this moment, you were a girl, now straddling the hips of abby anderson, pressing her face into the dirt with a hand pinning her left arm to the ground, and your booted foot pinning the other, breathing heavily as you feel her racing pulse.

you clench your teeth together, tensing as you notice the buckle of her belt rub enticingly between your thighs. you feel her hips buck, and watch as she groans into the grass.

abby goes quiet, her chest heaving and her face flushed as you finally let go of her cheek, pulling your hands up but remaining on her lap.

she turns her head, looking up at you with a now toothy yet sly grin. she sits up with a grunt, looping her arms around your waist and holding you steadily against her.

and she leans in, her nose brushing against yours teasingly, her pupils focused on your parted lips.

“you’re ready,” she sighs out.

and she kisses you.

. . .

an: only took six chapters 🤷‍♀️

#abby anderson x you #abby anderson #obstinate #abby tlou #abby anderson fic

279 notes · View notes

pixxiies · 7 months ago

Text

coloring book

pairing ;; matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warning ;; ITS ALL FLUFF 🤞

a/n ;; SHORT MATT FLUFF 😝😝😝 did this for my one pookie and ONLY pookie dookie cookie cupcake mommy goth emo dommy (aaliyah)

word count ;; 462

pink: you

blue: matt

. . . .

me and matt were laying down in his bed, him on his phone and me coloring a page from my hello kitty coloring book. “what page are you doing now?” he asked me, placing his phone down on his chest and looking down at me.

“im actually done.” i smiled, tearing off the marker bled paper and holding it up to matt. “i smuged right there a little bit.” i spoke, pointing to the side of the page when be grabbed it. “it looks cute though.” he smiled, handing me the paper again. “thank you baby.” i giggled. “is there another one that i can do?” matt asked me while turning onto his stomach.

“i think that was the last one, im sorry.” i pout, kicking my feet slightly as i laid on my chest. “hm..” matt hummed as he picked up a marker and grabbed my arm. my eyebrows raised slightly, watching the brunette boy start to color in my tattoos. “these are water proof right?” matt made sure, still continuing to color in the tattoos on my arm. i nodded with a small smile on my face.

matt capped the marker and switched it out for another one, this time a blue one. “this one looks a bit ugly.” he laughed, carefully brushing the marker against my skin. “i cant really see it, but im sure it looks good sweetheart.” i spoke with a giggle, leaning my head on a pillow that was underneath me. a small sigh left my mouth with my other hand that wasn’t being drawn on go up to matt’s hair and played with it softly.

the brunette boy finished coloring about 6 of my tattoos after a few more minutes of comfortable silence. “let me take a picture for you to see.” matt said with a hint of proudness as he grabbed his phone. he clicked a few photos of the colored in tattoos and then showed it to me. ”oh matt they are so cute!” i giggled while scrolling through the few photos that he took.

“i think i like this one the best.” the brunette boy pointed to my strawberry tattoo that was colored with a soft red. i hummed quietly and zoomed into another one of my tattoos that was a pastel yellow bunny. “i like this one the best.” i spoke, laying my head on his shoulder. “mm really? i think it looks bad.” the brunette boy stated. i nodded my head as i turned off his phone and handed it back to matt. “i feel like a little coloring book now” i laughed softly, looking up at him. he giggled quietly, “we can use our tattoos instead of coloring books now.” matt said with a small spreading on his face.

a/n part 2 ;; i MIGHT do a part two of this where its the opposite and reader colors in matt’s tattoos 😝 this is so cute i love it

tag list: @cheetahmadi @mattsluttywaist @sturniol0s @crazychrisl0v3r

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #fluff #chrissfawn #matthew sturniolo

217 notes · View notes

elsweetheart · 2 years ago

Note

ok hi same anon and i agree, i’m not a stone but i love stone identities so much! also can i pls get some nsfw hcs of stone ellie helping her gf de-stress during exam season :))))

stone tops are the backbone of our society i salute them i also giggle and kick my feet for them🫡

combining this request with this one:

your dealer!ellie au is so so so so good !!! her talking about how pretty you are with pretty pink eyes… im literally barking rn pls do a part 2 (maybe with some smut cause im down bad) if you have the chance !!! <3 xoxoxox

it’s dealer!ellie i hope you don’t mind! gotta love our stone stoner 🤭

brief daddy kink mention + obvious usage of weed so skip if that makes u uncomfy. fem reader !

herbal therapy — dealer!ellie

🎀 smut !! reader calls ellie daddy, drugs are involved, mentions of stress

• it had been a long week, you had literally been living in the library with your head buried in your books and laptop preparing for your exams. pressure was being applied from everywhere in your life, and before you reached your breaking point you decided to grant yourself a day to relax.

• well, you don’t exactly decide — you can’t concentrate on your work because you started crying due to the stress, and in that moment you just needed your girlfriend to make it all go away.

• so, you show up to her dorm with your bag and a downturned pout, tears welling in your eyes. her brows furrowed when she saw how done you looked and slowly pulled you into her arms, eyes flickering over you. “oh! hey! you’re crying!” she whispered, eyes wide and face worried.

• she pulled you into her room and shut the door, bringing you over to her bed and sitting down, pulling you onto her lap. “talk to me, what happened?” she was sure to speak gently not knowing how fragile you were feeling. you sniffled loudly, wiping your cheeks with the backs of your hands. “s’just too much. need a night away from it all. wanted to be with you.” you tell her dejectedly and she nods in understanding, squeezing you close and resting her chin on your shoulder. “I’m yours all night, you’ll be alright.” she comfort, kissing your cheek.

• she orders you both a pizza, and god she’s just being so fucking gentle with you it makes you wanna cry everytime you look at her. she even holds you whilst you eat your pizza, her leaning her back to the wall with you laying with your back to her chest, sat up so you can eat. she doesn’t expect you to reply to her too much, but she’ll talk to you quietly in your ear about the movie you’re watching or something that happened to her earlier. her voice is so comforting it soothes you enough for your stress to start melting away a little.

• “you wanna get a little high? might help you relax a little, babe.” she all but whispers in your ear after your food had gone down, the movie on the screen illuminating the room. you turn your face to her, running your eyes over her freckles, her eyebrow scar, her pretty green eyes. it takes you a moment to respond because you’re so mesmerised by her, finally getting out a weak “mhm.” which makes her smile like she’s proud of you, pressing a kiss to your slightly parted lips.

• she prepares it all for you, letting you get the first hit like she always does. the two of you had figured out what your limit was, and honestly the two of you rarely smoked together because she was constantly telling you it was bad for you etc — but times like this did call for a little herbal therapy. you smoked your usual amount until your eyes were all pink and hazy just how she liked it and you felt fuzzy and warm on the inside. she finished off the rest easily, her tolerance way higher.

• she leans back on the bed and you lay down with her, practically trying to climb into her clothes with how close you wanted to be. “wish you could shrink me down so i could be in your pocket all day n’you could take me everywhere.” you hum into her and she chuckles low in her chest, palms flattening against your back as she rubs up and down. “i wouldn’t put you in my pocket, come on now. i’d obviously have you sit on my shoulder like a little parrot. s’way cooler.” she theorises and you pull back, nodding with doe eyes and a serious expression which makes her laugh even more at you taking her answer to heart. “you’re so cute. my cute little lady.” she cups your cheeks with a funny voice making you giggle before she presses her lips to your puckered one’s. you melt into the kiss and it deepens naturally, her hand pushing your lower back to arch you gently into her. you take it one step further, hooking your leg over her thigh and her hands roam lower, squeezing your ass as she slips her tongue into your mouth. you whimper, the weed having you so sensitive to touch that everything felt amazing and you’d barely even started making out. you felt the warmth and wetness begin to spread in your panties and if you weren’t high you might’ve been ashamed over how easy it was.

• her lips attack your neck as she encourages you with her hands to grind against her thigh, causing you to whine in satisfaction at the warm friction against your clit. “mhm?” she cooes against your skin when you do, making you all the more wetter knowing exactly what you had in store. ellie was gonna look after you, just like she always does.

• deciding enough was enough, ellie gently rolled you onto your back— pushing herself up onto her knees as her eyes ran over your heaving figure for a second. “y’wanna take these off for me?” she pat your pants lightly, leaning over to her bedside table to drink out of her water bottle before cupping the back of your neck to sit you up a little and holding it to your lips, pausing you in your undressing. “good girl.” she praised casually, eyes on your wet lips. as she did up the cap of the bottle you were quick to pull off your pants, grabbing at her tshirt to pull her back to you. as you did this, you caught the ghost of a smirk at your desperation on her face before she kissed you again, holding herself up over you.

• her larger hand crept down you, before nudging your thighs a little wider and cupping you through your panties. you gasp at this, and she chuckles at your reaction, digging her fingers in slightly. “ellie…” you whisper against her lips and she pulls away to kiss your chin before dropping her head to look at what her hand was doing. her hand trailed up and brushed over your clit making your legs jerk slightly and her fingers curled around the fabric of your panties. before you could wonder what she was doing, she gently tugged them up, causing the material to bunch and rub against your sensitive button.

• “mm—mgh, o’mygod” you whimpered, not being able to do anything but pant for a moment. she was looking back up at you now, watching your reaction and she let the smirk grace her face once more, continuing to tug. “y’like that?” she mutters, almost slightly taken aback and you nod, swallowing down a thick gulp. “so sensitive.” she commented teasingly even quieter than before, beginning to pull your underwear off completely unable to wait any longer.

• she pushed herself off you so she could ease her way down the bed, coming face to face with your cunt. you went to close your legs, but she gently eased them open— taking your hand that covered your modesty and running her thumb along the backs of your knuckles looking up at you. “s’just me.” she cooed and your heart fluttered, nodding as if hypnotised. “just you.” you repeat in a broken whisper before her eyes are on your pussy again, thumbs coming even side of the lips to spread them apart. she was high, so naturally she was entranced by how pretty it was taking a moment to admire you as she dragged a finger through your soaked slit.

• “please.” you eventually pouted and she snapped out of it, dragging a thumb up to your clit making you moan. dipping her head down she began leaving wet kisses on your thighs, pleased hums leaving her when the sensation of this would cause you to spread your legs for her even wider trying to urge her face closer to your heat. “m’gonna take care of you. gonna take care of you so well, pretty girl.” she promised against your warm skin and you mewled, hands curling into the sheets beneath you.

• ellie pushed a finger inside your wet warmth and you melted into the sheets, for once not making sound. your eyes were screwed shut and you were holding your breath without realising, trying to focus solely on the feeling of her finger being gripped by your walls. her finger didn’t move, and you were pulled out of it when she looked up at you with a gentle yet stern expression, hazy eyes focused in one yours. “breathe.” her hand stroked your thigh lovingly and you released a shaky breath. she began moving her finger again, working you open before adding another and curling them up against your gummy spot.

• your back arched off the bed and she took that as the perfect opportunity to wrap an arm around your thigh and pull you closer until her hot mouth was on your slit, licking up any juices that had leaked from you. the substances inside you heightened the euphoria of this, tears welling in your eyes as she mouthed at you hungrily.

• you didn’t know how much time had passed, it all had blurred into one as ellie made you cum over and over. during the last orgasm she drew out of you, her hand dragged up to your tummy feeling the way it spasmed and clenched and remained tense after you had hit your peak. something in you was still holding onto that stress whether you realised it or not.

• she pushed herself up rather abruptly, and your eyes fluttered open to see her staring at you, taking in all of your features analytically like she was going to draw a picture of you. your brow was still slightly tense, your jaw too. you pressed your lips together swallowing, just waiting for her next move — because ellie always knew what to do, ellie always knew how to make it better. you still looked hungry, and she realised you needed more. “you need to get fucked.” she told you so casually like it was an obvious realisation and you inhaled through your mouth, head dizzy with just how serious she was. you couldn’t help a whine slip out your mouth as your teary eyes gazed into hers, still convinced that you were too sensitive from the orgasms you’d already received. “i know, baby.” she whispered, cupping your face as if she’d read your mind. “my girl is still all tense. y’just need a little bit of dick to let go of it all don’t you?” she cooed so gently that you felt a tear roll down the side of your cheek and onto the pillow beside you. she swiped it away with her thumb, lips still glistening from you and nodded, a pout on her own face. “yeah. need me to make it all better.” she kissed you, and your breath caught in your throat when you tasted yourself. ellie had a way of making your head get so fucked, to the point where all you knew was her. she didn’t even have to try to take charge you just naturally… gave it all to her.

• you don’t remember her getting up, you just knew she was just suddenly lazily clipping her strap on onto her harness, not bothering to remove her sweats underneath. your senses were alive and practically vibrating within you when she swiped the plastic tip along through your folds, sighing like she could feel it herself. “els, want it—please.” you heard yourself say and she didn’t keep you waiting, pushing it in slow to the hilt and holding it there, kissing you through the stretch.

• “need you to relax for me. big breath in, okay? do it with me.” she whispered and you blindly followed her. the two of you, faces close, eyes locked just breathing together. your high felt elevated, and in that moment you thought the two of you might just become one person. she seemed to give in, latching her lips to yours and sucking on your bottom lip, both hands cradling your neck like she couldn’t get enough. “you gonna let me take care of that pretty pussy?” she breathed into your mouth and you were whimpering out desperate ‘yes!’s before you could even stop to think. ellie was fucking you, slow and deep and you were crying because there was truly nothing better in the world than her giving you exactly what you needed in that moment.

• lost in the moment, she pushed your knees up to your chest and your mouth fell open as she hit your spot which spurred her on to grind her strap into you with even more energy. “‘taking me so well. look at that. look how good you’re taking it. fuck me.” she cursed, gently wrapping her hand round your chin to make you look down at the soaked plastic disappearing in and out of you.

• “mm—hmhph daddy!” you sniffled and she was suddenly kissing you again so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of you. you didn’t mean to say it, but nothing ever seemed totally off the table with ellie as she just wanted to make you feel good — she knew being ‘daddy’ was what you needed, and boy did it sound pretty coming from your swollen lips. “mhm. i’m daddy. cum for me m’right here. keep takin’ it for daddy.” she groaned against your lips, doing everything in her power to get you there. she knew snaking a hand between you and letting you hump your abused clit against it would seal the deal and it did— your ears ringing as you tumbled over your last peak. somewhere in the back of your mind you thought about the students living on the other sides of ellie’s dorm walls hearing all of this but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as she talked you through cumming. “good girl, so fuckin’ beautiful.”

• ellie got what she wanted too, a completely relaxed and limp girlfriend. it’s almost like she could see the previous, remaining stress float away from your body like steam and she smiled, catching her breath. she slowly pulled out, glancing at the mess you’d made of her strap and the blanket beneath you. “messy girl.” she tutted lightheartedly with a grin on her face and you reached weakly for her, using the rest of your energy to do so. “gotta clean you up, babe.” she reminded you but you pouted, so naturally she was crawling back over you and pulling you into her chest to cuddle. “inna bit.” you slurred, seeming drunk and fucked out which filled her with endless pride.

• she kissed the top of your head, resting her chin on it as you enjoyed the sleepy silence before she spoke. “‘that help you at all?” she knew the answer, hell— she was feeling smug as ever, but she needed verbal confirmation. she needed to hear you say it. “mhm. needed it bad n’i didn’t even know. but you always know.” you were muffled in her tshirt, practically asleep at this point.

• it was true. ellie always knows. ellie always makes it better.

• her lips attacked your neck as she pulled you to grind lazily on her thigh and you let out another shaky moan, causing her to hum an encouraging “mhm?” against you, turning you on even more. her hands were warm when they pushed up your shirt to squeeze at your tits, your moans only getting more lustful.

• deciding enough was enough she gently rolled you onto your back, pushing herself up on her knees.

• she orders you food, your favourite kind - and the two of you curl up and watch a movie, ellie doing her best to

#dealer!ellie #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie tlou2 smut

2K notes · View notes

sordidmusings · 1 year ago

Text

Switching Up Roles - Part 2/2 (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: gif relevant cuz this mf gets his hand privileges revoked 💀 I have finally finished it QuQ getting Buggy to admit his sub desires to you for anon is here! I really hope it is what you wanted and that you enjoy 🤍 there's lots of filth but there's also a lot of them being sweet dorks together and painfully in love because I couldn't help myself whoops

Word Count: ~8.5k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns), NSFW my dude, very sub side of switch!Buggy, face sitting, oral (both receiving), light restraining, praise, degradation, edging, p in v, creampie, brat taming im p sure (Buggy doesn't mean to be a brat, petulance is just in his soul), takes a little to get to the sex but then it just keeps happening lol

Enjoy turning the clown into even more of a hot mess 🤡

Part 1

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Buggy is, for once, at the door to your shared room, kicking off his shoes for the night, right when the last colors of sunset begin to fade and no later. His hat is pulled off and thrown with little care for where it lands and his gloves are yanked off and flung away. He stomps over to where you sit on the bed with heavy feet, plops you fully onto the bed with a complaining grunt, and flops his full weight on top of you with spread limbs. You would be chastising him right now, but all the air left your lungs when he belly-flopped you into the mattress. A few forceful breaths re-inflate your lungs, but by the time you have your words prepared, Buggy is finished with his prolonged and dramatic sigh, and he greets you with a “heya, sweetcheeks” that barely makes it out of the comforter engulfing his face.

Gods, you love this silly little man.

“Hello, lovebug,” you reply with a fond giggle. “I’d ask how you’re doing but the dramatic entrance told me everything.”

Another complaining grunt is his response.

“Sounds about right. How about this?” You shimmy yourself a touch so you can fully move your arms and slither them under his coat. Your fingers touch his sides before sweeping in and trailing next to his spine all the way up his back. You dig them in just enough to create resistance then you drag them all the way back down to the small of his back. You feel his shiver in your own body and bask in his happy sigh. “How about you let me take care of you tonight? You really need to spend some time relaxing before your body falls to pieces that won’t listen to you anymore. I don’t wanna have to put you together like a figurine again; you don’t come with assembly instructions.”

Something that sounds like “needing a waxing” vibrates into the mattress.

“You’re gonna have to repeat that one, Bubs.”

With a huff to let you know what an absurd effort you’re making him go through, Buggy turns his head to lay with his mouth next to your ear. “I said ‘sleep is relaxing’, dumbass.”

You easily ignore his toothless insult. You begin massaging the muscles under your hands on his lower back to ease him up some more. “Well, yeah, and that’s why I want to help you sleep like the dead.”

Ever a man with his mind frolicking in the gutter, Buggy gets some new found pep. He breaks out the rough whisper he knows you love to say, “And how do you plan on doing that, sweet treat?”

You turn to him and inch in close enough to speak against his lips, “Why waste time telling you when I can show you?”

Buggy’s pressing his lips to yours before you finish the final word. The kiss is full of ease with its slow rhythm and syrupy movements. You pull back to tease his lips with a brush of your own and take a moment to savor breathing the same air. Buggy won’t let you stop for long; his impatience for your touch always becomes all consuming after he gets that first taste. He’s still gaining more energy back and using it to put more strength into his movements. He props himself up on one elbow and his opposite hand slides over to palm the base of your skull. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin behind one ear and his fingers easily reach to the other, leaving you completely at his control. He gently sucks your bottom lip before giving it a hungry nip, and it comes back to you that you’re supposed to be leading this night somewhere.

When you go to pull away, Buggy’s hand keeps you exactly where he wants you. He responds to your attempted escape by teasing his tongue between your lips. This man clearly knows how weak you are for him, because you couldn’t keep yourself from deepening the kiss if you tried. Why would you ever deny yourself these moments where you could taste each other’s want on the smooth slide of tingling tongues? Wait. No. Focus.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he breathes out in response to another attempt to pull back, this one weaker. “Don’t you wanna be my good little slut?” You let out a high-pitched moan into his mouth at that, internally cursing him for being so hot. “I need my cock-hungry pretty baby to make me feel good. Didn’t you want to be my cocksleeve? My little toy to fuck whenever and however I want?”

Yes, yes you did. You loathe your past self for giving him that ammunition to use against you right now. Without meaning to, you spread your legs fully, making space for his hips to shimmy flush to your center. He rewards you with firm grinds of the thick bulge straining against his pants. His movements are unhurried, letting you focus on every moment and the way his cock drags on your heat, reminding you of every time it had you drunk on pleasure before. The promise it gives you is mouthwatering. You realize that you may have miscalculated. You had thought his brain would be too fried from the week to use your soft spots against you, but here he is, getting you wet and pliant with one deep kiss and some choice words. What a bastard.

You try pulling away again and are met with the same result. Fine then.

Buggy squawks and flinches back when you pinch his side. He splits at the waist to keep his lower half on you and floats his upper body out of your attack range. The look he gives you is absolutely seething, but you would not be moved. You remain unimpressed.

“I did pull back multiple times. What if I had to sneeze and you made me headbutt you?” you reason, knowing it was too obvious that you were enjoying yourself to pretend otherwise. The way your legs are still happily hooked around his hips would be all the argument he needs against you.

“You always do those little prep inhales and reel back like you’re getting an exorcism. Would’ve given me plenty of time to get out of the line of fire,” Buggy grouses, crossing his arms to give you his most petulant pout.

You make an exaggerated gasp and distort your voice to sound tearful when you say, “I thought you loved me for my dramatic sneezes! Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

“Every. single. day,” he deadpans.

“And here I was,” you begin, shoving his legs off and standing from the bed, “Ready to play doting housewife for you and undress you with kisses and massages and love!” You turn your back to him to really sell the soap opera scene. Using the word “love” may have been a little bit underhanded; you both have been skittering around saying your first “I love you”s, only daring to use the weighted word indirectly. Even so, it was always easy to see how hearing the word from your lips would make him forget everything else and seek another hit of it from you.

“Aw come on, baby,” he draws out, already switching from pouting brat to placating lover. “We can still do that right?”

There is a lot of frantic rustling behind you. You peek at him over your shoulder, only allowing yourself to turn enough to see him in the corner of your eye. He is popped back together and is sitting up on his knees. He had skooched himself to the edge of the bed right behind you, where he is now giving you his best puppy dog face. You’re able to hold out just long enough for him to start wondering if your anger was all play before you spin around and chirp, “Only if you make a deal with me!”

Buggy flings himself back out on the bed and groans, “Fiiiiiiiiine.”

“It’s one you’ll like, I promise,” you soothe. You ease Buggy to sit up at the edge of the bed, laughing at the way he’d sway too far into whichever direction you pulled him, staying just one step removed from going dead weight. Once he’s settled into his spot, you take a moment to examine him. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his back is hunched forward under the weight of his exhaustion. Though his eyes are playful, they also hold dark bags, which peek out around his makeup. Your heart aches for him. Even when he is overworked and needing sleep, he’s taking the time to goof around with you and listen to your requests. You’d make sure he had the best sleep of his life tonight. You’d get him all clean and cozy and ready for bed and then you’d make him cum so hard that his brain blue screens. Truly a proper recipe for a good night’s rest.

“How’d you take off your gloves at the door but not your coat?” you ask, pushing said coat off his strong shoulders. He helps you by pulling out his arms. While your eyes admire any new skin exposed to you, Buggy keeps his eyes on your face.

“Can’t feel you through the gloves,” he explains. Oh, wow, that’s actually really sweet- “You ever try to enjoy tits and ass through fabric? Doesn’t work as well.”

You puff out an exasperated laugh. Yep, there’s your Buggy.

Before you move on to take off his scarf, you brush your fingertips along his neck and jaw to enjoy the warmth of his skin and the scratch of his stubble. Once the cloth is gone, you begin using your lips instead. He reaches out to hold your hips in a practiced welcome when you settle into his lap. Anywhere your kissing moves, Buggy opens himself up to your touch. You nose his jaw up for his head to fall back and kiss your way along his pulse. Your hand comes up to support the other side of his neck, your thumb admiring the shape of his adams apple. Your other hand hooks into his shirt’s collar and pulls it aside for more access. By the time you follow his collarbone to his shoulder, your kisses are open-mouthed, sucking and licking at his skin. When you move back over to the base of his neck, you feel his throat bob from a heavy swallow then vibrate under your thumb with his pleased hum.

Eager kisses lead you up to his ear, which you greet with a nip. Pulling back, you blow cool air on him to light up the damp trail you left behind. While your lips explore him, his hands explore you. They had started at your hips and are now massaging indulgently at your chest. Like everything else, the motion is not rushed, which perfectly compliments the teasing way he thumbs your nipples through your shirt.

After a sweet kiss to his temple, you undo his bandana, exposing his beautiful blue hair. You guide his head down to rest against your sternum so you can more easily take out the pins and ties keeping his hair in place. Buggy hums in pleasure from the relief in his scalp once his waves of long hair all fall free. You help soothe it further by massaging your fingers from the nape of his neck, around to temples, up to crown, and back down again. You always love when you can play with his hair; it’s become covetously soft in your care and you’ve become addicted to the faint smell of shampoo topped with ocean spray that came from it.

Buggy’s hands move from your chest so he can wrap you in a loose hug. He mindlessly massages your lower back and ass while you tend to him. The break from your kissing lets him regain enough thought to ask, “You gonna let me know about the terms I’ve agreed to or am I supposed to start guessing?”

You give him a sweet giggle and kiss the top of his head. While moving on to unclasp his many belts, you reply, “If you insist then I guess I’ll tell you.” Even his shirt has belts, what is this? Yeah, they look nice, but each one is one more step between you and getting him naked. “What you’re gonna do-” you don’t miss his shiver at the sternness in your tone “-is lay there and enjoy what I give you.” You soften up just a touch. “I’m here to make you feel better. I need you to trust that.”

“Of course I do,” he says, almost offended. He earns a kiss with the ease and earnestness of his response.

Finally, all the belts are undone and his shirt is opened. Buggy pops his arms off so you can easily push it off of him without the rest of his body moving an inch. He reassembles while your hands work on touching every new stretch of skin. You’d never tire of feeling his abs twitch under your touch or tracing the contours of his body. You get bolder, scratching pink lines through the light texture of his blue chest hair. It matches his stubble in a handsome blue, slightly darker than the hair on his head.

With a grip on his hair, you ease Buggy’s head off of your chest. He moans at the pull of it on his tender scalp and hopes you think it's from discomfort. The way you turn your hand so it pulls firmer, earning more sounds, lets him know he’s not fooling you. He finds that he doesn’t care when he sees the appraising look you’re giving him.

Now that he’s sat up, you get back to work on marking him up. There’s a gentle, tingling scratch of hair against the skin of your face while you work him over. Buggy is slowly and surely falling apart between your dominating hand and worshiping lips. Where before he felt the need to muster the energy to meet you for pleasure, he is now surrendering to let you control when and how he feels it. He lets himself lean into your grip and keeps himself relaxed, only moving his hips in mindless grinds. Having this man offer you free access to himself is winding you up quickly. You needed to get this moving along. You could take all the time you wanted soon. After smearing a few more kisses across his chest, you get up to work on getting him out of his pants.

“Come on, Bugs, let’s get you out of the rest of those clothes,” you coo, moving back to stand in front of him.

“You want me naked~” Buggy taunts in a singsong voice like a schoolyard bully, giving you the cheekiest grin. He holds out his arms (making grabby hands of course) for you to pull him up. With a sturdy heave, you get the sleepy clown back on his feet.

“You’ve found me out,” you whisper in fake shame. “Whatever will I do?”

“Well, toots, you can buy my silence with kisses,” he offers.

After giving many quick kisses all over his face, many with exaggerated “mwah!”s to get more giggles out of him, you move on to his pants. Buggy stays quiet and pliant while you undid them and pull them down to his ankles, following them down to the floor. You are happy to see that familiar bulge more clearly while he’s just in his boxers. You kiss along his length through them, making it twitch eagerly. His hand comes to rest on your head, letting you know how much he wants you to stay there. You look up at him, making eye contact, before pulling back and pulling his boxers down to join his pants. You think it’s cute the way his breath still catches from seeing you like this. It’s also cute the way his hands move to your shoulders to help him balance while you take off his pants and boxers then pull each sock off of his feet.

Buggy settles himself to recline on the pillows at the head of the bed, legs crossed at the ankles and hands behind his head. He eats up the way your eyes scrape over every inch of his spread out body. It isn’t lost on him the way your eyes always gravitate towards the prize laying heavy on his stomach, highlighted by a deep blue happy trail and trimmed curls. “Your turn, sweet cheeks,” he prompts.

“Not so fast,” you say, turning away from him and going to grab some items on the dresser. You turn back holding out a cloth and bowl of water to answer Buggy’s raised brow. He is not happy with your answer.

“Come ooooon,” he complains. “Aren’t you used to the makeup by now?”

“Yeah, I thought that was obvious,” you respond, gesturing to the marks he’s left on your face and chest. “But our skin will be happier without it and you’ll feel better sleeping clean and without a whole stage show’s paint on your pillow.”

“But I want you on me now,” he growls. Okay that greedy tone almost won you over, but you could use his weak spots too.

“I also..” you had wanted to only play shy but found that the feeling became genuine. “I also want to see you bare faced tonight.” Buggy narrows his eyes so you continue. “Don’t get me wrong, the makeup is sexy - like obviously, you’ve seen how I get - but you’re handsome without it too. And sometimes all I wanna see is you.”

He relents easily, trying to hide the blush that burns up his cheeks and down his neck. You reward him by making very quick progress of getting him fresh faced and cleaning the smears off of your own face and body, before moving onto your clothes.

You’d like to say that you were sexy in the way that you stripped yourself, but the reality is that you were quick and unchoreographed in your rush to get back to Buggy. He’d never complain though; there’s already plenty of your mouth watering strip teases filed away in his mind. There was also a rush in knowing how quickly you want to touch him again. And in the way the rush has your tits and ass jiggling.

Buggy reaches out to welcome you back into his lap, but is blindsided when you move to grab and spread his ankles instead. The way you crawl in between his legs is slow and maddening. Where’s that impatience that had you tearing off your clothes? Buggy can’t lie, he does love the way you’re kissing up his legs and the way it lets him savor how your body moves and curves. His worn body and thumping heart are addicted to the way you’re touching him. The problem is that he’s having trouble thinking of anything beyond the way his cock throbs angrily at the lack of attention.

The whispers, nips, and kisses that you layer on his thighs stay just on the right side of ticklish. Buggy’s hands follow your movements, brushing into your hair and tugging gently whenever you find a particularly sensitive spot. You keep at it until his thighs are twitching and jumping to your touch and he’s lost control of the pace of his breath. It’s only then that you begin teasing his cock with soft lips and cold blown air. You mix in firm, sedate licks to keep hinting at the relief your mouth could bring.

Buggy detaches his hands and begins to trail them down your sides. He’s hoping that playing you with his fingers would urge you along. Beyond that, he needs to feel how slick and warm you are and get his mind ready for the feeling that would soon slide over his aching cock by sinking his fingers into your plush grip. You quickly stop his plot by plopping your hips flush to the bed so that he can get no further than groping your ass.

“Ah ah ah, I didn’t say you could touch me yet,” you reprimand. Buggy whines back at you and you nip his upper inner thigh. “Hands,” you command, holding your own out. Even with his protests, he detaches his hands and floats them to your own. You link your fingers together with his then shove his hands down into the mattress, leaning your weight on them.

With him disarmed, you focus back to winding him up. Taking his head into your mouth, you begin swirling your tongue. Buggy manages to keep his hips from pushing more of him into you, but they shake with the effort. You turn your head to the side and begin massaging his head into the inside of your cheek, careful to keep your teeth off of him. He bites out curses and looks down at you to burn the image of your cheek bulging from his cock into his mind forever. He begins to let his hips lead the movements pressing out your cheek, so you pull him back out of your mouth.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Buggy pleads. He needs to keep feeling you or he’s sure he’ll go insane.

“I didn’t hear you say please,” you snark at him. He starts chanting the word for you in hopes to fix his mistake and earn your mouth back, but you’re already decided on the matter. Instead of sucking on him again, you simply nose around his hips and crotch to tease him, using what you could with your hands occupied restraining him. You found you enjoyed it; he smells strongly of clean skin and sex and the new method of touching him lets your brain notice new details to cherish. “It’s too late, silly clown,” you taunt.

When he can take no more, Buggy detaches an arm and bends it around the back of your neck. He pulls you into him by the crook of his elbow and growls out, “more”. You glare up at him before quickly taking him back into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat, grinding his head there while sucking harshly and gripping his balls.

Buggy yelps out an apology, the sensation way too much to process so suddenly. His arm flies back to him and you ease your grip on him. You soothe him with a few gentle bobs of your head before popping off and leaving a kiss to the soft skin on the underside of his cock. That sharp hit to his nerves chased by the tender touch fogs up his mind.

“I’ll do what you want, please tell me what you want,” he begs.

“What I want-” you’re crawling your way back up his body, “-is for you to be honest with me. Tell me what you’ve been hiding this whole time.”

Buggy’s face scrunches in genuine confusion. “I’m not hiding anything from you.”

“You sure?” you press. You lean towards his lips, which gently part in anticipation of a kiss. The moment before your lips brush, when you feel his stuttered breath, you change course and ghost your lips across his jaw to his ear. “But it would make me so happy if you just told me,” you whisper. “You usually make me feel so good.” You can feel him listening intently. “You don’t want to be good for me?” He stills completely. “Don’t you want to be my good little toy?” His whole body shivers beneath you. You kiss and suck your way down his neck and he leans his head away to give you as much access as possible. “Just say it baby and I’ll make you feel good.”

If you weren’t so busy buried in his neck, you would see the breathtaking mix of apprehension and need flaring in his bright eyes while he debates how to answer you.

“I want you to use me. I-” he trails off and looks away, losing his nerve.

You begin gently petting his hair and placing kisses on the side of his face. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He looks back at you and his shining eyes and furrowed brow plead for the promise that you’re telling the truth. You give him a firm kiss on the lips, which he eagerly returns with a small suckle to your bottom lip. You pull back to check in, looking into his eyes, before encouraging him again. “Keep going, lovely. I wanna hear it.”

Buggy tenses once more before he seems to let his resistance break and fall out of every muscle, leaving him limp and prone amongst the pillows and sheets. “I want to be your toy - I want you to take charge and do what you want to me. I want.. I want to follow your orders.”

The kiss you gift him is ravenous, and he fills with relief. “You’re so good to me, baby,” you praise, and that relief triples.

You reassuringly squeeze his captive hands and lead your way back down his body with your lips. The transition helps relax him and loosens his mind again. As you get back to your sweet torture, he keeps reaching downward not remembering that his hands aren't there then whining when he doesn’t reach your head. You switch his hands to being clamped between your knees so you can scratch your nails down his thighs, using just enough pressure to leave long pink trails. Taking it further, you move your mouth away from his dick to work across his v-line. Buggy gets more fussy at the lack of attention on his cock, squirming and whimpering below you.

Mouth still busy on his soft skin, you use one hand to palm over his balls to the underside of his dick and curl your hand closed around him, one finger at a time. You angle his cock upright, enjoying the feeling of his precum beginning to trail down across your fingers. Your mouth changed course back closer to him, emptying his mind of any thoughts but “yes, yes, yes-”. He blanks out completely when your blazing hot tongue drags across his balls during a squeeze and a pump of his dick. The relief is short lived when your grip loosens and stills and your mouth leaves him completely. His head snaps down to see why you stopped and he sees that you’re already giving him a malicious smirk. Your eyes stay on his when you pucker your lips to blow on his aching tip. His head snaps back sharply, the movement exaggerated by his hair.

“You’re going so sloooow,” Buggy complains, frustrated. “I thought you were gonna take care of me.” He sounds impressively sulky.

“If you’re not happy with my services,” you start in a measured tone, moving forward until you are nose to nose, “then you can take care of yourself.” His face pales. You look down at his dick in your hand thoughtfully before saying, “Better yet I can just steal your cock and run off to the showers to take care of myself.”

“No!” Buggy wants it to come out like an order but it is definitely an anxious plea.

“Oh, so you’re telling me I can’t?” He shrinks even more under your glare, making you feel powerful.

“Just stay in here, pleeeease, need to see you feel good,” Buggy begs, voice small. “Don’t even need to cum, just need you.”

You aren’t supposed to give in unless on your own time, but knowing that he’s only thinking of your pleasure is making you weak.

“I thought you wanted to be my good little toy and good toys don’t whine and make demands. They are happy with what they’re given if their owners give them anything at all.” He whimpers. “Right now you’re more of a fucking brat.”

“Noooooo,” his broken complaint sounded delicious, but the look on his face was nearing too close to real distress.

“No?” You mock. You look down at him with a condescending pout. Your eyes bore into his, needing to notice every little detail of his next reaction. “Oh, baby, if you’re not a brat then you’re just a pussy-hungry slut.”

Buggy shuts his eyes and moans loudly at your words. The sound of his own voice calling you a cock-hungry slut many times over echoes from his memories. He didn’t think having his own insults turned on him would feel so invigorating. It’s clear to you that that is much more what he wants to be for you. Your slut; not your brat. How sweet. When all his layers are peeled back he only wants to please.

“That’s okay you sick little thing. You just can’t help it, can you?” He shakes his head with those gorgeous, shining eyes pleading at you. “If you’re so hungry, I guess I gotta feed you so you can shut. up.”

Before his mind even realizes that you began moving, you flip around and sit directly on his face. Your strong thighs are clamping his arms down to his sides, leaving his hands to be snatched up in your own again. You’ve positioned yourself so his mouth is at your clit and his nose is teasing your entrance. He gives a thick inhale and presses his tongue out to lap at you with a satisfied moan.

“Much better,” you groan, completely self-satisfied.

You waste no time before you begin rocking your hips. The room fills with the sloppy sounds of him licking and sucking at you, overly enthusiastic about having your pussy in his face.

“Now stick out that tongue for me,” you order, giving him his only warning before you drop much of your weight down to get the best pressure of his tongue, nose, and chin against you. The sensation has you clenching against the surface of his nose, getting it wet. You switch between a few long grinds from cupid’s bow to chin and making sharp circles of your clit on his tongue.

Buggy barely gets any time to fully breathe and he loves it. His head has become a murky swirl of your addicting taste and smell and the lovely sounds of you moaning for him. It sends pleasure prickling through him, making him burn with need, but he’s sure he’d stay on this painful precipice forever if it meant you kept using him to feel good. Buggy’s moans are becoming slurred whines as he gets drunk off your pussy. He was trying so hard to be perfect for you. He would stiffen his tongue to grind back into you or curl the end up for you to use on your clit. He’s ignoring his nerves at having his nose be an active participant, because he feels the way you follow its pressure. His hands are clamped on yours, floating in front of you to give you better leverage to move. He’s done good to not pull either of them away and give his leaking cock the relief it desperately needs. He deserves a reward.

You bring his hands in to place them on your breasts, where they need no direction to start working you. The warm, grounding pressure of them kneading your breasts is broken up by little circles, pinches, and pulls to your nipples that send tingles to your spine and straight down to your clit. Once they’re settled on you, you curl forward to place your head back in front of his red, twitching dick. You put your elbows down by Buggy’s sides and take advantage of the fact that he’s too lost between your legs to notice where you’ve put your face.

Buggy arches and yelps when you blow strong, cold air on his head and tease your fingertips along his Apollo's belt. His utter excitement at your attention shows in his bucking hips and pressing face. His whole body is buzzing with the thought, “I did good!”

“Your mouth is fucking good, perfect for an eager slut” you praise. Buggy keens loudly into you, sending strong vibrations through your pussy. “I’ll have to steal your head as my seat more often.” You flick your tongue on his frenulum, earning a strong twitch. “I’ll hunt you down any time I need to cum and force you down under me,” you promise in a husky voice.

Finally, you slide him into your mouth and moan at the familiar taste and weight and heat. He’s as sensitive as you’ve ever seen him, hips and cock jerking. You tease a hand down to cup his balls and feel them pull tight while his dick starts a familiar pulse, his voice going wild in your ears. Oh?

“Not so fast, stupid doll,” you warn, moving your hand to make a tight ring around the base of his cock. “Thought you could just cum without getting me off first?”

Buggy tries to get out apologies but his mouth is too busy buried in your pussy.

“I’m touching you as a reward. Don’t get greedy,” you scold. Then you’re putting him back in your mouth and he’s sobbing under your cunt. You couldn’t do anything more than light sucking and trailing your hands on him before you’d have to pull back and keep him from cumming. Each time, he’d try to apologize and each time he would look and sound more and more pathetic. By the time you feel the pressure of your own orgasm pulsing throughout your hips, he’s shaking like a leaf.

The crackling complaint Buggy let out when you pulled yourself off of his face was heartbroken. His fingers slipped and pulled as they made their way from your breasts down to your hips, where they weakly tried to pull you back down on him.

“Shhh sweet boy,” you soothed, placing your hands reassuringly over his, “I’m just gonna use your cock now, gotta give that pretty face a break.”

That quickly distracts him from the loss of your touch, if his urgent pleas and raised hips are anything to go by. You get down to his hips and lean forward slightly, gripping firmly onto each of his warm thighs for stability. You admire the lines that twist over them as his muscles move and react to you. Feeling a little bit sadistic, you grip them hard enough to bruise and hover just close enough to his cock so that he feels the heat of you there but only the ghost of your touch.

“Please touch me,” he begs. “So close, need to feel you-”

Buggy continues to babble and you continue to hover, delighting in the way his dick would sometimes jump up to tap your entrance, electrifying both of you. He squirms under the strength and weight of your grasp on his thighs, trying to chase you with his hips. Suddenly, he splits his legs off above your grip and is finally able to grind fully into you, gliding smoothly through the thick mix of slick, spit, and precum between you. An absurdly hot groan rushes out of him, starting as all exhale before morphing into a loud tone supported by a rumble in his chest. Your mind blanks with your own gasping moan before you recenter yourself and let your dead weight drop on him, shoving his hips deeply down into the mattress.

You had angled your hips to save your clit from all pressure but the tap of his balls when they bounced up from the impact, but Buggy was given no such mercy. The first hit between your weight and the bed presses his cock near painfully between the two of you, but he can’t deny the way the feeling sent prickles across his every nerve and the relief after it let up has him baring his teeth in his bid to not cum. Instead of nice grinds, you simply oscillate your weight around your hips to keep giving him too much stimulation but not the right kind.

“Am I not doing good enough for you?” you ask, voice carrying a warning that he better answer properly.

“N-no I love it, I was just-”

“Just what?” you interrupt, hand moving from bruising his thigh to cup his balls, adding to the threat in your tone.

“Couldn’t think! S-sorry, I’m sorry -hhhanh- ” Buggy keeps his apologies streaming because he can’t stop disobeying you - he can’t help making tight little movements of his hips against you to feel more of you.

“Having trouble being the one fucked stupid, little whore?” you goad. “Don’t like being so pussy-whipped you can’t think like a person anymore?”

“I love it,” he moans, fiercer than you expected. “Need it -hahh- need you, I’m yours, need to be yours.”

Fuck, you need to get him inside you; you were too close to cumming empty from hearing him talk like that. You keep the hand on his balls, starting to fondle them, and use the other to line him up with your entrance. You can already feel bliss curling in your toes as his fat head presses at you, but Buggy does the last thing you expect - he pulls back.

“No!” his voice breaks and you whip around, scared that something was wrong. He’s staring at you with wide, wet eyes. “Turn around, please, please, wanna see you.” You relaxed knowing he wasn’t hurt or scared or uncomfortable. He begins to have trouble looking at you, turning his head away shyly and letting some of his hair sweep over to shield his face. “Want you to look at me.”

You’re getting whiplash after being thrown from panic to overwhelmed with affection so quickly. You move slowly and smoothly when you turn yourself around and slink your body down over him. You rest on your elbows and slowly lower your hips back down to him, this time grinding his head against your clit generously. Buggy’s head spins between the fire you’re tending in him and the loving way you hold his face and brush away his hair.

“You sure you can take it, honey?” you ask softly. “You can’t even look at me right now.”

“I can!” he asserts, needing to prove himself to you. He turns his face to yours and flicks his gaze to your eyes and away a few times before he’s able to lock eyes with you. You pet his face and continue your smooth grinding, taking the time to look at him like he wants you to. Buggy’s face is the most beautiful shade of pathetic you’d ever seen; shimmering tear tracks highlight skin that is pink and flushed and damp with sweat. The color of his cheeks brings out the ruby color of his nose and you can’t resist brushing your own nose against it. He tries to flinch back but you follow him. When he turns his face away, you lure him back to you with sweet kisses. When he faces you again, you intensify the stable grinding you’ve kept up to nudge him a little closer to the edge once again.

“So pretty,” you whisper, reverent and honest. Your eyes are looking right into his, seeing him in a way that has him feeling worshiped. Loving fingers map out the structure of his cheekbones and jaw, moving on to chart his lips. They kiss at your fingertips sweetly. “I have the prettiest toy on the seas. Better than any other treasure.”

He perks up at that, giving you a moan and bucking hips.

“You wanna be my treasure?” you ask, getting an immediate, breathy “yes” from him.

“Well I love every bit of my treasures, from their gems to their dents,” you tell him. “After they’ve caught my eye with their beauty, the only thing they need to do to stay my treasures is let me care for every piece of them.” You brush your noses together again, staring at him pointedly. “Can you do that for me?”

There’s real conflict in Buggy’s eyes and you slow your hips to let him think. After a few long breaths, his whole body tenses and he nudges his nose back into yours in a hesitant eskimo kiss.

You turn your head and crash your lips on his in a consuming kiss full of teeth and tongue and praises. You’re bursting with your pride and love from his show of trust and he’s lost in the flood of your acceptance. Your hips are insistent again and, without breaking the kiss, you reach down and, at last, guide his cock into you.

Buggy cranes his head back again, so you switch to sucking and biting his neck. You can’t taste or feel enough of him, he’s not close enough. Even when he’s deep enough to lick at your cervix you need more of him. Even though he’s wedged you open enough for you to feel the pressure of it in your hips. Even though he’s crammed between your legs, ringing in your ears, sinking under your nails, sitting on your tongue, filling your breath - none of it is enough, so you keep taking more from him.

Though his hands have found their way onto your hips countless times, this grip felt foreign. Normally they’d hold firm and sure and guide you to move just how he needs you to. Right now, his grip is somehow tighter even though it’s all pawing and clawing. He has no control on how you fuck him, he’s just desperately trying to hold on for the ride and grasp more you - he’d do absolutely anything if it meant he’d get a single bit closer to you - to knowing nothing in this world other than every inch, every sound, every feeling that you have to offer. And then he’d beg for even more.

“Talk to me, treasure, tell me how you feel,” you urge.

“I -mngh!- I-I feel-” Buggy gasps out. It’s clear he’s trying to listen to you but that pretty little head of his is scrambled. He keeps his foggy eyes on you in an attempt to focus, despite how much they want to roll back behind fluttering lids. He pants and moans a few more times before licking his lips and trying again. “-’s good, so good, s-so -uungh- s’gooooood -hahh-”

“That’s my good man, my perfect treasure, my sweet love,” you coo somewhere between a whisper and a moan. The way he’s stretching you open, rubbing at you with his hot cockhead is fraying your control. The freedom to call him “love” sends flutters through your chest. Buggy is just as desperate for the claim, each time he hears the word a keening whine answers it.

“Please, please, need you to cum,” he pants. “Can’t -hhah- c-can’t-”

“You can and you will.” The command leaves no room for argument.

You’re getting so close, feeling the promise of your release in the tingle of your fingers, the heat searing through your trembling thighs, and the tight gripping in your body all the way from your throat to your pussy. The feelings pulse stronger with each clap of your hips to Buggy, each time his thick cock shoves you open and lights up every buzzing nerve that it rubs through your walls.

“Fuck, love, you can cum.” He feels your lips form the words against his racing pulse. It’s hard to keep track of what you’re saying through the white out in your head and the heat licking through your entire body. Your words rush out desperately, trying to get your scattered thoughts to him through a heavy tongue and a lack of air. “You’re so, so good, feel so good, gonna cum so fucking hard, love it so much, fuck, love how you make me feel so good-”

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you-” he gasps out on loop as his hips stutter and his cock jumps, filling you up. His pathetic thanks and the feeling of him releasing into you send you over the edge and everything burns so good. Your body involuntarily bucks and trembles on him for a few seconds where you have no say. You find yourself caving into him under the weight of your clenching muscles. Every clench of your cunt around him feels long and gripping and lets your swollen walls feel him with a little more detail. You make small, slow circles of your hips to wring out his climax, which seems never ending. Rush after rush of hot cum fills you until it’s spilling back into his lap, but his hands still encourage your movements and his body still shakes and trembles and he still babbles praises into your shoulder. Even when the aftershocks are settling to fewer and further between, he lets out a pathetic whine any time you stop moving in an attempt to give him some respite. After indulging him in another minute of overstimulation, you slowly lift off of him, receiving an upset groan. You hush him with trailing hands and sweet kisses, which he happily returns.

When his breathing is finally steady, you take a moment to check him over. His face is so relaxed he actually looks knocked out, but he does hum in response to your light squeeze on his shoulder. Buggy’s lashes have always been beautiful, but they look especially nice sending shadows across his cheek bones. His hair is a wild mess around him, and it feels silky between your fingers when you detangle it. His broad chest is still moving a bit fast with his breath, but each rise is a bit larger and longer. You admire the way his breathing moves the red spots and pink streaks decorating him, especially enjoying their contrast to his blue chest hair. His throat bobbing on a heavy swallow points your attention back upwards, and you admire the way his dark stubble makes his jaw even sharper. A little higher, you notice how red and swollen his lips are and how shining tear tracks dry across his face. You’d never seen him so fucked out. It looks gorgeous on him.

Since Buggy is calm and settling, it’s time to get up and clean you both up a bit. This time he communicates his displeasure at your absence with a petulant grunt. You turn back with a raised brow to sass him but break out in laughter instead when you see he couldn't even muster the energy to turn his head toward you. You don’t think this man has even opened his eyes since before he came.

“Don’t worry, love, I’m just getting a towel to clean up.”

A begrudging grunt.

Good enough.

After quickly taking care of yourself, you reappear with a warm, damp towel. The moment Buggy feels your weight back on the bed, he musters all of his remaining strength and pulls you on top of him. You giggle while he grumbles something into your shoulder.

“One more time, Bugs.”

He sighs like you are the most unreasonable person he has ever met, and you laugh at the deja vu you’re feeling. His lips move up to your ear and you hum happily at the tingles his breath leaves behind. “You took too long.”

You roll your eyes. “Sorry, your highness. Just trying to make sure we don’t wake up sticky in a puddle. Now come on, it’s your turn.”

On the third attempt to pull back, he finally lets you go (with yet another grumble) and you set to work on wiping him down. You begin with his face, enjoying the hum he lets out at the light warmth in the soft cloth, and move down to his neck. You spend a little bit of extra time on his shoulders and chest, massaging between swipes of the towel. He obnoxiously flings each arm at you when you are ready for them, just to hear you laugh another time. He enjoys the emptiness of his head while you move to his calves and work your way up. On his thighs and stomach, you sprinkle sweet kisses that leave his heart feeling gooey. He falls in love with you all over again when you blow a raspberry on his side to rouse him once he gets too close to dozing off.

He thinks he is all out of aftershocks until he is savoring the last few when you finish cleaning him up. You leave a loving kiss on the sensitive skin just inside his hip bone, before standing up, again to a groan. Buggy was always touchy after sex (and honestly touchy in general; you’re surprised he doesn’t demand you to hold a detached hand at all hours) but this is something else. It has you thinking of how much you crave his affirming touch whenever he is pushy or rough with you during sex. You’re both lucky that you find his pouting endlessly endearing. Grabbing the blankets that had fallen from the foot of the bed, you finally make your way back to him.

“Took you long enough.” Buggy’s words are bratty, but his tone is sweet and starstruck. He’s making sure to enjoy the last bit of seeing you clearly before you turn off the light.

“Fine - next time I’ll throw you a towel and go find a clean hammock for myself,” you tease. “That should be much quicker.” You plop onto the bed next to Buggy, jostling him, and you fluff the blankets out over the two of you.

“Noooooooooo,” he whines. “You’d leave me to fend for myself like that? I’d die.” Even with the dark, the way you two move to intertwine is coordinated and sure, played out many times before.

“I’m pretty sure there’s cryptid in your bloodline; you should do just fine with survival,” you laugh, snuggling deeper into him. As always, a deep inhale of him (saltwater, spices, leather, smoke, musk) has you immersed in your safe space. “Aren’t you the self-proclaimed untamable man, oh great Captain Buggy?”

“I’ve been domesticated-” you guffaw “-and it’s all your fault so you need to take some responsibility for your actions.”

You settle your laughter and look to meet his gaze. By now your eyes have adjusted just enough for you to see the moonlight from the porthole reflecting in his eyes. The unguarded affection you spot in them stalls your breath.

“Okay.” The word promises much more than he had asked. The meaning seems to reach him, because he holds you just that much closer and plants a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

The brushing of the waves on the thick wooden sides of the ship guides your breath to deepen. The creaking of wooden boards and distant thunking of feet on the deck comfort you with their familiarity. Buggy is just barely hanging onto consciousness, trying to keep his fingers tracing nonsense patterns on your skin. The last things your mind holds onto are the warmth seeping from Buggy’s body, the gentleness of those calloused fingertips, and the sleepy slur of his tender mumble.

“Goodnight, my brightest star.”

#buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown #opla buggy #one piece #thirst hours #my writing #buggy smut #buggy x y/n #one piece smut #gn reader #afab reader #x reader

371 notes · View notes

danikamariewrites · 8 months ago

Note

Could you please write Manorian x Reader where the reader has period cramps and the two of them stay and take care of her?

Lay With Me?

Manorian x reader

A/n: I have been dying to write Manorian so writing them being soft and comforting as my first fic for them has me kicking my feet giggling. Also i just got my period the other day so im projecting bc i need them 🥲🫠

Warnings: period pains, comfort

Waking up was a chore this morning. You did your best to hide your cramps from Manon and Dorian. Of course they acted like they believed you, but they saw right through your little act. You never liked making a big deal about feeling unwell.

Attempting to eat breakfast almost made you vomit. Instead of getting dressed you made your way to the private dining room in comfy sleep clothes, wrapped up in Dorian’s black fluffy robe. Taking a whiff of the eggs and bacon waiting for you on the table had your stomach churning. Pouring a cup of steaming coffee you make your way back to bed.

A wave of cramps hits you as you lay down, forcing you to curl up into a ball. Hoping the pain would exhaust you enough that would just fall asleep.

As you tossed and turned for all of twenty minutes before you gave up on sleep. Dragging yourself into the bathroom you searched the cabinets for a tonic to help the pain. Letting out a frustrated groan after finding nothing you slam the cabinet. Another wave of cramps hits you, bringing a new numbness to your legs.

You quickly wobble to Dorian’s office, knowing you won’t make it all the way down to the healers on your own. Quietly pushing the door open you shyly poke your head in. Before saying anything you watched Dorian work for a bit. Watching his arms flex as he wrote was doing something to you. Gods your hormones are all over the place.

Making your way into his office you plop down in the arm chair across from him at his desk. Curling up into a ball you give him your best doe eyed look along with a sweet pout. Dorian put down his pen, giving you a matching pout. “What’s wrong, darling?” “Will you go to the healers and get me more pain tonic? We’re out and my cramps are really bad.”

Dorian wasted no time in scooping you into his arms, snuggling you close to his chest. “Why didn’t you say something earlier, darling?” He carries you back to the bedroom, placing you down gently. Kissing your forehead he whispers that he’ll be right back.

A few minutes later Dorian comes back with a pouch full of tonics and Manon following holding what you scented is a bag of sweets. Sitting up you licked your lips as the chocolate reached your nose. Manon smirked at you as she dropped the bag on your lap. Dorian hands you one of the tonics kissing your head again.

Settling into bed you dig into your snacks expecting to be left alone. You let out a cute little yelp as Manon sits next to you, pulling you to,lay against her chest. You notice she’s wearing Dorian’s comfy clothes. As you curious look at Dorian you find he pulling on a pair of threadbare pants.

Climbing into bed he lays between your legs on his stomach as he massages your numb thighs. “We want to stay with you. You need us right now, not work. And besides we’re covered.” You snuggle further into Manon’s chest as Dorian’s magical fingers relax you. Your eyes flutter as the pain melts away.

“And, I had the kitchen prepare your favorite dinner which will be up in a few hours. For now just relax darling, we got you.” You run your fingers through his soft raven locks. “You guys are the best,” you hum out before drifting off.

132 notes · View notes

starlightazriel · 5 months ago

Text

Vanserras Girl

au, millers girl/acotar crossover (lucien)

a/n: just me messing around hehe don't judge me cus im blushing i maybe got a lil carried away

warnings: 18+ filthy smut (washing my sins away), dom lucien lowkey lol, squirting, cherry popping, unprotected sex, student/teacher, big age gap (18&40), time jumps, infidelity (affair), home wrecking, no happy ending,

masterlist

"Mr. Vanserra," he whirled at the voice, class didn't start for an hour. He raised his eyebrows, his eyes narrowing at the young woman standing before him, her books and binders across her chest. His eyes couldn't help but flick down to her pouty lips. And she, she was looking at him, a hint of a smile behind her eyes.

"Class doesn't start for another hour," he clears his throat, his eye narrowing toward her, her lips parted slightly as she took in the sight of the older man, something thrummed deep within her, his eye, one of them was fake, it was a solid golden color and the other eye was the most beautiful and unique russet color she had ever seen. His hair was fiery, a few grey hairs spread throughout but mostly just a fiery red. He was one of the most unique, (dare she say, for the age gap and the wedding band on his finger,) most handsome rugged men she had ever seen. And his hands, those large hands, long fingers that she knew he once used to write epic tales of lust and sex. Her throat bobs as she composes herself.

"I know," she says coolly, noting the way that he seemed to have to force his eyes to her face, he just stared seeming a little stunned. "Ive heard about your lectures," she says, her tone almost bored sounding, she dropped her stuff onto the desk that was front and center, "and I've read your work," she leaves her stuff walking up to the desk until it was the only thing still separating them. He knew full well how absolutely smutty the books he had written were, heat seemed to shoot through him at the thought of this young girl laying in her bed, feet kicked up, cheeks flushed as she read the absolute filth he had produced in his early days of writing. A tinge of shame hit the pit of his stomach as he remembered this young woman was young enough to be his daughter. He didn't like this, he didn't like the way that the air seemed to be hot and thick between them, he didn't like that she seemed to have control over the situation. "I wanted to introduce myself, your star student of the semester, Cairo Sweet," she extends her hand out for a shake, his eyebrow was still quirked, he forced away a laugh at the sheer poetry of even her name. Cairo Sweet.

He extends his hand, noting the way her lips part slightly when their hands touched, his wedding band seemed to burn on his finger. "You've read my work?" he asks as he pulls his hand from hers a hint of doubt in his words, brows slightly risen.

"Red is my favorite, the rawness of it, the passion, the complete disregard for literary rules, I mean, its art," she says as if it was obvious, her eyes bore into him, her gaze intense, it seemed to stir something in him, something he hadn't felt for a long time. Red was the most filthy book he had written, dedicated to his wife Beatrice, about the passions they once had shared together, before they grew old and work got in the way. Lucien clears his throat, seeming to snap out of the daze.

"Flattery will not earn you an A in this class Miss Sweet," he says, matching her cool tone from earlier, she only smirks and shrugs, turning on her heel, he couldn't help but watch after her. "Come on Cairo," Winnie drawls from the door way, he knew her from last year, "lets go before they run outta chicken biscuits," she giggles softly, seeing her stuff by the entrance of the class room. Lucien nods to Winnie as a form of greeting she beams back at him before linking her arm with Cairos, who looks over her shoulder one last time, "See you later, Mr. Vanserra," she uses that same cool tone from earlier as Winnie drags her away, she eventually peels her eyes away.

When they are gone, the red book binding catches his eye, its buried in with her other things and a small smirk spreads across his lips as he advances toward her things. He hesitantly pulls the book out, his fingers gently stroking the binding, sure enough Red was printed over the front of the hard cover in gold lettering L. Vanserra, in smaller lettering at the bottom. He opened the book, noting that it was a library copy, and there was one name written on the borrow card, three times, Cairo Sweet. For my beloved Beatrice was printed on the first page, how in love they once had been, he shakes his head. "Fan girling over yourself again? Pining for those days as a young writer, when you did nothing but wet your willy and sit at a computer?" Luciens eyes lift to see Tamlin there, leaning against a desk, his coach clipboard tucked under an arm, two coffees in hand, one he handed to Lucien who had snapped the book shut now to take his coffee.

"This is a students, she took it out from the library," he shook his head in awe before tucking the book exactly where he had found it.

"Look at you Mr. V, maybe you still got a chance to go big,"

"Winnie, he's married," Cairo huffs out softly, taking the swig out of the bottle of wine they had stole from Winnies parent's wine cabinet. "My favorite book, is dedicated to his wife," they were in Winnies room, Cairo was on the floor, leaned up against the bed, her head rest against it and Winnie was laying across the bed, her head hanging down slightly near Cairos, long hair cascading down to the floor.

"We both see the way he looks at you Cairo," she giggles softly and rolls onto her stomach, reaching down for the bottle. "Mrs. Vanserra has to be tired, and old, and boring now, if she wasn't, he wouldn't look at you like he wanted to eat you up," Winnie curled a piece of Cairos hair around her finger, Cairo swatted her away.

"Its insane Winnie, its just a pointless crush, its going nowhere," it was true, it was a pointless crush, he was more than double her age, married, an accomplished writer (at least in her eyes), a teacher... She didn't think he could be any more out of reach for her. It didnt stop her from fantasizing about him though, it didnt stop her from reading his books late at night, rubbing and fingering her soaking wet virgin pussy as she imagined what it would feel like to have his hands on her, his mouth, his cock that he described in detail in the book that was dedicated to his wife. She would dry hump the couch cushion, placing the corner so it rubbed deliciously on her clit, and she would scream out into the empty manor her parents had left her in while they traveled across the country. Last night she had done this, it was becoming one of her favorite afterschool activities, her eyes would squeeze shut, she would twist and pull at her nipples, imagining how Mr. Vanserra would do it. Heat pooled between her legs at the thought, her cheeks burned.

"I don't know about you, Cairo, but when I lose my virginity..." Winnie trailed off, looking at Cairo now, biting her lip softly. "I want a man, not these baby-dick boys we are surrounded by, someone who can actually make me cum, someone like coach Tam," she says and giggles softly, Cairo blushes again, shaking her head. "Again, Ive seen the way Mr. V looks at you, he wants you and all those big brains in there, put in a little effort and I bet you can get him to Lovell hill, seduce him," she smirks and sits up on her bed, Cairo looks up at her and shakes her head.

"You're crazy Winnie," she laughs but her words were sticking. She couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Vanserra what it would feel like for him to take her. She couldn't do that could she? Have sex with a married man? Someone who was a teacher at that... It wasn't like her parents were around to give a fuck. It was also clear that Mr. Vanserra had taken a special interest in her, he would give her books on the side to read, granted they were nothing like the smut filled novels that he had written in his prime. One of them had been a romance, she had over thought that for days, and read it twice.

"Mr. Vanserra," she entered the class room at the end of the day, her brows drawing together slightly in confusion. He was rushing, packing all his things quickly. "I finished my midterm assignment," she says softly, seductively, Winnie had taught her that.

Lucien stops, turning to look at her, he swallows hard. The way she was dressed... His eye involuntarily roamed over her, it was Friday, and he wondered if she had plans. If she was dressed like that for a reason. Her black skirt was short, tight, complimented with a white tank top, nipples peaked and on display for anyone to see, her gorgeous black waves framing around her face in every direction. He cleared his throat, willing all of the blood not to rush between his legs and swell up his cock. "Cairo," he says softly, and her lips twitch, she's clutching a paper in her hand, his eye drifts to it and then back up at hers. "Thanks for dropping it by, you could have emailed it," he takes the paper, not even giving it a once over, he was in too much of a rush for that.

"Well, it's a little..." She trailed off, trying to catch his stare again. "Sensitive," she says slowly, he swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back up to hers, he wondered how sensitive she was.

"I-Cairo I've got to go," his throat felt dry, he noticed her face fall. "Sorry, I'm going out of town with my wife this weekend. It's a last minute thing, I'll get back to you as soon as I can," he lifts the paper up in his hand as if to gesture to it, "Have a good weekend Ms. Sweet," he nods, she folded her arms over her chest, looking disappointed. He didn't have time for it, this was the first trip that Beatrice and him were going on in years.

"Yup, you too," she muttered before she exiting the classroom, he noted her cheeks burning bright red, he watched after her for a second before shaking it off.

When Lucien arrived back at home, he expected Beatrice to be packed and ready to catch their flight. Instead he was greeted with a cigarette smoke filled room, Beatrice hammering away on her lap top as usual, not dressed, not packed... Hair pinned up and she was wearing her bathrobe as usual. She was on the phone, on a work call, as usual... He wasn't even able to ask or get a hello out before she was explaining.

"Sorry Lu, she can't do anything without me," she sips from her glass, of amber liquid. Fucking, useless, alcoholic bi- He stopped himself, cutting his own thoughts off.

"Really Bets?" He swallows hard, his hand tightening around the handle of his bag, his eyes narrowing at his wife. She looks up for only a split second.

"Gonna have to wait," she says, her eyes trained on the computer screen. He should have known. He should have expected this. His love for Beatrice had once been enough to write a novel about it. The two of them could barely even get along for a week now. He loved her, of course he did, she was his wife, but there was no passion left. They rarely had sex anymore, she hadn't sucked him off in over a year, they didn't go on dates, or have dinner together... Shit, they rarely spoke to each other.

"What else is new, really? You can forget it," his shoulders slumping as he takes a seat in the chair across from his wife and opening his own laptop up. He was seething, his ears feeling hot, jaw flexing. She stared back at him for a second before looking back to her own work, trying to focus on it.

"Well I can't work like this Lu," Beatrice stared across the long table at him, her eyes narrowing.

"Alright then," he rises to his feet quickly, collecting all of his things and tucking them under his arm. "Work alone then," her mouth fell open in surprise as she watched her husband leave, the door slamming behind him. Lucien settled into his desk in his private little work room shed outside, now... With the entire weekend... He figured he may as well look over Cairos midterm paper.

Lucien's mouth went dry at the header at the top of the paper.

'For Mr. L. Vanserra, Love Cairo Sweet'

His mouth popped open slightly, his heart beating faster as he continued down the page.

'Charlie watched him every day.

Mr. Leo Valentine. English teacher, accomplished author, sexiest man she had ever seen.

She watched the way he held a half broken chalk stick in his long tan fingers. Watched the way the muscles rippled underneath his thin white button ups. Watched the way his lips would curl into half a smirk when he would call on her in class and she would say something so smart it surprised him. Watched the way he looked at her, the way he would drink her in, his eyes swimming with lust and desire. Watched him want her just as much as she wanted him. Watched the way that his cock twitched against the fabric of his pants and he would shift nervously, trying to adjust himself without her noticing when they were alone in his classroom after school.'

Lucien coughed, nearly spitting out his coffee, his cheeks heated, his cock thrummed in his pants, he pictured her. He pictured Cairo. He swallowed hard, nerves settling at the realization that this was about them.

'Charlie needed him. She was sick of sitting back and watching him. Sick of the ache between her legs, the need for him that soaked through her panties every day. Sick of running home after school every day to finger fuck herself into oblivion on the sofa in her living room. Sick of not knowing what it felt like to have a man fuck her virgin cunt. She knew Mr. Valentine was the type of man to suck a woman's soul right out of her pussy, and she wanted him to know she wasn't just some little girl, that she was a woman who needed her soul sucked and her cherry popped.'

Lucien shivered, his fingers shook lightly as he reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling his cock free, it slapped his clothed stomach, his thick long length reaching his belly button. He grunted quietly, wrapping his large hand around his thick throbbing cock.

'When the end of the school day came, she knew everyone would rush out the doors after a long week of torturous bore, it was Friday. So naturally, everyone wanted to go home, teachers included. She knew she had her chance, and she wore a dress that day. A little white dress, no panties, and as she walked to his classroom, she felt the juices of her virgin cunt running down and tickling the insides of her thighs, hot and wet. Charlie needed him.'

A bead of sweat formed on Lucien's brow, he pictured her, pictured Cairo. Her small frame, little perky tits, imagined what the color of her nipples would be, imagined her soaking wet, sitting there across from him in class at her desk that was so conveniently in front of his. His breathing was heavy, fingers shaking as he pumped them around his thick cock, leaking with precum, he wanted to fuck her so bad. He wanted her pussy in front of him immediately, he couldn't remember the last time he lusted for someone like this.

'She entered the classroom with ease, she wasnt nervous anymore, the need to feel him against her outweighed any rational thoughts or reservations she may have about what was about to happen. Mr. Valentine looked up, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, his lips parted, he needed her just as bad. She knew it, she could see it, she could feel it between them. That thick band of tension like a string between them connected to their most intimate parts. He stood straighter, his shoulders broadening as he looked down at her, watching her closely as she sat upon her desk and spread her legs wide open, revealing her dripping wet virgin cunt ready for him to claim-"

Lucien gasped, the paper crinkling slightly in his hand, the other furiously nursing his cock, his thick cum spilling over his hand and shirt.

He sat there for a moment, letting the shame of what he had just done set in for a moment, he couldn't stomach reading another line of her supposed midterm? He almost scoffed aloud. It was pure pornography. He rose to his feet, his shame suddenly turning to anger. He quickly cleaned himself, before folding the papers up and shoving them in his pocket. Determined, more than ever now to put an end to this girls fantasy once and for all. He bent over, still standing and logged into the school database, it didnt take long to find her address. Lovell Hill. He almost scoffed again, his jaw flexed, of all of the bullshit poetic places for her to live.

He planned to confront her parents, tell them that their daughter took school as nothing but a joke and that he would fail her if she couldn't fix her behavior. Obviously, he knew house calls from an English teacher weren't exactly appropriate but he wasnt thinking rationally at all. Besides, he was sure her parents wouldn't want this to get back to the principal anyway.

"Where are you going?" Beatrice asks in slurred speech as Lucien enters the back door in a hurry, heading for the bowl of keys they kept by the door.

"Work related incident," Lucien says, quickly checking his appearance in the mirror after he fished his set of car keys from the bowl.

"Is it? Or is it a star student related incident?" Luciens ears heat at her insinuation, his jaw flexing, but he doesn't turn around.

"Sober up Bets," is his only reply before leaving without giving her anything more than a slam of the front door.

The drive up the winding country roads is anything but relaxing or peaceful. Luciens palms were sweaty, Cairos midterm assignment felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket. His throat was dry, his head spinning with the words he had read and just got himself off to.

He took the path up to the manors front door, his feet felt heavier with each step. He swallowed once more taking the last steps up and using the knocker twice, sound seeming to echo around him.

"Mr. V?" She masks pure elation with surprise, her pouty lips parting as she looked up at him, he swallowed, forcing himself to keep his eye on hers. That was one thing that intrigued him, the way she could stare into his eyes, not perturbed by the golden one he wore. He could see her exposed skin, feel the air get hot and thick between them.

"Cairo," he says shortly in way of greeting. "Where are your parents? Id like to speak with them," he manages, her lips curl in a half smirk and she steps aside.

"Come in," she says so sweetly, her eyes drinking him in, every last bit of him. He felt his cock swell, his ears becoming hot.

"I think its best if you go get your parents and I stay right here," he responds, trying his best to keep his voice even, trying his best to pretend like he hadn't just been touching himself at the thought of her underneath him.

"Well then you'll be disappointed to learn they aren't here, they are off traveling somewhere, Dubai? I think, this month," she plays with her hair, he can't stop himself from following the movements, her breasts peeked out from the silky white slip she wore, his cock throbbed, ached against his pants. And her parents weren't here, alarm bells rung in his head, he knew he had to go.

"I can't accept your mid term, Im going to have to fail you if you don't rewrite it by next Friday," he blurted, noting the way she brushed her hard nipple when she tossed her hair behind her shoulder.

"That's bullshit," she smirks, sensing the hold she had on him, she leans against the door frame, popping her hip to expose more skin.

"Its pornography, its filthy disgusting smut and its not appropriate at all for school and you could be suspended for this and I don't know if I gave you the wrong idea or-"

"You want to fuck me," she interrupts him, staring back at him, so confident, so sure. He swallowed, his whole body feeling tight, his jaw flexed as he stared back at her, stunned into silence, fighting every male instinct in his body. "You want to fuck my virgin pussy, you want to see the way my tits bounce, watch your cock disappear in my little wet untouched pussy, see the way my untainted body reacts to your expertise..." She trails off, her breathing heavy, cheeks pink, eyes dipping down to the massive bulge in his pants. "That is unless everything you wrote in those books was bullshit," she breathes out, as if it was a challenge.

"Cairo," he warns, but hes already inching closer, as if there was really an invisible band pulling them together.

"Please, I've been fucking myself for months," she's begging now, that confident burn still in her eyes, Winnie promised, she promised it would work and now it was. He was here, and he was going to fuck her.

Lucien closes the distance, grabbing her chin in his strong fingers. "Youre a bad girl, aren't you?" all logic has left his mind, the wedding band forgotten, his teaching job, forgotten, he just needed her. He needed to fuck her. She whimpers in response, tilting her head, her body melting under his touch. He swallows hard, the pressure of his cock in his pants becoming unbearable but he needed to taste her. The front door was still wide open, the screen had slammed shut behind him but the last of the evening sun poked through, leaving a glow in the room. His eyes were dark as he stared down at her, months of pent up sexual tension like a thick cloud around them. "You'll do something for me first, since you wanted this so bad," his voice is a near growl as he sinks onto the sofa, discarding his shirt in the process, she gasps softly at the sight of him, her eyes were hazy with disbelief as she watches his long tan cock slap his stomach with a small thud with the weight of it.

"Yes Mr. Vanserra," she whispers, before she pulls the dress over her head, her slightly dark nipples in contrast with her milky white skin made his mouth water. He was dying to bite them, to hear her shriek with pain and pleasure.

"Your always talking, its time for you to learn how to do something else with that mouth," his voice was low and husky, the age lines by his eyes crinkling in the slightest as he smirked down at her. He guided her, held the back of her hair and pushed that pretty little mouth onto his cock, moaning a long sigh of relief at the warm wet feeling. "Good girl," he grunted softly, pushing her down and pulling her back up again, watching her gag on his large size, a few small tears escaping as she moaned around his cock. It felt so damn good, her little mouth barely being able to go over half of him, the sight was magnificent. It was almost too much for him, the thrill after not having done anything like this in so many years, he almost came right there in her mouth.

"Your turn," he roughly pulled her head from him, she moaned again, looking up at him with wide, lust clouded eyes. Lucien pulled her up from the floor, dropping to his knees when she had replaced his seat on the couch. He spread her legs wide and pulled her to the edge of the couch, her pussy matched the color of her nipples, it was glistening, dripping, so wet that it trailed down her cunt and gathered in the pucker of her ass. His mouth watered, he knew he would have to write every second of this down. Forbidden fruit waiting to be completely devoured. "Play with your nipples," he commands, his voice so gravelly it sent shockwaves through her bones. "Twist them, pull on them, don't stop until I say you stop," he breathed before curling his strong fingers around her ankles, spreading her legs so deliciously wide that her pussy throbbed, begging to be touched, to be licked and sucked, she moaned, obediently beginning to tug at her breasts, her hips squirming.

Lucien bent his head down, slowly blowing cool air onto her hot glistening sex, her ankles pinned to the couch, his grip not loosening in the slightest as her body jerked beneath him. "Stay still," he commands softly, shaking his head softly and blowing over her wet pussy again, she whimpers in response her sex throbbing with need.

"Please," she whimpers again, he moves closer, slowly dragging the tip of his tongue in a circle all around her pussy, everywhere except where she needed him most. He chuckled softly at her moans, her body shook with anticipation. He dipped his tongue down into the pucker of her ass next, lapping up the wetness that gathered there. She cried out as he slid his tongue up, flicking it again and again over the sensitive skin between her pussy and her ass. "Oh yes," she's nearly screaming now, the sound makes him moan, motivates him to give her even more pleasure.

He licks a long stripe between each of her folds, deliciously pointing the tip of his tongue, the taste of her had his head spinning, had him wanting to bury his face in her pussy and shake his head like a dog. Not yet, more teasing. She was reeling, her body trembling, she could barely continue playing with her nipples, but she wanted to obey him, so she willed herself to keep going, twisting them and pinching them between her fingers. Her orgasm threatened to release with every single touch of his mouth against her pussy, she was buzzing with pleasure, shaking with it. He opens his mouth, sucking her swollen lips into his mouth, sucking every last drop of her arousal off of them. She screamed, her hips bucking into him and he pulled away with a soft tsk, he didnt want her to cum just yet.

He flattened his tongue, licking over her sensitive swollen clit, she whimpered again, trying to press herself into him to get any more friction she could. "You want to cum?" he growled softly against her pussy, she only whimpered in response, her legs trembling. He placed his mouth on her clit sucking her into his mouth and shaking his head between her legs until she was squirting all over him, her screams of pleasure filling the empty house. "Good girl," he moaned before licking her softly as she came down from her release. He flipped her over then, propping her against the back of the couch and he slapped her ass, hard, leaving a red hand print there. "This is what you wanted?" he asks, his voice gravelly, her body jerks as he slaps her again, a small plea leaving her lips.

Lucien doesn't waste any more time, he grips her hip with one hand and guides his massive cock against her small tight opening. He groans lowly, slowly sliding in, inch by inch as he feels her soaking wet virgin cunt stretch around him. Cairo screams at the feeling of him filling her up, her toes curling as he slams his cock deep inside her again and again. Her head falls back against his shoulder as he moves her up and down again and again, her body shakes, the feeling of his cock rubbing her g-spot over and over again making her cum again. She pants, shakes against him, moaning again, squirming as he fills her pussy up with his cum and continues thrusting as they ride their orgasms out together.

She collapses against the couch, giggling and mumbling something about how he wasnt bullshitting.

Hes over her, his hand on the back of the couch, staring down at her as the realization of what hes done sinks in. He fucked a student. A student. He cheated on Beatrice. On his wife.

He swallows the lump forming in his throat, rushing to put his clothing on. She sits up now, pulling the throw blanket from the couch over her chest. "Lucien?" she asks, his eyes widen in surprise at the use of his first name, his eyes finding hers. He paled, the look on her face, the adoration in her eyes. What the fuck had he done? "Where are you going?" hes frozen, dressed now, staring down at her, standing a few feet from the couch.

"Mr. Vanserra," he corrected, confusion flashed in her face, then hurt, then anger. "Cairo, this can never happen again," he swallowed hard, her midterm paper still burned a hole in his pocket. "This will never happen again," he emphasized. "Im married, Im happily married, I am your teacher, I could lose my job for this- You don't understand.. This- This was a mistake I- I never should have came here-" he was rambling, the ramifications of the situation sinking in with each waking second.

"A mistake?" her voice cracked, her grip on the blanket tightening as she stared up at him. She had just lost her virginity. She had been so sure it was right, it had felt so right. Why wasnt he admitting that? "You know you feel something! You know there is something between us! I felt it! You felt it," her voice was uneven, tears threatened to spill. He swallowed, his jaw flexed. You are the adult. End this. Do not give in.

"Cairo," he said slowly, his throat bobbing again. "This is a fantasy, this is not real life, this is my fault. I'm the adult here and I- I take full responsibility for everything that happened and Im sorry- But this will not happen again, it ends here and-"

She didnt hear anything else after that, she watched blankly, numbly as he left. Didnt say another single word to him, watched him go, with his tail between his legs. Ashamed of what they had done, ashamed of her.

She blamed it on her naivety, her daddy issues, her sick fascination with forbidden love.

A novel, forbidden love, betrayal, heartbreak, the loss of innocence.

And she wouldn't feel bad when he lost his job, when his beloved Beatrice left him.

Mr. Valentine

C. Sweet

Red hard cover binding, gold lettering.

Inside cover, For my beloved, Lucien.

a/n: definitely hot in here, very quickly proof read

hehe i hope it was worth the wait @scorpioriesling @cynthiesjmxazrielslover

80 notes · View notes