#cotton wisp

[mtsodie]

ponies and ponies . and also ponies . and ponies again

( pt 2 )

#mlp #mlp fim #mlp ocs #mlp oc #ocs #fairy glow #blossom bliss #cookie dough #cotton wisp #tangy #goodie goodie gumdrops #strawberry sparkle #carrot slice #bumble belle #cherry pit #most of these are name generator ones that i made designs out of ... some are from a mlp birthday name thingy . like the facebook kind #🎨 #JESUS that is a shitload of tags . good lird #anyways . if yall have questions about any of them . pleasies ask im so obsessed with these guys

[wispisstillverybored67]

I ordered my 10 main morons by height and this happens.

(Translated from Cookie to human conventions, this is how they see each other)

Sorbet-4"1

Milky Way-4"11

Chai Tea: 5"2

Cotton/Pumpkin Pie: 5"3

Cocoa/Herb: 5"6

Clotted/Cyuni: 5"10

Twizzly: 6"1

Werewolf: 6"5

#wisp rambles #cookie run kingdom #cookie run headcanons #sorbet shark cookie #milky way cookie #chai tea cookie #cotton cookie #pumpkin pie cookie #cocoa cookie #herb cookie #clotted cream cookie #cream unicorn cookie #werewolf cookie #twizzly gummy cookie

[yanderenightmare]

Dabi x darling x Hawks

TW: NSFW, noncon, war, soldiers, married reader

AN: kinda inspired by when British Parliament passed the Quartering Act in 1765, and those in the American colonies were required to provide housing for British soldiers, and how they were also expected to provide food, firewood, and even beer.

fem reader

Thinking about old-timey soldiers Hawks and Dabi who knock on your door with their caps in hand, plastic smiles on both their faces when asking for a warm homecooked meal – knowing you can’t refuse by order of the King.

It’s a humble cottage more than it’s a house, but the two men make themselves at home while you slowly stir the stew you’ve whipped up for them – only halfway of your own free will. 

Hawks asks where your husband is, and you point to the love letters displayed on the mantle and tell them he’d been called away seven months ago. 

Dabi then asks if you’ve been lonely…

You try and laugh it off as though it was a charming thing of him to say – but you’ve been feeling apprehensive ever since you opened the door – seeing their hands casually resting on the weapons by their hip as though in silent threat.

You sit with your hands in your lap while they eat. They say they’ve missed the sweetness of a woman like you – that the lads back at base don’t know how to do it the same way. And you know they’re talking about the food, but still… you can’t help but feel they’re insinuating something else.

You scream when they grab you – but it’s not like they expected anything else from a married woman – of course, a good wife would give anyone who isn’t her husband some fight – but like any woman, you’re quickly subdued by the two of them. 

Their smiles are still eerily calm, even as you cry – utterly unmatched by their actions, where they squeeze into all your plush parts with unwarranted strength.

Hawks hugs you from behind, forcing your arms behind your back – his crotch planted firm against your rear, even through all the thick layers of your skirt. 

Dabi is in front of you. He ripped open your blouse in the struggle – now whistling at the pretty sight of your tits while stroking his revolver up the crane of your neck, poking it into your cheek before using it to brush a wisp of hair out of your face – pretty and riddled with tears while you snivel and whimper.

He takes your chin in a strong hand, his tone smooth while he tells you to calm down – as though he's not got his loaded fire weapon aimed at you. His nose brushes yours as he croons at you through a smile – giving your quivering lips a quick peck.

Hawks’ tone is just as suave – playful even, grinning toothily, chuckling out how they just want to thank you for the hospitality as he quickly tugs the wool of your dress up, balling it all around your waist. Petting your cunt through your bloomers with your wrists gripped firm in his other hand, pinned tightly to the small of your back.

Cutlery, plates, and cups crash to the floor when Dabi swipes to clear the table – sending you hips-first against it.

The nose of his gun jabs into your nape, forcing your head down until your cheek smudges the splintery wood.

He doesn’t bother retraining you, letting the threat of his bullets do to all the talking while he unbuckles his belt, letting his uniform drop around his ankles.

He rips a gash in the thin cotton of your bloomers. They look too cute to remove. Not frilly like rich maidens wear, like in those catalogs the men will pass around if not pictures of each other's girlfriends. Yours are worker class, probably sewn by yourself from some old curtains – not meant to be erotic, but made so erotic because of it. 

You’re just a simple farmer’s daughter making your country proud – is what he whispers in your ear when he has two fingers stuffed up your cunt.

It’s obvious you haven’t been fucked in a while – the two digits make you wince and, in turn, make him restless to give you the real thing. He can tell just by the buck of your hips it’s going to feel the same as fucking a virgin.

You’re quickly wet like one, too. Makes it easy for him to slide into your tightness despite your teary whines. 

He lets out a heavy groan when you’ve taken him to the hilt – stays nestled there for a minute – in reverence of the tight, wet warmth he hadn’t felt in a while.

Sure, he and Hawks might have done things on cold, long, lonely nights, but nothing can quite compete with the softness of a woman in his mind.

Those precious ways you tighten up and shake from the stretch, shuffling your thighs when he kneads into your womb – soaking him with wet velvet slick.

His gun goes lazy against your back, though still very much keeping you scared in place as he lolls in and out of you at a languid pace – his chin tipped up with a sigh.

But it’s only initial relief – and once it dies down and the hunger spurs anew – he’s got his lips at your ear and his gun in your mouth – crude things flying off his lips, hips thrusting against you with the same haste of a hound in his rut – saying if he were your husband, he’d never leave your cunt and cooking – that he’d pick being buried six inches deep between your thighs than six feet deep in the dirt – sucking your cheek while telling you not to fret long over your man – how he and Hawks will help you grieve when the love letters stop coming.

The blonde is busy looting the liquor cabinet while Dabi ravages your poor cunt – but he comes back to switch with him once he finds the most expensive bottle.

It was a wedding present you’d been saving, one you’d thought you’d open the day your love would return – but Hawks cares little for the etiquette and swigs it raw from the stem as he retakes his place behind you – bathing his thick shaft with the slick sheen on your inner thighs before pressing himself inside you.

He doesn’t bother to start slow – he’d been kept waiting long enough and goes straight to pounding you deep. Kicking your legs apart – a hand buried in the cake of your ass to steady you whilst the other grips the bottle.

The table is small. Meant for only you and your man – so perfect for bending you over – just intimate enough to allow Dabi to stand at the other end with his cock in your mouth.

The whole thing wobbles against the floor as the two men have their way. 

They deserted from their battalion a long time ago and have both grown pretty tired of house-hopping – and this place seems far enough removed from where anyone would bother looking for them. 

Who knows, maybe they’ll stay until the war is over. 

#yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere dabi #yandere dabi imagine #yandere dabi x reader #yandere touya #yandere todoroki #yandere touya todoroki #yandere touya x reader #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi todoroki #dabi my hero academia #dabi mha #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #mha dabi #bnha dabi #todoroki touya smut #touya smut #hawks smut #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo #yandere keigo x reader #yandere takami keigo #yandere hawks #yandere mha #yandere #takami keigo

[rustedhearts]

just friends (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you and steve have been just friends for years now. but how long can you convince everyone you're 'just friends' before it becomes a lie? or steve harrington is your super hot roommate and everyone thinks it's stupid you guys aren't dating yet.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the library

tags: roommate!steve, kinda shitty boyfriend!eddie, pining, fluff, angst, casual dominance from our casual dominance king steve, honestly going to try so hard not to make this a series but you know me.

a/n: i've wanted to write roommate!steve for so ages. you can thank a much-needed new girl binge and my tendency to take my frustration out on my mop for this.

The bass-heavy bump of music came at Steve full force before he even stepped out of the elevator. He paused, staring down the door of your shared apartment knowing that the sight that would welcome him would not be pretty.

In the kitchen, you were hunched over the handle of a mop, furiously dragging it over a sliver of tile. Teeth gritted together, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair disheveled and pulled away from your face, a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt rolled up to the shoulders—you were a mess.

You were sad.

"Uh-oh." Steve stepped into the room, calling over the booming music. "What happened?"

You jumped a little, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment on Saturday nights. Steve almost always spent weekend nights at the bar down the street hitting on girls too sweet for him. You usually had until at least 11:30 to do whatever you wanted before some random girl came scampering in, clinging to Steve and giggling as they fumbled to his room.

But he was home early. And no matter how long you'd lived together, or how well he knew you, you still hated being seen like this.

So, you never took your eyes off the mop, scrubbing away a sauce stain on the tile.

"Nothing." You shrugged, flicking wisps of hair out of your eyes.

Steve watched you whirl around to drag the mop toward the bucket again. You stabbed it into the soapy water with a vengeance, nose scrunching with every slosh and splash. Steve leaned against the doorway and quirked a brow.

"Yeah? You're playing your sad music, though."

Your sad music consisted of a handful of hard rock records that most people would consider music for a dive bar—but you only ever played it when you were staving off tears. The louder you played it, the more upset you were.

Steve knew you a little too well.

This comment went ignored as you slapped the mop back on the floor and continued an angered scrubbing. Steve sighed, scratching at his temple. Most of the time, it was best to leave you alone. Sometimes, you needed to talk it out. It took a little coaxing—a pizza and a cold glass of Coke with a straw usually did the trick—but eventually, you'd spill.

And Steve would fix it.

Calm you down, help you figure it out, offer some advice. He gave pretty good advice for someone still struggling to get his own shit figured out.

Steve could tell from the way the song went unsung, the way you huffed every time the mop head flipped, the way you started stomping your foot when you found a stale French fry under the stove—you needed him to step in.

Pushing off the wall, Steve crossed the room and placed his hand over yours on the mop handle.

"Hey. Hey, come on."

You struggled at first, scowling at him as you tugged on the handle. "Stop it."

He sighed again. He was always sighing at you like a disappointed teacher.

"Hey." A little firmer this time, accompanied by a sharp snatch of the handle from your grasp into his. When you dropped your hands and obliged, the furrow of his brow relaxed. "Thank you. Now, why don't you go take a shower. The house is clean enough."

You frowned, wiping at the sweat on your head. "I just—"

Steve pressed his hand flat into the small of your back, steering you toward the door. "Seriously, honey, it's fine. You do stink, though."

That made your lip twitch—a semblance of a smile—with an amused little huff. You took a step toward the door, slippered feet scuffing. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve standing where you left him, still holding the mop.

He waved you off. "Go on. Take a nap, too.”

You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Steve."

He watched you shuffle away, shoulders slumped and eyes down as you went. He propped the mop against the kitchen counter and shook his head at the mess of cleaning supplies on the table.

When he heard the bathroom door clamp shut and the hiss of the shower head turn on, Steve rushed the front door again.

He opened it a smidge, enough to fit his head in and smile sweetly at the girl waiting in the hall picking at her nails. She perked up, stepping toward the door eagerly.

"Hey," Steve cooed, voice dripping with honey. "I'm so sorry, my roommate got sick all over. I think s-he needs to go to the doctor, so...would you mind if we raincheck?"

The girl—Sarah, as he would recall later on—broke into a concerned pout, clasping her hands over her chest. "Oh my god, that's terrible! You're so sweet taking care of him."

Steve chuckled, a breezy smile on his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for understanding."

She tipped her head, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "Of course. Call me when he's feeling better?"

Steve nodded, knowing the phone number in his back pocket would dissolve in the washer in a week, and he had no intention of ever calling her to begin with.

"Yeah, for sure. Night."

"Goodnight."

He waited until the elevator dinged, watching the doors close on her grinning face, before pulling back into the apartment and locking the door. He blew a sigh out of his cheeks, head shaking as he headed toward the hall.

The shower had stopped, and he could hear the soft, wet patters of your feet behind the door when he leaned against the wall beside it. He knocked two knuckles gently into the wood.

"Honey?" he called. "Need anything? Wanna order a pizza?"

He waited, adjusting the hem of his shirt to spread out a wrinkle in the fabric. He knew what the answer would be, but he couldn't always be so obvious. He had to pretend that he didn't know you like the back of his hand, because everyone started telling him how weird it was.

"You've lived with this girl for two years and haven't boned? You're either gay or dumb as a box of fuckin' rocks," is what Max told him when they met for lunch a few months ago.

Everyone said the same thing. His sister, who teased him at birthday parties and summer barbecues that you were always his date for. Sabrina did everything in her power to push the two of you closer together at family events, ensuring your seats were always paired and your activities were always coupled up.

"You look at her like a dog with a bone," she teased last Fourth of July.

But Steve only shook his head, glancing your way where you were helping his mother decorate cupcakes. You were dating some guy in IT at the time. Total fucking nerd. He made you pay for most of the dates.

"Nah...we're just friends. She's got a boyfriend."

We're just friends was probably Steve's most popular sentence in the English language since the day he met you. A pair of college graduates who had no clue what the hell they were supposed to do with their lives, roommate-matched by the apartment complex and so content with each other that you just kept renewing the lease.

When you finally replied to his question, your voice came like a small, pipping whisper behind the door. "Yeah...but with mushrooms this time?"

This time, as if you didn't order a mushroom and sausage pizza every time. Steve smiled, pushing off the wall.

"Okay—"

"And—"

"And sausage, I know. I'll call 'em."

"Okay."

While Steve called the pizza place a few blocks over, you clutched a towel to your chest and padded to your room. You pulled on the softest items you owned and sat on the end of your bed. A long day of cleaning certainly tired you out, but that wasn't what ailed you.

It was the fight with your boyfriend last night at the bar, when he yelled at you for laughing at Steve's jokes even though you always did. He thought you were too close, too "chummy" to be just friends.

Unbeknownst to Steve, we're just friends was one of your most common phrases, too. You should've had it engraved on your forehead at this point.

"Hey." Two knuckles on your door this time before it skittered open. Steve popped his head in and grinned at you. "Wearin' my favorite sweatpants? Must be feelin' better."

You glanced down at the black sweatpants on your legs, snickering softly. Steve thought they hugged your ass perfectly, and loved the way they flared at the calves. The logo right on your left ass cheek was especially beautiful.

When you opted to leave that soft noise as your reply, Steve stepped into the room. He flopped beside you on the bed, springs squeaking shrilly.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

You shook your head down at your lap, rubbing at your eye. You hated crying, and so far today you'd been doing well swallowing them down. Steve had only seen you cry once, and you avoided him for three days after.

Something about vulnerability made you cower.

"Okay...wanna watch a movie?"

You sighed, shifting a little away from him. Steve clocked it with a brow-furrowed frown.

"Steve...you don't have to make me feel better. I'm fine."

His lips parted to reply—most likely in protest—but the door chittered on its hinges once more with the small butted head of your tuxedo cat, Ted.

Steve immediately stood and scooped Ted up, turning to bring him to the bed. He scratched under his chin and brought forth a low humming purr immediately.

Not even cats could resist that pretty boy charm.

"Well, I reckon this lil guy will do a better job of cheerin' you up," Steve cooed, plopping Ted beside you.

A quiet giggle slipped from your mouth as you reached to swoop his tail. "Reckon?"

Steve shrugged, a sheepish grin on his mouth. "Just came out. I turn Southern in a crisis, darlin'."

He was just trying to make you laugh now, and he couldn't help but mirror the sound when it proved effective. Though, it also proved temporary. You soon settled on your side, tugging Ted to your chest with a fading smile.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, gathering a chunk of it at the top to pull. A stress tick. You tried not to feel guilty for causing it.

"Well...alright." Steve shuffled backward toward the door. "Pizza in fifteen."

You nodded into the pillow. "Okay. Thanks."

Steve lingered a beat too long, eyeing your balled up form on the bed before slipping into the hall. You'd been sad plenty times over the years: breakups, let-downs, missed jobs.

But the guy you were dating now...you really seemed to like him. He was over all the time, practically living here at one point. Steve didn't really understand what you saw in the guy—Eddie. Steve scoffed to himself, head shaking. Stupid name.

You met Eddie at the auto shop where he worked. He gave you a discount on your oil change, and his tire talk was so smooth that you went on a date two days later. Six months later, and things still seemed to be going smoothly despite the pair of you having very little in common.

Usually, you dated harmless little nerdy guys. Steve actually laughed in the face of a five foot eight finance bro who threatened to "hurt him real bad" if he got in the way of your relationship. You dumped him that night, and the pair of you still laugh about it to this day.

But Eddie was...different. Sleeves of dark ink and a chainlink on his belt. A handful of chunky silver rings and another one in his nose. He always clinked in with a nod Steve's way and a hand on your ass, and it seemed that every time he kissed you in front of Steve, he looked him right in the eye while he did it.

Steve didn't like how small you made yourself around Eddie, and he didn't like how much Eddie seemed to enjoy it.

For everyone's sake, he hoped it wasn't Eddie that made you sad. For once, he wasn't sure he'd win that fight.

✶ ✶

There were many things about your behavior that night that concerned Steve.

Number 1: You only ate three pieces of pizza, and he got one small mushroom-sausage with extra cheese just for you.

Number 2: You didn't let Ted in when he scratched at your door, and Steve had to bring him to his own room for bed.

But worst of all.

Number 3: You didn't say goodnight.

So, Steve went to bed with Ted curled at his feet and a lump in his throat. Whatever you were upset about was bad, he could just tell; and everything in him was itching to make it better. He had this terrible, stupid ache to make life easy for you, and it never really went away.

He opened all your jars, refilled all your water bottles, made sure your phone was charged when he saw the little red bar. He bought more of your favorite snacks when he saw them running low, picked up things that "felt like you" when he saw them at the store. You had an abundance of miscellaneous yellow items sitting on your windowsill because you told him it was your favorite color two years ago.

In Steve's eyes, everything yellow in the world belonged to you.

Steve stirred in a half sleep for hours, kicking at his covers and offering murmured apologies to a miffed Ted who meowed at him. His concerns, however, came to a head when the sound of muffled shouting startled him completely awake.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tapped the screen, rubbing his eyes clear to read the 1:15. He wondered which couple in the building was fighting this late. His bet was on Jax and Monica in 1F who were always on the outs.

"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? I see the way he looks at you!"

But that was Eddie's voice.

"I don't understand where this is coming from."

And that was yours.

Steve shot up, fumbling for his glasses in their case somewhere in his nightstand drawer. He shoved them over his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed.

"I'm tired of competing with your fucking roommate."

"You don't—you aren't! Eddie, please, you know we're just friends."

"Spare me. You're a shitty liar. Hey! C'mere, I'm not done talkin'."

Oh, hell no. Pants abandoned, Steve swung his door open with banging force and rushed into the hall.

He found the pair of you in the entryway, Eddie's hand around your arm and your cheeks soaked with tears. You still had your pajamas on, and those little yellow slippers Steve bought for you last Christmas.

Both heads turned when Steve hurried into the room, tailed by a confused Ted butting at his leg.

Eddie huffed, motioning toward Steve. "Oh, great, of course you're here."

Steve braced his hands on his hips, glaring at the raven-haired man. "I live here, dick-wad. Remove your hand."

Eddie ignored him, still wringing your arm out. You cast your eyes away from Steve, ashamed by the state he found you in.

"You live up my girlfriend's ass, Harrington. And I'm kinda tired of you being there all the fucking time."

"Remove. Your. Hand."

"Stop," you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks though it wouldn't do much to hide the pink rims of your eyes. "Eddie, he's my friend."

"If he's gonna be your friend, then we're done."

You gaped up at him, more hot tears bubbling over and stinging your eyes. "W-what? Eddie, that's—"

Eddie shrugged, smug and uncaring. "You heard me."

Steve's eyes moved your way, and he could only stomach the absolute heartbreak on your face for a split second before he was stepping forward.

"Alright," he barked, and then he was shoving the arm Eddie was holding you with. "Let her go, Aerosmith, and get the fuck out."

Eddie let you go, but spun sharply to face Steve. You weren't sure whose glare was more frightening.

Eddie stepped until he was toe-to-toe with your roommate. "You like fuckin' another man's girl? You like my sloppy seconds, you pussy bit—"

Steve might not have been much of a fighter, certainly didn't fare well with a man who lifted cars for a living—but he certainly excelled at being discrete.

Which is how he got a right hook in before Eddie could fight back. Which is also how Eddie ended up on the ground, and unable to stand again for a few moments.

"Jesus, Steve," you scolded, peering down at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “You knocked him out!”

Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the buzzing pain in his knuckles as he swept them through his hair and motioned toward Eddie.

“Hm? Nah, honey, he’s just…he’s takin’ a nap.”

Though still numbed by shock and worry, you couldn’t help the amused snort that rippled through you. Steve’s lip quirked, and he glanced at Eddie when he groaned on the floor.

“Um, well…let’s get you up, bud. Yeah, you’re okay, c’mon.” Steve began talking to Eddie like a child, cooing as he helped him to his feet by the arm.

And maybe he wasn’t nice about walking him to the elevator, watching him crumble to the floor as the doors closed. Maybe the shiner swelling on Eddie’s cheek filled Steve with incredulous joy.

But he swallowed all of it down when he returned to the apartment and found you standing right where he left you. If you were ashamed of your tears this time, it didn’t show. You grew inconsolable, and Steve had no other thought in mind that didn’t involve picking you up and taking you back to bed.

So he did just that, letting you soak his bare chest with tears as he went. When he sat you on the bed, he tipped your head up by the chin and wiped your cheeks.

“He’s not comin’ back tonight, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Sniffling, you let him dry your tears and pull strands of hair from the sticky residue. “He thinks we were cheating. I t-tried to tell him…that we’re just friends.”

You deflated with a hiccuped sigh, and Steve’s smile was full of pity and pain. He rubbed his thumbs into your cheeks, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah. Just friends, honey.”

Your eyes fluttered with exhaustion, and Steve swallowed thickly. He pinched the edge of your pillow to pull it down, and gently coaxed you down by the shoulders. He pulled the covers up to your chin and plucked Ted from the ground to join you on the bed.

“He ain’t worth your tears, honey. Get some sleep.”

Sniffling again, you nodded quietly. Steve flashed another smile, and stepped back toward the door. As he reached for the light switch, he glanced over his shoulder to find your eyes again.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.

He shut the light off so you wouldn’t see the way he closed his eyes, like it pained him to hear you with another cry in your throat.

“Goodnight, honey.”

Steve sat awake until 6 a.m waiting for Eddie to come to his senses and return for vengeance. But he never came. In some way, Steve knew that would hurt you even more.

So in the morning when you woke, he greeted you with a handful of sunshine yellow daffodils and your favorite coffee. A soft kiss on the head and a scratch at Ted’s chin on his way out.

“Gonna meet up with a friend today. Call me if you need me, ‘kay?”

He went home with the first girl he met at the bar that day just to get you out of his head, and lied about it when he came home.

Just friends. Yeah, right.

#rolly! #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #roommate!steve harrington

[blueywrites]

morning head

(find the companion ficlet here)

eddie munson x gn!reader (no pronouns, no genital or physical description given aside from having enough hair that someone can grab)

you wake eddie up with a blowjob.

cw: 18+ only. oral (m receiving), somnophilia with no explicit consent given (eddie is happy about it; don't do that in real life). eddie refers to reader as 'baby' and 'sweetheart'. fluffy, sensual smut with no plot.

2.4k

The trailer is cold. Frost kisses the edges of the dirt-smudged window in Eddie’s bedroom, and wisps of bitter air leak in through the shoddy seal between frame and wall. Maybe that’s what rouses you – the bite of cold on your nose, enough to make you scrunch your face and turn away from the blue light filtering through the glass. The move smushes your cheek to a splay of Eddie’s ticklish curls. The prickle against your skin makes you too itchy to sink back into the grips of sleep; your consciousness rises up instead, settling behind your eyelids. It doesn’t take long for you to decide to give up and crack your lashes, blinking blearily to clear your vision.

Eddie’s face is inches from yours. His cheek is cast in the cool early-morning glow of the window you turned from, and that light fuzzes soft over his nose and lips flushed pink from sleep. The planes of his face are smooth and relaxed, though even sleep cannot erase all the lines in his skin. They’re evidence of how untamed his living is— laughter at the edges of his eyes, divots of dimples that frame the corners of his mouth, faint scrunch marks between his dark brows. Real, alive, and so utterly beautiful. It’s a rare moment to see him so peaceful, only stolen due to the heaviness of his slumber, and you covet the opportunity to observe him unabashedly. The sight filters into the crevices of your chest, settling into a comforting warmth; if you hadn’t already been swathed in heat from the neck down, you’d still be protected from the cold.

You shift slightly closer to Eddie, close enough that your belly brushes against the cotton of his shirt where your own has ridden up in your mid-sleep writhing. He doesn’t twitch, doesn’t even stir, and you smile as that fact fills you with more affection than could be explained away should you be questioned about it. Why is everything he does so endearing to you? Because he’s Eddie, you suppose, and that’s enough. Moved by that feeling, you hook your arm around the curve of his slender waist, pressing your palm between his bony shoulder blades and fanning your fingers to reach as much of him as possible over his t-shirt. 

The smallest sign of life then. Without even a flutter of his dense eyelashes, Eddie turns further onto his side, his torso and hips curling towards you as if by instinct even while his arm remains thrown wide, splayed across the sheets, his wrist dangling from the edge of the bed. The arm closest to you is tucked under both of your pillows, bent toward his head, his skull cradled by his own fingers beneath layers of cotton and worn filler. He’s just getting comfortable, you suppose. But incidentally, his shifting stirs the air beneath your heavy blankets, and a waft of scent blooms from the shadowy space your bodies make separating top sheet from mattress. 

The smell is all heat and musk, sleep and body. It’s a scent that calls to your own body, stirring the animal that lives in the pit of your stomach. The animal rouses with a languid stretch, attention piqued as you inhale deeply— tang like the edge of sweat, sweet and rich like churned earth and the ghost of rumbled pleasure against your thighs. 

Cool light and chilled air become stifled by stagnant darkness as your animal guides you beneath the blanket.

You slip down, seeking blindly with your face. Down, and it brushes against the cotton covering Eddie’s chest; down more, and your nose finds the soft, smooth pudge of his abdomen above his belly button. Down again, and the shirred band of his boxers bumps your chin. The humidity from your breath and the heat from his body are already making your cheeks damp as you nuzzle against the wiry hair that peeks above his boxers, just a taste of the nest that lies inside. The masculine scent of him is stronger here, and Eddie’s thigh twitches sleepily as your now-warm nose buries against him. You thread one arm between his legs and the other over his thigh, hugging his lower half with a contented, blissful hum muffled from his ears beneath the heavy blanket.

It’s a little hard to breathe in here, but you wouldn’t give it up for anything when you get to love on him like this. Even unconscious you know he likes it because his top leg shifts back and his hips bump up, knocking the soft mound beneath the fly of his boxers against your chin. These shifts are slight— tiny, languid movements that would be more purposeful if he were awake, and knowing he’s still asleep makes the animal inside purr. It perks, intrigued by the promise of a new game: pleasuring Eddie without waking him.

Your nuzzling turns to soft, light kisses peppered over the thin material keeping him from you. It doesn’t take long to have him plumping under your lips; you open them wide, fanning him with hot breath through starchy cotton as you gain satisfaction by fitting them sideways over the width of his length and sucking lightly. You can only taste dry cotton and not any of him, but it has the desired effect: Eddie’s abdomen tenses briefly, and when he relaxes again, his cock has fully stiffened, now ready and waiting for you to free it.

Tingling heat grows between your thighs as you waste no time taking him out. Carefully, you stretch the waistband to prevent it from catching on his head, tucking it down just far enough to keep your treasure exposed. You rest your head on his bush, letting a gentle palm guide his silken hardness against your mouth. There. It’s with a rush of relief and excitement that your lips finally touch Eddie’s skin, and when your tongue snakes out to taste him, you moan quietly in the back of your throat. Another lick, a longer one, and the arm Eddie had thrown wide and let dangle from the edge of his bed shifts down in an arc toward his hip.

You pause for a moment, motionless and listening to see if he’s awakened. After a long moment of still silence, you allow yourself to move again. Your lips drag lightly up his silken, musky skin, seeking the nexus of heat on him; they bump against his spongey, swollen head, and you tent the blanket as you arch up and take his tip into your mouth.

That sweet, earthen tang blooms on your tongue. Spit pools in response, a drooling reply from your animal. You stretch the wet muscle down, seeking the ridge of his head and running it along the underside to earn yourself a twitch. It excites you, spurring you to push down lightly and pull back, letting the wet heat of your mouth slick him up and the drag of your lips make him feel good.

Push and pull, push and pull— with each bob, you love on your man as he sleeps. You get lost in the steady rhythm, attention honed to the feeling of him filling and leaving you, the thrum of the pulsing vein on his cock, the slick you leave behind on his skin, spit slowly crawling toward his base where your fingers are wrapped around him. All is heat, sweat, and friction, wetness and tang, the stretch of your lips and the familiar pinch in your jaw. The delicious labor of bringing your partner pleasure.

You get so lost in Eddie that you nearly bite down when the blanket is suddenly jerked from your head. 

Luckily for him, your teeth don’t budge, although you do make a startled noise in the back of your throat. Your first instinct is to suck the rush of fresh air greedily into your lungs through your nose, and then your eyes flick to up Eddie’s face, wide and nearly guilty as if you’ve been caught out. He looks sleepy still— heavy-lidded and hazy, hair wild and knotty, not yet finger-tamed— but his flushed cheeks and the heat in his gaze instantly send a pulse of desire between your legs. You bob down on him further, and his hand comes to cradle the back of your skull, tangling in your hair. When you swirl your tongue, blunt nails scratch against your scalp as his fingertips tighten. 

His lips part slightly so he can rasp at you, “Shit, baby. M’I dreamin’?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head minutely and smiling around his cock in your mouth. 

A lopsided grin slowly stretches across Eddie’s face as he looks down at you. He asks, sleep hoarse and rumbly and fond, “Well then, wha’d I do to deserve to wake up like this, huh?” 

You’re struck, not for the first time, by how much you love him. He’s so handsome it aches— in your chest and in your sex. You pop off him, maintaining eye contact as you lick up his slick cock with the broad flat of your tongue. Eddie groans, breathy and deep, gaze transfixed on you as you murmur, “You just smelled good.”

Eddie huffs a chuckle, amused and disbelieving, and his fingers reflexively tighten against your scalp as you take him in again, resuming a quick, deep pace that has him hissing and his thighs tensing.

Eddie sounds much more awake now as he groans, “Fuck, baby. Keep doin’ that and I’m gonna cum down your throat.” You moan, sucking deep, moving with intent as you keep eye contact with him. And you know by the way Eddie’s plush lips fall open with a rumbling gasp that he got your message:

That’s what I want.

It becomes obvious then that Eddie isn’t holding back anymore, and your loving quickly turns sloppy as he takes the lead. His hips cant up in time with the push of your mouth, and the wide span of his strong fingers cradles the back of your skull, holding you with just enough force to bump his cock further into your throat than you could on your own. His heavy breaths and airy grunts mix with the sound of thick, wet spit and your quiet, garbled moaning, filling the bedroom with wall-to-wall heat that quickly overtakes the chill of the winter morning. The fingers of your right hand clench in Eddie’s boxers, bunching the fabric over his tensed thigh as he holds you in place and fucks up into your mouth. The feeling of his cockhead bullying your soft palate, shy of mean but utterly insistent, makes you burn even hotter yet. Your animal keens and your lower half aches as you hold on obediently, shallowly dipping your head down to meet the thrusting of his hips as Eddie uses you for his pleasure. 

Quickly, the evidence of that pleasure builds. It reveals itself to you as his breath turns to harsh little huffs, his fingers scrunch up your hair into his fist at the back of your head, his abdomen ripples and tenses rhythmically under your other hand, which presses there for leverage to keep your stiff neck and shoulders from collapsing. “That’s it, sweetheart. You know just how to take my cock. Makin’ me feel so good.” Eddie rumbles his encouragement between curses and quiet babbling as his movements become taut with desperation. Through the thrumming of your pulse in your ears, you catch bits of what he’s saying— a stream of consciousness mixed with praise and reverence for you and your little mouth. How you’re so wet and soft inside, how you’re perfect for him, how lucky he is to have you under his sheets like this. 

You mewl around his thickness as he twitches on your tongue, a quiet, needy sound in the back of your throat that you repeat over and over even while your jaw begins to ache. The pain is distant when you can nearly taste the promise of his spend on the tip of your tongue. You’re ready to drink down each drop of his pleasure as if it sustains you. Maybe it does.

Just one more push and pull and Eddie drops his hips, guiding you down to follow him; you moan when he orgasms as if the knowledge of his pleasure has it rolling over you in waves, too. His elbow grazes the outside of your shoulder as his belly tenses and he crunches up, grunting open-mouthed as his head leaves the pillow. The familiar brine of his cum follows, blooming at the back of your mouth, and Eddie’s grip on your head loosens so you can shift up and settle his tip in the cradle of your tongue. He feeds you with his spend, but also with his vulnerable whimpers and the pink flush that has now spread down his pale chest. He cracks open for you, and you savor each bit he allows you to consume, which is everything. All of him.

As he twitches out the last of his orgasm with your lips wrapped around him, Eddie loosens his hand, shaking your hair from between his fingers so he can knead the back of your neck, firm and fond. You hum, entirely satisfied as he finally melts bonelessly beneath you and his other hand comes around to cradle your jaw. His thumb feathers over your cheekbone as you rest your head on his heaving tummy, letting his softening length slip out of your mouth and flop beside your nose. 

In the long moment of recovery that follows, you notice that the blue light from the window has brightened, accompanying the faint trill of the few birds that never left for the season. You kitten-lick the final pearl of cum that beads at his slit, feeling hazy and contented as the chill seeps back in, cooling the sweat on both your bodies. And you don’t move until Eddie does, stretching beneath you in a full-bodied, muscle-quivering, groan-inducing stretch that makes you smile against his bush. 

You’re rewarded with one last affectionate head scratch before Eddie sits up abruptly, jostling you on his lap and disturbing your peace. 

But that won’t be for long. 

Eddie ignores your groaning protest and, with a grunt of effort, he manipulates your boneless body flat to the bed. You bounce slightly as your back meets the mattress, your eyes scrunched at being manhandled until he moves to straddle you— sitting on your pelvis, hovering over you, gracing you with a vision of his rat’s nest of hair and his smug, frisky grin that means he intends to return your favor.

You more than happily accept.

please reblog if you enjoyed! your feedback keeps me going 💙

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x male reader

[tenutovillage]

#photos from cotton #hey so like...what even was going on with wisp in this game #the heck was his boss that never gets mentioned again

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i just wanna be price’s lil housewife, is that too much to ask?

i want him to come home from a long day and just let me take care of him 🤭🥹

Comforts of Home

Pairing: John Price x F!Housewife!Reader

Synopsis: Good are the days when you wake up and John is already beside you. (18+)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Sleepy morning sex, p in v, soft dom Price? & fluff, etc.

A/N: There's absolutely nothing wrong in wanting that, Anon, I feel you. I had no idea if this was a request or not but I used it as smut practice sooo

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you woke up, the heavy arms around your waist nearly made your heart give out. Eyes wide, your unfocused gaze flickers back into consciousness onto the far wall with a violent tensing of your muscles; lids going back. 

You’re about to rush from bed with a call for alarm, but the soft snores puffing against the back of your neck makes your half-risen body freeze. 

A moment of clarity alights in the dim hours.

John, eyes close with a great sigh and an immediate calming of your heart, ribs raising and falling once more at a, gradually, deadening pace. You’d forgotten that your husband was more stubborn than you—and seeing that he’d slipped into your bed without waking you, it just proved your point. 

A low grumble leaves lips slipping over the clutch of your shoulder, the grip along your body being tightened like you were nothing more than a teddy bear. With a small smile on your face, you’re being dragged back into an expansive chest, firm muscle forming the mattress of warm flesh and wrinkled sheets of mapped scars. 

It was never in John’s nature to take advantage of you, and thus, even if you told him it was alright, the SAS Captain never woke you when he came home in the small hours of the morning.

He’d called it inconsiderate to do so—ungentlemanly—but in reality, you knew it was because the bastard liked to watch you sleep in nothing but one of his gargantuan shirts and a pair of thin underwear. 

Your fatigued body presses itself farther into the Brit’s chest, feeling the rumbles of his breathing and how he conforms to you, his toned hips pushing forward into the space in between your legs. He smells like your shampoo; the wisps of his beard hair soft like silk from his oils that he knows you love. 

At the very least he’d gathered enough energy last night to take a shower. How many times had you woken up because of the stench of cigar smoke and blood; dirt and dust that stung your nostrils something fierce? You’d lost count.

Oh, John…

Reaching down, your fingers dance over your husband’s firm grip, the hold unyielding unless you simply wake and ask him to move. 

But you didn’t want that.

You intertwine your digits together, eyelashes fluttering over your cheeks as the earliness of the morning hits you. It was still slightly dark in the bedroom, only a fraction of the light from the sun cascading in from black-out curtains. 

“Hnm,” the sound escapes you as the lead form of John lays heavily; squeezing you with a delicious roving of barely covered skin. 

It was no surprise that John had gone to bed as utterly naked as the day he was born.

“Stop moving.” Lips mutter, half lost to the sound of shifting cotton and your lower body being refitted closer with a hand to your naval, pulling your arse rearward. 

You blink, skin tingling and cheeks hot as a pinky brushes over the elastic of your underwear, slipping under as it once more falls stationary. 

“I didn’t expect you to be back last night.” The room was usually cold without John—he was always considered the space heater out of the two of you when it came time to sleep. His much larger and rarely clothed form was never far from you and made blankets or sheets completely worthless. 

You sometimes compared him to a mini sun with how much raw warmth he exuded; even told him that he should consider being a science experiment with how little it made sense.

How can someone even be this toasty?

“Came in ‘round o-three-hundred,” John says, moving with a sigh before situating his head to rest it above yours and pressing his nose to your scalp in the meantime. “The boys are fine.” 

An up-tick pulls at your lip muscles. He knew how you worried about everyone on One-Four-One.

“Good.” Your backside shifts with a rotating of your pelvis, the Brit’s thigh in between your legs more comfortable if you move farther up it. A shiver slices your spine; voice goes breathy. “And you?” 

John’s breath hitched, and you could feel a low roll of thunder in his breast. His grip tightens. 

“Alive.” 

So stoic. You roll your eyes at the brief explanation but internally enjoy the statement. Sometimes it was better to only receive the bare minimum when it comes to your husband's job. And you sigh as a growing pressure makes itself known near the base of your tailbone.

“What about my wife, then?” John’s fingers start moving below your stomach in small circles, the skin of your abdomen obeying the push and pull readily. “She do anything worthwhile when I was away?” 

Fatigued cheekiness enters his tone when you shiver and bring his hand up to your mouth—laying gentle kisses on the knicks and scratches. New scrapes.

You chuckle lightly.

“Hm, I planted new flowers in the back.”

“Did you now?” John huffs, taking down a slow breath as his digits delve lower. You surrender readily to him, letting him do as he wished before jolting when his forefinger brushed your bundle of nerves. He purrs like a cat, “What kinds.” 

Your husband’s watching you closely with a partially-closed eye, tired yet that gleam of awareness is still present in cerulean blue; breathing into your ear as the image of his hands inside of your panties sturs his eagerness even more. His legs shift in muted annoyance at the creeping sensation over his lower body.

He likes the way you languidly roll with him.

Fuck, how long had he wanted to do this? To come home to you—his housewife—to a home that was void of shouting and the scent of gunpowder and engine oil. A loving touch; a soft body. Being away from you was worse than torture. 

His little beauty. His little wife.

When soft sighs answer him instead of words, he comes to a pause; thigh moving to give him ample space to work and spread your legs farther. 

“What kinds, Love?” He teases, a smirk pulling his lips back that leaves you shaking when you sense it forming over your skin.

“S-Star Jasmine.” You whisper, opening your lower body to him as his digits go once more to bring a striking of lighting, pulse in your core growing hot as his scent overwhelms you. Eyes snap shut, constricting over nothing even as a great need screams that you shouldn’t be.

The bedroom is filled with the soft noises of hitched breaths and carefully flinching legs intertwined with covers. With every circle of John’s touch, your arousal grows; tension breeding in the sudden slickness of your cunt that pools out to coat the man’s digits. 

You’d missed this.

“What else?” A hard press for a non-enunciated reward and you whine, fingers tightening over his other hand as he noses over your pulse, whispering kisses like butterfly’s wings over your rapid pulse. “Use your words.”

Your mind falters, the unknown of what John would do next leaving your neurons short-circuiting. Sure, you’d touched yourself to his voice over calls—helped gotten each other off by just the static through a phone—but having him here. Feeling you now with tender care and blown-wide eyes that darken like a storm. Yourself still clothed in a shirt and now ruined panties and your beast of a husband with nothing but a dripping erection that now digs like hot iron into the curve of your ass. 

He bites a hickey into the skin below your ear and you gasp out.

“John, please, j…just,” The Brit laughs at you, deep chuckles jerking against your back before the hand you’re gripping tight leaves to curl under your breasts; trapping you to him as you squirm. 

The abuse of your clit ceases and you’re forced to confront the structure of your lungs as they fight for air. A sudden patheticness fills your blood at the ache of your empty slit. Eyebrows pull in.

“John!” Behind you, the man’s hard-on ruts into you as he grunts into your neck, biceps flaring with every-other movement. He does it slowly, still tired in the early hours but unable to help himself for the very same reason. Desperately, he wanted you as a fish longs for water.

All-consuming; yielding rapture that only can be fulfilled by your malleable flesh.

The friction moves your body back and forth, mouth opening in weakened pants of soft breaths and sluggish muscles. You didn’t want to move but at the same time, the teasing leaves you yearning to be held down and left filled; only smelling like John and sweaty linen as slick bodies fuck half-asleep. 

Your cheeks are burning as the sensation of being used washes over you.

“Tell me. C’mon, know you can.” John’s fast yet hushed tone accompanied by the sensation of his pre-cum slathering itself over your sensitive skin and his dick twitching was a drug. It became hard to think between those demanding instincts and hopeless attempts to form cohesive thoughts. 

“I–” You force out, face screwed up, “Green Spice.”

“Attagirl.” Your panties are stretched to the side, and the thigh in your shaking legs shoves you open even wider. “Lookin’ damn good in my shirt, Sweetheart, y’know that? Eh? Bloody temptress.” 

The stiff desperation of his cock makes you moan before it finds the entrance to your slit. 

“Just for you.” Your voice hitches at John’s eagerness; his desperation to be joined—held in your wet clutch despite how tired you know he is. How tired you were.

The Captain works so hard; spreads his blood over the earth in defense of others with little need for reward or recognition. He came home without an expectation of you to even spoil him—the thought makes your mind sad. How could he not expect that? Hell, he spoils you by leaving a spare credit card for your every whim and want; you could ask for anything and he’d get it with no hesitation. 

His wife.

Even now with his cock ready to enter your eager yet unstretched cunt, his body vibrating and breathing fast, he pauses. 

Your eyes flutter open, huffing in expectation as you clench over nothing, slick falling over the mattress. You blink and look over your shoulder to find blue orbs watching you; the wrinkles around the Brit’s eyes tiny. 

You hum a question, shifting your lower body to grind into John’s twitching dick, memorizing the grand size of his leaking head as your lashes flutter. The man groans and tights the hold under your breasts. 

“Let me?” He pants. 

A small smile forms on your sweat-slick face, fingers tight over the sheets. John lays a kiss on your cheek, so close it takes little movement as the bed creaks. 

“You don’t need to ask, Love.” You chuckle, heart warm. “You’re my husband.”

The confession seems to spark something in his eyes, a smirk slashing his lips. The Captain’s pelvis moves, angling the tip until you feel the burn of an unready cunt as it causes you to mewl. 

“Always gonna ask,” he grunts into your ear as your head falls back to its sideways position in concentration as your face scrunches; muscles wound. “Proper, eh?”

“Such a gentleman.” You whimper, body jerking as more of his sizable girth is swallowed down. Deep pulsing emulates inside your body, a sheen of oblivion opening between pain and a deep-seated pleasure that only John gives you. The Brit shushes you comfortingly. “Even as he’s opening me up without letting me cum on his fingers first.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He’s shivering, feeling himself enter your heat as slowly as he’s able. “Had to have you like this. In our bed. Wearin’ my shirt. Fuckin’ hell.” John gasps, feeling you constrict around him like a vice as his abdomen bunches. 

He wouldn’t last long, but neither would you. The two of you were wasted on each other, just wanting to feel the friction of skin and the sweet release of an orgasm that the both of you can share now that you were together. 

The sound of him entering you was vulgar, a liquid squelching that echoes above the tight sighs and growls. 

“Keep taking it, then,” John pants, forehead pressed heavily into your scalp, muttering into your hair dreamily. “Know you can. Just like that, now.”

With your mouth opening and sweat dribbling down your neck you feel him bottom out with a horrible shaking, grip almost bruising as his free hand goes to massage your clit sluggishly. 

Your cunt spasms, textured walls stretched to their limit on the throws of delicious agony as veins press into silky grooves, the clutch of John’s cock-head a plug of large proportion. If you move, you’re afraid you’ll tear something. 

“Erm,” the fullness sends searing heat up your vertebrae, back struggling against your husband’s chest to arch as your toes curl. 

“Hush, Love.” John quickly runs circles over your bundle, “Easy, now. I’ve got you…Let me show you how much I enjoy being home with my wife, yeah.” He’s rambling—how he usually does when he’s sleepily fucking you on maybe two hours of oblivion. 

Your pleasure bleeds raw, and the scrape of the man’s exiting and re-entering cock becomes a trance-like affair of passion. The bedframe hits the wall, a steady, slow, rocking of thrusts that emulate the bare affection John uses you as an example for. 

Moaning, you stare blankly at the far wall, body jolting whenever he manages to strike that sweet spot and bite into your back’s flesh in unbridled adoration. He whispers the dirtiest things to you, and your lower-body flexes with each uttered sentence.

“So good to me, keepin’ this cunt all to myself.”

“Walls so tight I can feel you tryin’ to push me out, Love. Fuck.”

“Hear that, eh? Listen, b-bloody hell, listen to how wet you are for my cock.” 

It brings you to a point of tears, satisfaction building to a tight knot of immobility. It was a good thing John liked doing all the work for you because although you had been meeting his thrusts quite evenly before, now you had all but lost the plot. Your thighs quiver, slit trying to tense over the man’s foreign prodding until it became apparent you’d been molded into the very shape of him like a form in the snow; flesh littered with the dew of perspiration as the scent of carnal desire swims. 

“That’s right, Love.” John’s jaw is clenched, pace for a minute quickening as he feels you shifting as if possessed with feelings of overstimulation. “That’s it. So good to be home with you—home with my little housewife who ruins me.”

Your hands clench into the bedsheets; sounds of ecstasy get louder and more clipped.

“Fuck,” you gasp, repeating the curse multiple times along with John’s name. “John—” One more angled thrust and you’re left shoving your head into the pillow, great waves of precious enlightenment smashing into your chest full force until you can only recall the sensation of your husband’s strangled breaths and the feeling of his seed spilling into your womb. 

Sloppy and quick ruts of varying success as his abdominals convulse in a display as old as time itself. Panting and shuttering, your body utterly falls limp. 

The joined fluids of evidence ooze out to form a sticky concoction over your thighs and cunt, pubic hairs on both ends shiny with cum. 

Hands spread over your breasts to grip and massage; traveling atop your quivering body as well as your achy hips. John’s thigh leaves the spread of your legs so the one can fall back to the mattress with a muffled thump and a poof of fleeing air. But his cock stays where it belongs, milky ring dribbling as every slight movement causes you to contract and him to grunt and wrench his eyes shut. 

It’s sometime later that a firm set of lips is dug into your neck, fingers skating over every possible section of skin as small nips set nerves alight with sensitive sensations. You hum in appreciation at the worship of your body, sensing the hard muscle that protects you as well as the physical words before they’re spoken aloud.

“I love you.” You smile.

“I love you too, John.” Your head weakly turns, noticing the farther-risen sun beyond the curtains of the hot and sex-scented room. Finding blue eyes already staring at you from the pillow and the small smile present on mustache-hidden lips, you smirk. John chuckles, though he doesn’t know what’s in store. 

“You’re letting me make you breakfast today.”

“Hm...you’ll not find me complaining.”

There really was nothing else like coming home.

TAGS||

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

#captain johnathan price #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price fic #john price x you #captain price #cod x you #cod mw22 #cod smut #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 2022 #mw2 #price mw2 #modern warfare #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare x you #cod x female reader #captain price x female reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #female reader

[chososdiscordkitten]

Suguru Geto In Bed.

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader Content: No plot- just porn, just so very nasty, oral (f & m), EDGING (f), dirty talk, BRIEF BUTT STUFF (f), praise, CUM EATING & CUM PLAY, a sprinkle of DUBCON if you squint really really hard, MOUTH FUCKING, use of baby, good girl nd mama used ONCE, he's so mean, refers to r! c**nt as 'she', ROUGH SEX, cream pie, a whisp of sadism, no aftercare Word Count: 2.8k

(a.n) im out here in miammiiii lookin for the hoochieeee daddieeeesss

MDNI

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

One of the filthiest men on the roster. I like to think that's a universal thought in the fandom. 

The kind of man who'd greedily shove his tongue between your lips after you sucked him off. Being able to taste himself in your mouth, “You don't have to Suguru-” you'd whisper between kisses as his hands gripped onto the swell of your bottom. Pulling away from you with a string of spit connecting your bottom lip to his. With a small hum he smiled, “I want to-” pressing a kiss to the side of your lips, raising himself onto his forearms, placing a light open mouthed kiss to your neck as soft moans graced his ears in reward.

Pulling himself up as he tied his hair back into a small bun- the sight making your cunt throb, knowing that meant he was about to devour you entirely. Pressing his lips back to your collarbones, kissing down your swelled chest as he peppered wet kisses down your skin.

Looking up at you as he pressed a wet kiss to your sternum, roaming fingers grazing your soaked panties. A cheeky grin on his lips as you let out a stifled whine, Suguru’s broad shoulders urging your knees to spread. Welcoming him with rolling your hips against his teasing fingertips, keeping your knees wide enough for him to shift further down your core. 

One of his favorite things to do was get you all riled up, making sure to keep your panties on to overstimulate you through the soaked patch. And when he believed his fingers did a good enough job, he’d lick a long strip from the clothed source of your wetness, up to the little mound he was grazing with his fingers, tasting you against the wet cotton.

To make sure you kept your hands to yourself, he’d hold your wrists in his hands, planted right next to your hips as you tried to find relief in the gentle licks.

One thing Suguru knew how to do best was get you sensitive enough to the point one small touch would make you come undone. It was one of his favorite activities. True, if you disliked it you'd tell him to stop- and he would without hesitation. But the thrill of being driven to the edge of climax, only for him to take it away. Over and over again, it made everything more exciting. Especially when he finally let you cum. Geto always made sure you put on a light show for him. 

Looking up at you when he finally latched his lips around your bare clit, your nails clawing into the tops of his veiny hands. Long curling fingers against your gspot as his lips sucked harshly at your overworked clit making your back arch and your head to thrawl back into the pillows. ‘Fu-ck-’ fell from your lips in a choked whine. A string of moans trying to warn him you were cumming made his eyes go wide with excitement, his tongue unmoving as he felt your clit twitch against his tongue, pulling away from you as the waves of the prolonged orgasm crashed through you. 

“There you go baby-” he muttered, a wisp of air brushing against your damp clit, watching in amusement as your cunt squelched around his fingers. Ears ringing as your head eased back into the pillows. His slowing fingers making sure to help you come down from the well earned reward. “I got you.” he hummed against your skin, pressing light kisses to your shivering thighs. Suguru always made sure to talk you through the white hot orgasm he’d pull from you, that's just how ‘nice’ he was. 

Now I know I can't be the only one who is an avid believer in Geto being an ass man. I like to think he would do anything to you, even if it seemed 'too nasty' ; in your words. To him, anything tastes better than the filth he was forced to swallow on a day to day basis.

You're gonna try and tell me he wouldn't be fucking nasty in bed?

I just know he'd beg- beg. To let him eat you out from the back, just to have your ass in the air- entirely invading his vision as he filled his greedy hands full of what he liked best.

And you being too nice to him. You'd say yes, “No funny stuff.” you warned, knowing he had a peculiar obsession with your ass. Biting into the plump skin whenever he had an opportunity, gripping one of your ass cheeks harshly while you rode him. 

Digging his fingertips onto the surface of your ass while he fucked you in doggy- mesmerized by the water like movement. And always- always held his hand on your ass while being out- all but shouting from the rooftops that you were his. And only his.

Geto had never been harder in his life till he held your hips off of the bed- your cunt infiltrating his pointed nose as he lapped at your clit. Your face churned with overstimulating pleasure as his cock made a mess in his briefs. Grunting almost painfully as he felt you squirm in his grip, hearing your whimpers and moans of his name fall from your lips as he overworked the little mound above your cunt. 

The hair tie tangled in his hair slipping little by little as he greedily slurped on your puffy bud. That promise of ‘no funny stuff’ slipped his mind as he sloppily kissed from your clit to your entrance, dipping his tongue directly into the source of the mess that adorned his chin. His reward being the adorable whines your lips spilled.

Tongue fucking you as your muffled moans went ignored by his ears- focusing his hazy vision on the sight of your cunt, nose threatening to dig into the overlooked hole.

Sugurus mind trailing to doing what he wished for too long- pulling his lips from your entrance, kissing up the small space between your cunt and the puckered hole that had been calling his attention since he first parted your thighs. 

“Suguru!” you gasped, reaching your hand to his large forearm that held you in place, writhing in his strong arms as his tongue lapped at the unexplored territory. “Wait-” you huffed with a whine, feeling his other hand roam up your thighs and press two fingers into your cunts' entrance in hopes to distract you from objecting. Moaning into the pillows as he kept you still.

He would 100% eat your ass till he got pink eye, tell me I'm wrong.

Overall definitely the giving type, only if that ‘giving’ had a handful of rules and you have to behave for him to give. But he will carefully push your unspoken boundaries, after all that's what safe words were for. Only because he likes seeing your face decorated with surprisement and white hot pleasure you had never felt before you had him.

When it came to pleasing him, he always watched you with soft eyes. Examining you closely, watching your eyelashes clump together with salty tears as your throat contracted around his cockhead.

Breathless huffs from his lips were all he offered as you swirled around his tip. I see him as the type to not be able to cum as easily as the others from receiving head, it seemed like a plenty fine appetizer to get his cock fully erect to Suguru. But never did he see it as a means to an end.

The whole ‘I'll give you head so you'll feel better’ thing never worked on Suguru, of course he derived pleasure from your gentle tongue, but he would find himself frustrated as he watched you. Oftentimes a blow job would end in his hands clutched against your ears as he fucked into your throat roughly. 

But Geto is no monster, he was ‘kind’ enough to help train your throat to take him and his rough tendencies. Definitely a head pusher at the beginning, blaming you for trying to be so gentle with him. When all he wanted was the opposite. 

The first time throat fucking was brought up with Suguru, he kinda thought of it as like- no big deal. But when he watched you choke on his fingers as he shoved them further down your throat, seeing your eyes water and your bottom lip shiver against his long digits, it made something in him snap.

Geto let you set your own pace- at first. Seeing you delicately bob your head up and down, flashing a few expectant looks up at him as you tongued his cockhead. Only for his smug face to be adorned with a sweet smile- watching you in amusement. 

But his hard work paid off. When he was finally able to use your throat as his own personal cocksleeve? This man was over the moon. His endearing eyes looking at you; politely sitting between his knees, pumping his cock as he awaited for your lips to part. Closing your eyes and opening your mouth with your tongue covering your lower teeth. A chuckle from his lungs in adoration as he placed his flushed tip on your tongue. “Good girl.” he'd mutter through clenched teeth, grabbing onto the back of your head and pushing you down onto his cock. 

And as we established earlier- he’d practically demand a “Don’t swallow.” as he nibbled on his bottom lip, pulling you up to him by your neck gently before he pressed his lips to yours. Coaxing your lips to part with his tongue as his own seed spilled into his mouth. Guiding your hips to hover above his cock. Groaning as he felt the warmth mix with the leftover sap he slurped from your cunt. Making sure to kiss you as filthy as possible. A disgusting cocktail of your messes mixing in each other's mouths. Unashamed as he assisted you with swallowing the mess. Easing you down onto his cock as the mix of his seed and your spit trickled down his throat.

Spit? Not even a question. One of his favorite things about fucking was when saliva was always swapped back and forth. Completely unbothered by the filth.

His favorite position? All of em. But he has a special place in his heart for doggy, but not in the ‘on all fours’ doggy? The kind where your face is pressed into the pillows harshly, and his strong hands hold up your hips to force your back into a disgustingly mean arch. 

The thing with Suguru, is he feigns being nice. He’d wear that sweet smile on his lips as he guided you to lay on your tummy. But his rough hands yanking your hips from the mattress, using no pillow to help keep your hips up, and his harsh grip on your sides? That was all you needed to see to know that sweetness was a farce.

Keeping his nose upwards as he looked down at you, cock twitching as it awaited the warmth your cunt always welcomed him with. 

In attempts to keep up that false act of kindness, he’d start slow. Pushing his painful erection into your heat, his tip oozing against your own mess. Your knees trembling as you bit into the pillows, hands fisting the sheets- “You wan’me inside baby?” Geto smiled with a crooning tone, being able to feel your cunt throb against his cockhead. Muffled moans were all he heard from you as he kept his tip at your entrance. Trailing one of his hands from your hip to your belly, “Wanna feel me right here mama?” he held his hand flat against your tummy as he eased his tip into you.

The words he tried to say caught in his chest, hearing anguished whines leave your lips, directed into the pillows as he got off on the filth he’d spout. 

Humming with a smile, “S-she’s suckin’ me in baby-” Suguru huffed in amusement. Earning one of your hands to slap against the one on your hip weakly, attempting to tell him to be quiet. “S-shut up Sugu-” you managed, placing the side of your face onto the pillows, and as a ‘reward’ for being impolite- he cruelly thrusted his cock into you. Rough and at the speed of light, a yelp from your throat making his lips curl into a sadistic smile. 

Geto’s hips went unmoved as he granted you the ‘kindness’ of getting used to the curve of his cock. Leaning over you as he felt your walls pulse around him, opening his mouth and pressing a sloppy kiss to your spine. Earning your shoulders to shudder from the feeling, “f-fuck-” he gasped against your skin, trailing the tip of his tongue up your shoulder blades, “So tight-” he mumbled to himself, holding his hand on your belly as he hunched over you. 

Heavily breathing against your ear as you felt his hips apply pressure to the back of your thighs, in some desperate attempt to burrow himself deeper in your cunt.

With an unseen grin on Sugurus lips- “You f-feel me right here?” he stuttered against the shell of your ear with a hot exhale, pressing his hand onto your tummy- guessing where his cock would be and applying a bit of pressure.

Earning you to huff a breathless groan. “Hm? Right here?” He teased into your ear, unable to feel his cock through your skin- but he knew he was more than deep enough.

Pressing his lips to the cartilage as he nibbled on the skin. You inhaled all the air you could, trying to form the words, “yours-so-” you stuttered, face pressed into the pillows making you to slur the words. “I'm so..?” he teased, “so fuckin' n-nasty-” you managed, causing him to pull away from your ear with a gratified smile. 

It wasn't his words that made your ears tingle with embarrassment, it was the tone he took- enjoying the way he flustered you with a few words, as though he derived more pleasure from demeaning you than he did from actually fucking you.

“I like when you talk to me like that-” he gruffed through clenched teeth, slowly dragging his hips from yours. Keeping his throbbing cockhead inside, hearing your breathing quicken as his hands held your hips taut and in place. 

A harsh plap rung through the room, Suguru snapped his hips to yours- and before you had any time to process the sudden jab, he pulled out and rammed into your cunt again. Nose crinkling at the harsh jabs his hips refused to halt.

Over and over again, the tip of his cock bullied your gspot as it curved into you.

Looking down to his fat cock connecting with your cunt, mouth going slack jawed as he bulldozed his hips harshly into you. Admiring the white ring forming at his base, Geto’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as his mind ignored your slurred babbles.

Various moans starting as curses, only to form pleasure filled whines were forced from your throat as he drilled mercilessly into you.

Instead his mind focused on the thunderous plaps of his hips snapping against the back of your thighs, along with the filthy squelches coming from the sight his eyes were glued to.

Gripping his hands so tight on your hips- you knew he'd leave bruises. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucked you into your orgasm, not being able to remember which one you were on, cunt fluttering around him violently, Suguru grunted as your walls subconsciously clenched around his quick moving shaft.

“So fuckin’ tight-” Geto seethed through gritted teeth, the pillows silencing your cries and whimpers as he abused your poor cunt, his head fell back as he thrusted firmly, hips starting to falter their steady pace as he felt his boiling orgasm pool in his tummy. 

“Cumming-” he moaned with a shameless grin, “M’cumming-” he bit his bottom lip, allowing the pooled orgasm to spurt out of him, coating your walls as you fisted the sheets- knuckles turning white from how hard you clenched them in your hands.

Hunching over you as he thrusted lazily in and out of your cunt. Putting his full weight on you, fucking his seed further into you with vigorous hips that spasmed with every pump of cum you milked from his tip.

With every sloppy patternless thrust, his cum trickled down your thighs- mixing with your own arousal on your skin.

The ‘doggy’ position churned into a lazy version of prone bone. Pressing his damp forehead to your shoulder as he rode himself down from the skyscraper high your cunt threw him from.

And after he'd get his fill of drilling into you- he would ease his grip from your hips and he guid your body to lay down. Eyes hazy as he eased you down from the cock drunk state he fucked you into.

Heavily panting against your skin as Geto held his softening cock inside of you, it wasn't even hesitation, more like refusal to pull his soft cock from your warmth. Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “So good f’me.” he murmured, trailing kisses onto your shoulder. Placing a soft hand onto your hip as he rolled onto his side, taking you with him as he spooned you. Soft cock still engulfed by your warmth as he hummed against your skin with a cheeky smile. Completely melting into his touch.

-

This was sososo nasty, I surprised myself actually.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #geto x you #geto smut #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #getou suguru #suguru #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #suguru geto smut #suguru geto #suguru smut #suguru x y/n #geto #suguru x reader #suguru x you #suguru geto x reader #geto x chubby reader

[alltoowelltom]

new year's day

lando norris x reader

The cool evening air is crisp, the entirety of Monaco laid out beneath you, glittering with golden lights. You’d only slipped out to the balcony a few minutes ago, needing some fresh air from the New Year’s Eve party that hums in the large apartment, but the December air was already pricking goosebumps on your bare arms. 

‘Cold?’ a voice says from behind and you whip around, relaxing at the sight of the man you’ve come to know so well over the last few years. Lando. There’s been a growing tension and you’re sure that you both feel it. “Accidental” brushes of his hand on yours, flirty comments when you’re with the mutual group of friends, sweet text messages at night for no one else to witness. 

‘A little.’ you admit, bringing up one hand to rub at your cold arms. 

‘I brought you a jacket,’ Lando smiles shyly. ‘Do you want it?’

You nod enthusiastically and he chuckles, stepping closer to you and slipping the warm fabric over your arms. That’s when you notice it’s not just any old jacket he’s brought, it’s his, the dark grey one he’d arrived in earlier this evening. 

‘Thank you.’ you hum, not wanting to make things awkward. 

He glances up at you as you both fumble for the zipper and your cold hands bump his. He wins, grasping the zip and bringing it all the way up to your collar slowly. 

‘Your hands are like ice,’ he laughs and you pout. ‘Let me warm them up for you?’

You nod and he gently takes them from you, holding your hands together and rubbing his own on the outsides to try and create some friction. 

‘Any better?’ he asks, not letting go of your hands. Your breath catches in your chest at the sweet contact.

‘Yeah. Y’know, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have just asked me.’ you tease and he blushes. 

‘You caught me.’ he whispers, placing his hands gently on your waist. You swear he’s magnetic, the way you can’t help leaning into his touch, seeking his warmth. 

Lando seems shy for once, gaze flickering over your face intensely. The moment is quiet despite the city’s partying as he quickly leans in, pecking your lips slightly before pulling back. You blink at him, mind desperately trying to keep up with what’s happening. Just as he opens his mouth to apologize you reach your hands up, resting one on his shoulder and letting the other get lost in his dark curls as you press your lips to his properly. 

He’s soft and sweet, bringing one of his large hands up to cup your cheek as he deepens the kiss and it feels as though your body is on fire. 

You mentally kick yourself as you have to pull away for air and you both giggle anxiously, looking at the other as you catch your breath. 

‘Was that okay?’ Lando checks, ever the gentleman.

‘Yeah, that was perfect.’ you almost whisper. 

Lando grins as he reaches up, tucking a wisp of your hair that he’d knocked loose back behind your ear.

‘I guess our friendship won’t ever be the same anymore, will it?’ he says quietly, holding you in his arms. 

You allow your head to rest on his shoulder as he sways you both to the music playing from inside, hearing his heartbeat thump quickly through his cotton shirt. 

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘So can we do that again?’

thank you for reading! reblogs and feedback help sm <3

#lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris smau #formula one x reader

[wroteclassicaly]

Just wanna suck on Steve’s neck and jerk his fat cock nice and slow, reducing him to a whimpering mess.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Steve?”

You can feel the vibrations of his jugular constricting, as he swallows himself into a head tilt, permitting you more access to the freckle splattered, sun kissed skin. Mhm. He’s forgotten to shave, leaving the faintest line of stubble around his neck, mouth, and jawline, and you’re bombarded with his apple and cedar-wood body wash, complete with matching cologne.

“Honey,” he begs, tugging on the fabric of your t-shirt, muscular arm thrown around your waist. “You know I need to. Gonna be so fucking good for you! I’ll — I will —“

He’s whimpering now, causing you to halt your motions, lips on his chin, hand squeezing his base, your knuckles tickled by wisps of the bush that surrounds him. You slide up a little, eyes on his blown pupils. “You will do what, Stevie?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, gone. Sanity obliterated to his outer limits lust. “I’ll eat your pussy until my jaw is sore, and I’ll fuck you until you can’t sit down, can’t walk without limping. Gonna give it to you so good for takin’ care of me. Shit, honey.”

It’s you who forgets to breathe, who finally manages (after seconds) to inhale sharply. His fingertips of the hand that’s resting at your side, they scratch below your breast, playing with the fabric of your cotton jersey. “M’ gonna cum so hard for you, then I’ll make you my good girl, okay?”

Who are you to argue??

#kristenwrites #steve harringon #stranger things #my work #my writing #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things blurb #stranger things imagines #stranger things drabble #stranger things imagine

[i6eyes]

cigarettes. gojo satoru

satoru hates cigarettes.

he hates the smell it protrudes, the way it looks, and the way it tastes (alone). the pungent odor, a nauseating blend of burnt tobacco and chemicals, assaults his nostrils and lingers in the air, leaving an indelible mark on his senses. the unsightly appearance of a cigarette, with its charred paper and crinkled filter. and the acrid taste, a sharp and biting sensation that clings to the tongue, is a flavor that he finds repugnant. 

but satoru likes you.

he likes how you look, especially right after you wake up and before going to bed. when the air is still crisp and the sun has barely risen, he finds joy in the sight of your disheveled hair and sleepy eyes, a testament to the peacefulness of slumber. and as night falls and weariness seeps into your being, leaving you fatigued and drowsy, he finds you awfully endearing.

he likes the smell of you, soft and sweet. like one of those buy one take one marshmallow packs he buys from time to time at the nearest 7-eleven just a few blocks away from the dorms. a smell akin to vanilla and cotton candy, with a hint of powder and strawberry.

he can't really say that he likes the taste of you, but it seems like you would taste nice, or great; maybe even the best. even if you occasionally succumb to the urge to indulge in a cigarette, he envisions that you would embody all the delightful flavors of life, a symphony of tastes that he longs to savor.

he finds the answer one of these days, as you sit on his lap with a cigarette poised between your fingers.

the smoke curls and dances in the air, forming intricate patterns that seem to mirror the thoughts swirling in his mind. he watches as you take a long drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing brightly before fading into a smoldering ash. the smoke escapes your lips, swirling and dissipating into the atmosphere, leaving a lingering scent in its wake.

you see him staring at the stick of nicotine with his eyebrows ever so slightly scrunching.

"want a taste?" you tease, holding the cigarette out towards him, the smoke still wisping from its tip. satoru's gaze flickers between you and the cigarette, torn between his distaste for the habit and his desire to experience everything that you have to offer.

"of you?" he decides, his voice a low whisper that is barely audible over the crackling of the dying cigarette. softly swatting away your hand out of his face and opting to thumb the inside of your wrist, his eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of longing and curiosity. "been dreaming about it, angel."

with that, he closes the distance between the two of you, the wisps of smoke still swirling around you both, a testament to his eagerness. the taste of the cigarette lingers on your lips as he presses his mouth against yours, a mingling of flavors that is both intoxicating and forbidden.

satoru chastises you for being addicted to cigarettes, you chastise him for being addicted to your lips.

#SAINTED ⋆ #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru imagine #gojo imagine #satoru #satoru x reader #satoru fluff

[wispisstillverybored67]

#cookie comic creator #cookie run kingdom #milky way cookie #cocoa cookie #cotton cookie #incorrect cookie run quotes #source: persona #wisp rambles

[lazuruspit]

Dog Days Are Over — (m)

pairing: miguel o’hara/afab!reader  content warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional baggage, established relationship, angst and smut in the form of cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex wc: 3.9k summary: Feeling broken following a particularly perilous mission, you find yourself hanging on by tendrils. Lucky for you, Miguel’s always there to pick your pieces back up. a/n: its come to this..... cant believe its come to this. i was debating posting this on my dc tumblr blog since this is comic centric but... whatever. enjoyyyy

ao3

Miguel’s muscles are tense. Rigid, tight, like a disciplined dancer. He’s hunched over his console, shoulders square and eyebrows taut. His jaw is tense, tongue rounded into the corner of his cheek, hair falling like spun-thread sable over his hooded eyes.

His fingers—dry, jaded, thick—curl around the lip of his instrument panel. His forearm flexes beneath the spandex of his suit, veins popping with the strength in which he grasps the dashboard. He grunts, eyes tired, and speaks without turning.

“I can feel you thinking over there,” Miguel rasps. 

You flush, a little embarrassed to be caught but– not surprised. Miguel’s constantly heedful; a predator perpetually stalking its prey. 

“Sorry,” you hum, resting your shoulder against the metal door of Miguel’s private room, jamming your hands in the pockets of your casualwear.

He slightly turns. “What are you doing, standing there? Come in, don’t act modest.”

Then the thick sensation of soiled cotton balls seems to fill your nose: you're here for a specific reason, and the very thought of letting Miguel in on that secret seems to seize your every thought.

“What is it, mi alma?” Miguel asks, gaze centred on a labyrinth of holograms of different Spider-People in different universes. Despite that, his focus—each of his five heightened senses—are attuned to you. 

So, after blindly sweeping the holograms away, Miguel turns to you, resting himself and his hands against the edge of his console. His body language reads of vulnerability—something he hopes you’ll do for him, as well. He can tell something is off.

You inhale, loiter your eyes across his body, then exhale. It’s rare to see Miguel in casual clothing at headquarters—rarer to others, but not so much to you. 

(Miguel always shows you a different side of him. Both figuratively and literally. You’re the only one he’ll bare himself to, let you see him jaded and threadbare after he was hit a little too hard.)

Miguel tilts his head, his band tee riding over his navel garnished with a brown scruff that disappears into his sweatpants, hanging low on his hips.

He slowly reaches out and traces your cheek. Miguel’s hands are rough—a testament to his decades of Spider-Man discipline—but the whispering caress with which he cups your cheek offsets that fact. He curls his lower lip out, pinches his eyebrows.

“ ¿Qué pasa? ” He asks, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear. 

He’s gentle, so gentle with you, and you hate it. It makes it so much harder for you to say what you need to. 

Asphalt thickens and settles in your throat. You look away, and flinch at the cold absence of Miguel’s comforting stare. So you chance a glance back, and bite your lip as you study his concerned mien.

“You’re making me a bit nervous,” Miguel mirthlessly chuckles, struggling to fill the pregnant air.

“No, don’t worry,” you hurry, moving to hold Miguel’s cheeks, trace the streamlines of his numerous scars, “last thing I need is you worrying.”

“Well, with a little shit like you, I do a lot of worrying,” Miguel says, crossing his eyes to twirl a strand of hair around a finger, “I’ve already got grey hairs, mierda .”

His words carry no real malice, but still, Miguel’s words are only the shell of a joke. His eyes fog over as he says it. He’s referring to last month's injury: a deep slash running like a scythe of death against your thigh—something that almost was death—if it wasn’t for Hobie swooping in and tackling Earth-95’s Doc Ock to the ground before you bled out.

“Well…” you start, straightening– then wincing, upon being gravely reminded of your fresh wound that stretches and pulls, “you won’t have to worry for a little while… I’ll be out of your hair.”

Miguel’s eyes marginally widen. He pushes himself off the console, blinking a few times.

“Your grey hair,” you belatedly decide to tack on. 

“No,” Miguel shakes his head, brushing past your lame attempt at a joke. His pinched features sober into something a little more soft, and you’re regretful that you won’t get to enjoy it much considering the news you’re about to break to him, “What are you talking about?” 

You inhale sharply. “I’m… I’m going home for a bit, Miggy–”

And that’s the moment panic seizes him. Miguel stands up straight, his sheer body mass and height eclipsing your vision, and places his hands on your waist.

“No, you’re not, what are you–?”

“But I am, Miggy. I’m going home. Just for a little bit, okay?” It’s hard to keep the warble out of your voice. It’s hard to miss it, too.

(It’s not the warble Miguel has come to love. Not the one that billiards past your lips and into the shell of his ear, as his fingers are knuckle-deep nestled inside of you and crooked. It’s not the tight whimper he bullies out of you as he sinks his cock past your cunt’s first ring of muscle. It isn’t one of your kitten moans, when you puckishly curl into Miguel’s arm late at night, resting on his chest as you muse about everything and nothing. This is a new cadence—one he doesn’t like—one like the little cry of anguish that wafted past your lips as Hobie lay dead, a spot that should’ve been yours.) 

“Mi alma…” Miguel peters off.

You clear your throat. “I talked to Jess… well, we talked to each other…” 

Miguel hates where this is going. He also hates that the diablo on his shoulders asks, “why couldn’t she come to me?” instead of being glad you confided in someone at all. He furrows his brows, listening.

“We think– we think it’s best I just go home for a while,” you cough out a bland chuckle, “maybe she just wants me gone—and I can’t blame her—but… I think… I don’t know. Maybe you can give me some of Margo’s tech.”

“... Why not stay here?” Miguel says, with me, he so desperately wants to tack on, but he reminds himself that this isn’t about him. This is about you, and the slow supernova to your eyes. 

(He made the deaths of his fiancée and daughter about him. Miguel’s learned that moving on is finding a new flower to nurture, standing an arms length away to let it bloom.)

“... Okay,” Miguel whispers, “how… how long will you be gone?” 

You shrug, and Miguel’s face pains.

“That’s okay,” he hurries, trying a smile, “as long as you need, mi alma.” 

Miguel steps closer, pulling you into his arms. Strong, protective, warm… you’re inclined to slip into a dream, leave all your problems behind. 

“Just close your eyes,” Miguel whispers, running his fingers through your hair.

You bury your face in Miguel’s chest, choking back a tight, tiny whimper.

“Can’t,” you murmur, “I still see him.” 

Pain physically throttles Miguel’s heart at that. He wishes he could take away your pain, just as you had taken away his, and his breath, and all forms of cognition. But… he doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how to say the right thing, let alone what the right thing is. So Miguel opts to plant a kiss to the crown of your head, where your unwashed face and brittle hair meet. 

You pull back after that, just scarcely enough to stare into Miguel’s eyes, wishing you could fall into them.

“Miggy…” you breathlessly utter, like a prayer, an olive branch of atonement, “I need…”

Miguel rests his forehead against yours. “What is it that you need? Tell me. Tell me everything.” 

You don’t tell, you show. Timidly. You rake your shaky palms lower, shucking Miguel’s crop top over your hands, placing a kiss to the corner of his jaw.

“Mi alma…” he lightly scolds, catching your wrist within his big palm, “not now.”

“Why not?” You croon, wrapping your arms over Miguel’s shoulders and behind his thick neck.

“We can’t,” he tells himself, more than you, “you’re…”

“Needy–”

“Not thinking straight–” 

“Wet.”

Miguel’s breath hitches. Right in the middle of his throat, it catches, tripping and tumbling out of his mouth as a tight cough. 

"Mierda..."

You lean in close, brushing your lips against his collarbone. “It’s what I need right now, Miggy, won’t you give me what I need?”

Miguel’s lips wrap around your name as he quietly whispers it. “I want to give you everything.” 

“So?” You say, forlorn, “Will you make me feel good?” 

“I’ll do anything,” Miguel whispers. It’s a promise; it’s atonement.

Miguel spins you around with his hands on your hips and bullies you backwards, trapping you against the lip of the console. He slides his palms on either side of your neck, cranes your head up, and plants a smooch to your lips. 

“Mi alma…” he mumbles into the kiss, slotting his thick thigh between your legs. 

Miguel kneads your hips and tugs you down on his leg, flexing it, guiding you back and forth as you grind your pussy over the strong sinews of his muscled thigh. You whine, clutching his shirt, and beg for more, a little sniffle crossing your swollen lips. 

Miguel runs his hands down, fingers biting into the fat of your thighs as he lifts you up, plopping you atop the control panel. From there, he nestles himself between your legs, and shucks your shirt (his shirt) over and around your head, moving to suck your neck. 

You shiver as his fangs graze your pulse point. You dig your fingers into his tousled hair and pull, mired in the sweet cacophony of Miguel’s moans, softened by the way his lips are pressed into your collarbone. He ruts his cock against the supple skin of your inner-thigh, baring his fangs as the cotton of his sweatpants reduces friction. 

Miguel comes up for air just as you sink your fingers beneath the hem of his sweatpants. You drag them down with sparse tugs, revelling at the sight of his cock that strains against the taut fabric of his boxer-briefs as his sweats pool at his feet. 

You sprawl your hand atop his dick and palm him softly, squeezing the fat mass of muscle that tents from his boxer-briefs. You peer up at him, doe eyes pleading, and Miguel sinks to his knees.

He cranes his neck up at you, musing a corporeal prayer to the altar that is your body, and kisses a trail up your flesh. Miguel latches onto your shorts and pulls them down, puckering his mouth before kissing your clothed clit. The excited bud pulses under the plush of Miguel’s lips, swelling, slick as your arousal oozes out of your cunt, sticking to your panties, outlining the barest hint of your soft pussy. 

After the kiss, Miguel shifts upward, and sinks his fangs into the gauzy material of your panties. He hooks it with his teeth, dragging the soiled fabric down your legs and off your ankles before lowering again, kneeling eye-level to the winking of your dewy cunt. You quiver and raise your legs, placing your feet onto the counter, baring your sticky pussy to Miguel, spreading yourself open with careful fingers.

“So pretty, my love,” he mumbles, popping drunken smooches onto the buttery inside of your trembling legs, “ todo mío .”

Miguel paints your thighs in a mosaic of love bites, inching towards the pulsing beat of your cunt as he settles in front of it, unfurls his tongue, and lays it flat against your folds. 

He licks a fat, warm stripe up your slit, growling as you coil your thighs around his full shoulders and thick neck and hasp him closer. You twist a fistful of Miguel’s dark hair between your fingers, pulling him closer, meagrely grinding your sweet clit against his cracked lips and the bump on his nose.

(You always did tell him he lacked vitamin D, needed to eat more oranges. Miguel thought it was fruitless—that you kissing him, having your chapstick smear against his lips, would be ample moisturiser for his dry mouth.

You had to force the serums on him. Miguel gets too caught up in his web of responsibilities and thawed regrets, oftentimes neglecting himself. So you clutch him by the jaw, the rough flesh of his half-sunken cheeks from empanadas in the cafeteria spilling over your fingers, and smooth some of your chapstick onto his lips. It’s cute, he gets nervous; reverting his stare to the ostentatious ceiling of HQ and sticking it there, too shy to meet your gaze as you get too close.)

Miguel pulls away for air, a wash of your precum glistening his chin. He darts his tongue out to clean it up—a fang peeking out in the process—winking under the lustre as it catches the light. You whine at the loss of Miguel’s tongue buried between your folds, inclined to use your web shooter to stick him back in place.

But Miguel’s quicker. “Patience,” he says, placating you with a kiss, letting your taste percolate into your mouth as he cards his tongue past your teeth.

“We’ve got to stretch you open first, don’t we? Hm?”

You loosely nod, breathless.

“That’s right,” he says, “it’s always quite the tight fit.”

Miguel stands between your legs and eclipses your world, readying his thick fingers by running them between your folds, lubing them up.

“Ready for me?” He asks, looking through your eyes and into your soul.

You answer with a kiss—one that says so much more than yes . It’s a barter, where you hand your life over to Miguel, and a promise to find him in every universe. 

Miguel’s lips tilt up in a fickle smile as he sinks a large finger in, followed by another, moving to rest his forehead against yours.

“I hate you,” he whispers, pumping his fingers in-and-out, “for making me weak, making me break my promise.”

(As Miguel’s inflexion weakens, he hides his face in the crook of your neck. It’s obvious what promise he’s talking about: the vow made to the corpses of his child and fiancée. That he wouldn’t move on, that he’d turn black and blue in the name of penance. 

But then you came along; crashing into his world like the luminous death of a star. 

And just like it, albeit destructive, powerful and bright, he couldn’t look away.)

Miguel continues, blindly sweeping at your clit, rolling his jaded thumb over it as he scissors you open.

“I hate you for leaving me,” he finishes, crooking his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner , into the warmth of your pussy. 

“I– I’m not…” you pant, too caught up in Miguel fucking you with his fingers to form a better defence.

“I know,” he nods, his forehead still pressed against yours—a tender blip in the streamline of his fingers’ thrusts, “you’ll come back when you’re better, and things will go back to normal.”

Miguel buries his fingers knuckle-deep, pawing and circling at the sticky walls of your pussy.

He rolls your clit with a deft thumb and latches onto your neck, biting and kissing.

(The nipping is a sign of defiance from Miguel, the reluctance of letting you go, and the kissing… because he’s seen the catatonic look in your eyes. Your face—usually sweet, albeit scarred—leaden with guilt as you broke the news to the Spider-Society.

Guilt doesn’t look good on you, Miguel decided. Only puckish smiles. Only sheepish glances.)

Just your face, moulded into extreme pleasure as your orgasm draws close, eyes squeezed shut and nails digging into his flexing forearm. That’s what looked good on you.

Miguel doesn’t fasten his pace as you tail your orgasm. Just keeps thrusting his fingers, thumb pressing into your clit, lips sweetly trailing your jaw.

He curls them once more, pushing the pads of his fingers deeper, into the squishy-spot inside you that has your jaw slacking, head tipped back, baring your neck, and your orgasm cresting to new heights.  

Miguel’s keenly aware, pouncing onto your pulse-point and licking the sheet of sweat off of your skin as he keeps finger-fucking you, walking you through your orgasm.

“That’s it,” Miguel praised, lending you his broad shoulder as you quivered.

(The two of you have been in this position before—vulnerable, trembling, except those times you were bonding over the rigours of vigilantism and regret and baring the skeleton’s in your closet to each other, not panting from the tremors of your orgasm.)

“More,” you whined, cupping Miguel’s face, acutely aware of the absence of his cheeks—sullen, instead.

Miguel tries a smile and slides his hands under your thighs, picking you up, carrying you over to a low table, setting you down.

He bullies you onto your back and nudges your legs open with his knee, brushing his knuckles over your clit. The bud is still sensitive, so you flinch under Miguel’s touch. 

(A part of you always thought he was bad for you. Miguel was your becoming, but…

he also was your eventual doing.)

“My girl,” he mumbles, “my pretty, pretty girl. Te amo.”

(You ask yourself… why does your response get stuck in your throat?)

Miguel pulls away, only marginally enough to tug down his boxer-briefs. The fabric stretches against his thighs as his cock springs out, softly slapping his navel, red and leaking precum, solid, angry , standing tall.

He holds your gaze as he gives his dick a few jerks, heavy balls lightly bouncing as Miguel steps out of his boxer-briefs, sets your calves atop his shoulders, and cuts his fingers into your thighs.

“Do you need me? As bad as I need you, mi alma?” He asks, and it’s obvious he isn’t just talking about sex.

But you nod, silently because you don’t trust yourself—you don’t think you ever have—and edge yourself closer to the lip of the table, egging Miguel on.

He expels a breathless chuckle, and slips his heavy dick between the fat of your cunt, rubbing himself with your dewy folds.

“ Mierda… ” he grunts, slapping his cock against the velvet of your inner thighs, “you drive me fucking crazy.” 

You smile lazily, wrapping your legs around Miguel’s lithe waist, beseeching him with rolling hips and pleading eyes for him to just fuck you already . 

Miguel smiles as he sinks the fat head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle, his face squeezing into pleasure.    

He keeps going—slowly, filling out your every ridge—until he kisses your pelvis and almost folds you in half. You’ve never felt so full . Miguel makes a home in your tummy, pressing down on your navel as he feels for his cock, feels it pulse and throb in your pussy. 

Miguel pulls his hips away, and you throw your head back as his cock drags along your walls, his fingers toying your clit. He lowers over you, folding you in half and into a press, leaning down to catch you in a kiss. 

This way, Miguel eclipses your entire world. Your lips, your sex, your every inch; he’s your body’s beginning and end.

Miguel slams himself back inside of you and you squeal. It’s jarring—how gravely different Miguel’s fast-paced, desperate thrusts are to the gentle way he holds your face to his, peppering kisses on your cheeks.

He presses so close, as if trying to mould your souls into one. His mutated DNA comes out at this time—like clockwork—and he loses composure, clawing you close, hips snapping into you as he growls into your neck.

His thick brows furrow, full lips tightening, beads of sweat running down his sinewy back that you scrabble at as an outlet for the sharp thrusts Miguel drives into your wet cunt. Your walls flutter around him and you swoon, his hands sneaking under your shirt, running over your pebbled nipples, tweaking them between his jaded fingers. 

“Miggy–” you whine, twisting tufts of his hair in your hands, digging your nails into his muscly shoulders, “I want it all, please. Please give it to me.”

Miguel feels himself tiptoeing the edge of sanity. Yes, a thousand times yes, he’d give you anything you ask. His life, if you wanted it; his heart served on a silver platter; his skin, his bones, his cartilage. 

But Miguel knows what you mean. Because he wants it too. That primal little scratch at the back of his head kindles to life just as Miguel feels his balls tightening. When he feels you clench down on him, back arching, he can tell you’re close too. 

(Miguel knows you well. A little bit more than he’d like to, because he could see the exact day the light left your eyes. How they didn’t light up again upon seeing him. 

And Miguel chose to ignore it.)

He holds you a little closer, weaving his fingers with yours, grunting against your lips. 

Your orgasm washes over you as the sea extends into the sand. It’s all at once cold, blistering, and envelopes you whole, leaving no room for thought of anything else. You squeeze your eyes closed as you gush over Miguel’s cock, panting, rutting your hips up and meeting him halfway as he empties his balls inside of you.

“There we go,” Miguel breathes, pushing his cock into you a few more times until it can’t possibly go any deeper, filling you with his seed, “that’s it.”

You stare at each other as his cock softens inside you. It’s left to marinate a bit, still lightly pulsing, throbbing within your sensitive cunt. Then, Miguel shoves his face into your clavicle, noses your sweaty flesh, and deeply inhales. 

He wants to remember your scent, the last moment you shared before you returned to your universe for however long you needed to be there. 

(Your scent isn’t your usual one, though. Usually it’s sweet. Salty if it’s after training. But today it’s tangy—bitter. Miguel doesn’t like it, but he inhales nonetheless, damned if he’d let you go before committing this moment to memory.)

Miguel pulls away, an unstable smile gracing his lips. He works himself back into his sweatpants and helps you get dressed, nerves coiling in his stomach. 

When you turn to look at him, fully dressed, eyes dark, he gulps.

Miguel walks closer, sets his hands on your waist.

“When will I see you again?” He asks.

“Before you can say the word S-Man .” 

Miguel folds his lips, but nods. 

You look down at the watch secured to your wrist, fighting the scowl that betrays your emotions. It looks like a house arrest brace, and you suppose it's not that far off, either, holding you down in place. Constantly. 

But you key in your Earth and stare as it projects a kaleidoscopic threshold before you, twirling with golds and greens and whites. 

You turn to Miguel and step closer, eyes welling up as you set a palm to his cheek, kissing him. 

(It’s cursory, Miguel thinks. Because you’ll come back one day, finish what you started; finish the kiss, Miguel tells himself.)

You turn around and walk into the egress, a weight lifted off of your shoulders; the weight transferred to Miguel.

The portal closes, and your smell hangs thickly in the air.

With you, you had taken the rest of Miguel’s heart.

And he hasn’t gotten it back.

That was the last time he ever saw you.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader smut #marvel x reader #miguel o hara x reader #across the spidervse x reader

[astralnymphh]

saturated sanctity

tonguefucking raw in the barn, away from dina's eyes ౨ৎ

. part two 𝜗𝜚

❛you had cunt on your mind, 'n cum on your breath❜

PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER > .ᐟ ♡. summary; a chore so innocent and prosaic, far from featherbedding and near to plucking grain from your scalp– turns for the worst, or the best? i soundly connote, fornication ventured on two bends of eager knees, drinking you from beneath the hood 𐙚 .ᐟ ♡. cw; depictions of infidelity, homewrecking, semi-risky sex, jealousy, bit angsty, tension, guilt, pining, tears are shed, playing around, lusting, clit stim (r, fingers and oral), fingering (r), pussy eating (r), scant nipple stim (r), ass groping, ass slapping, breast groping, swallowing slick, pussy slapping, steamy make-out buildup, dirty talk, needy ellie, smug ellie as usual, dom!ellie, sub!reader (i swear sub!ellie is coming next chapter) domestic acts, bold text is flashback dialogue, petnames; babe, baby, good girl (lmk if i missed anything) .ᐟ ♡. pairing; farm!ellie x farmhand!reader .ᐟ ♡. a/n; ending feels a little lazy but it is what it is. hey i'll pull through on ss3 that's like the smut crux, if u get my jizzst..

✵ masterlist ✵ series masterlist ✵ got too lazy 2 proofread right away ✵ WC; 9.8k+

VOLUME TWO - The skin that flakes/ Under the hood

𝄞

Indulgences have the gall to peck at you. 

Pecky and prickly as the oncoming hens do, handwriting–on–the–wall misgivings that throttle you off a steady minute by minute track. Small nuances under light of sun kept doing so this week, numerous things apropos of bawdy suggestions wisped by that reckless pink snake of hers– always mere footsteps from running into Dina, ‘I think it would be, really, reaaally hot if you didn’t wear your p-panties at the table, tonight..’ always brain–caked in a bit of alcohol, hiccuping. Or, even when a cold cuff cocoons the hind of your upper–thigh, an inch below the crease of your butt and done as she passes like a ghost behind you in the kitchen. 

A plum bruise should have formed from how often you flicked that forehead of hers. But no, of course no. The only thing that formed each time was a cocky curl into her lips, corkscrewing those fine hazel freckles connate to a whirlpool in water.

Owing to the fact that she lacked sufficient care from you, has her pouting when you deny her. Denied her of that fiendish wish to lie beside each other– even if it be upon that packed sofa, or– of her vehement dreams, reposing within sniffing distance of an ambery lit fireplace, running her work–worn fingertips along your hill of chest, letting the beat beneath your breast verse in her hands a tale to beckon her own in accordance, toasting aflutter with love. She would push a kind pressure to said breast, emboss prints to squishy skin, mold it to her liking, and smirk when your nipple erects and bends under her hardy palm. 

On the other hand, woe of denial, she sought Dina in your figment. When she wasn't courting twisted fingers up your billowing skirt, she instead smelt her heart in twisting her from the inside out, which– even more woefully, gave Dina the impression that Ellie had come crawling back on starved knees. Woe is her, to misreckon and take what she thought was hers to safekeep.

Arteries, wrenched and awreck, you felt a toy in contrast to what really stood. Worry. 

Worries are the hens, pecking at you.

Will Dina catch you two here? Over there? This night, or the inbound day? Tines of time aren't obligated to tell, ringing of peril whenever they yen a sign to sow.

Thoughts would only continue to foment come light of day.

A lemony sun has risen beyond the hill laden skyline, plucking rays for your wake. Muted orange tones mingle and caper into flaming reds on the crest of your sealed eyelids, caught just as you bid adieu to your cotton sogged dream. For dreams die, at every crossroad.

“Mhh..” the gentlest brush of breath hinders sun washed quietude split, and a set of toes curving down to a stretch. Achy aches ache, as there’s enough ache to go around for farm hands such as you, ugh right? 

Disturbing be the sunlight drawing blinding rays on your bleary pupils, attempting to shade out familiar nooks of your room. Ah, there we go, hues of sable dark in unvisited corners and shyly crowding the light, fluid out of the clear glass pane. As the couch is situated opposite of this blaring window, it greets you quite rudely. 

The moment colors begin to mature and petrify within your vision, you're already hiking up a foot and rocking your bottom off the quaint sofa, veering a peek to the indent left. Slept like a log, huh? Feet plant weight on plods carrying you towards the wardrobe, grantingly aside the wide pearl–border window, flitting a forearm up to block incoming light. 

A huff bloats your cheeks and pouts ducky lips, then grumbling a burden off your shoulders, “Hhhmmmm..” no truer words were spoken.

You lodge fingers in oaken crevices and pull a sundry of drawers from their frame, rubbing cotton on wool as you dig without aim on what you may don, this or that, with which and what, where and when. Blah, yawn, bored, you avert your gaze on lucent glass and scrutinize a pine bough panorama– only for your eyes to spring and espy a sparkle.

A gleam of skin.

And a tuft of copper.

Ellie.

Her torso fit in a white ribbed tank, soaked in hues of gray at the dip cut collar, and handsomely clung to her perky breasts. An arm raises, a graceful length likeness of a canopy above her head, stretching freckled flesh over toned muscles, the grooves– shadowed in a whisper of brown, highlighted celestially, and exposing a small auburn bush beneath her pit. A seen groan escapes her slit gob, brows hefty– she crumples them dear into her eye sockets, ruching the thin skin. Exertion tapered her body akin to clay, and it was undeniably hot, scrunching her face up like that. Ellie then juts her hips forward and casts her head rearward as she stretches, releasing all tension in a swing of her arms down. 

Seems like she's tending to the fore yards.

Dew gleams honey, sweat paints skin, and portrays your girls as a ruddy rose in dashing spring. Ruddy, yeah, that solar ball in the sky sure made her skin popping arid of paleness. Naturally, her freckles betone like pepper, bulging on her red face– which scrunches in her gripe of stress.

Her lips part, mouthing an obvious, ‘Fucking hell.’ and baring teeth after, slightly. Lashes interwoven, her eyes stayed squinted, only to widen and dart when a muffled shout rattles the walls.

Right, fuck, Dina needs me.

Just as the drizzly auburn–head jogs from a peeking view and presumably into the house, you reverse and capsize through stacks of cloth until you land your choice– a sundress. Hey, it's hot today, let your butt breathe for a change. You dangle it by the thin straps prior to pleating up the skirt and slinking it over your crown, yanking every seam in place. Ruffles hit a stonecast above your knee, a sensible length.

But one question stands unturned.

Bra, or no bra?

Hmm.

No bra.

A proper chest of cotton cradles your breasts come rain or shine, not like Dina would mind with brine, nor judge off the heart– just freeing the girls. No biggie. The woven material lollops to a fare–thee–well, cozy on the curve, ribbing as it falls in place. Now, you just need something on your feet. Striding forth, waxing a gale, bare steps soften on each oak board's scant gap, sylvan grain texture grazing your toes. Just a few feet ayond the couch is your shoe cubby, small box frames home to varied work boots and scuffed sneakers, and based on today, you choose boots, clasping the hardy backstays in a pinch. You crouch and gripe at the sore sting your knees gave, manning it through and sliding foot by foot plumb to the squishy sole of your boots, tying up the cordy laces.

Guh, these boots are near rugged.

Ignoring the plain–in–sight fray to your boots’ hemp laces, you grasp and wrench the icy knob ‘round till the door grinds a cry open. Stepping under the arch, you brisk thump by thump and cut where the hallway bends, advancing the dining table.

A dyad of ears harks your growing din of solid steps, calling, “There you are, did'ja sleep like a log?” mellifluous notes of Dina's cadence carries, veering your sight on the kitchen– where she be, perching an oaken honeycomb rack to forearm.

That I did.

“Yuup–” you pirouette, spanning the table's border and hiking that very ridge plane into your butt, sighing, “sun was there to greet me, obnoxiously.” leaning into the table, you grouse lightheardedly.

“Oh shit– sorry ‘bout that, swear I'll put up a–”

“Don't worry, it's the one thing that actually wakes me up these days,” you crack a quip, chuckling with an open mouth.

Dina caters a kind tug on her mauve lips prior to whisking her eyes returned, a glossy honey to be. Syrupy knuckles press and crinkle in the hilt of a honey fork, pruning waxy slices and welling gold bubbles, crafting a drippy stream that canals into a glass bowl. Through laden light it gains a gilded life, casting a tiny star on the moist blob– and there you witness, nectar of the gods.

Capricious minds might have swiped a dollop of that sweet, sweet delicacy by now.

Weighing the silence, you tempt thoughts racing around your skull. What chore am I assigned today? Where is the cacophony of babbles and gurgles that follow Dina like a haunting spirit? Where did Ellie go? Ellie, Ellie, Els.

God did she look breathtaking in that tight–

A rush of thuds divert your curious eyes to the creaking stairs, preluding the swell of said babbles and a husky voice, Ellie's voice. 

“Dina?” hailed she, echoing halfway down the steps, “I changed his diaper!”

Dina cocks her head in heed, crowing back, “Okay! Just– give ‘im to her!” tone knocking against the hollowed walls, then, she sheers attention to you, “mind feeding him?” 

You hum a keen, “Mhm.” void of second qualms and wait on that certain honey–head to appear, hearing the increments of footsteps draw lower and nearer.

The honeylike cowl, stria of fawn auburn drapes soft strands to laze with a purpose on her neck, fashioning that scruffy mullet eyes prize after. Honeykin defines the head that tags after gray, deadbeat converse hop the last few steps and plant still on the oaken floor. For a honey so sinful sought you, and buys a bite of time, to stare.

Her liven pasture eyes catch on you, just a moment, and skip away, reminded of what she intends, “Uh, here.” her forearms unfurl and slink to you, offering JJ up in thankful arms.

You rub in bare flesh to hers, scooping the gurgly baby in a shyer than thankful human cradle, foreheads feckly bumping into each other as you swap, a ghosting of heads. A whaff of her work–spent scent digs into your brain, and you had to admit, it was a tinge sort of lovely. She had the farmyard tang about her, blessed with sweat, a firming physique, a stare that caught you a corpus melting in her esse.

Fairer than the weeks before her touching of you, the bounty it procured was tame, fair is the present. Fairest days, faring a harvest more splendid than dreams carping yonder ebony skies and heavy heads. An unruffled weightlessness many souls find hopes fed in, you found aplenty of in the waking world. With Ellie, you drank laughs, fiddled about the haystacks, snuck apples in your fist– nicking dewey chunks down her gullet in shared kisses, or let her shamelessly tug some of your ass meat in horny hands. Oh, isn't infidelity just the niftiest drug.

Smitten as a kitten, you are.

Carpe diem.

“You’ sleep well?” asked Els in monotone, pitching a paw up to weave through her jumbled locks, splitting strands.

Heaving a breeze, you sigh, “Decent enough, you?” and counter the question, bobbing your stance on bending knees– pray that baby doesn't scream, as always. 

“Like a baby,” she asserts, lush of a brag, dropping her hand and poking at the chubby–cheeked fella, who just got a free mention, “not so much this one, yeahh? Did you scream my ear off all night?” cooing.

“Mhm, heard that.” you add.

“Betcha did.”

“Hmm.”

Her eyes peek up, and goddess, it's that look again. Oh yes, the very gaze spilt upon the oaken table that hale spring day, a twinning star. These eyes, ladies and gentle–non–mens’, fondled a plight of husky play sat on the edge of her mucky mind, and it showed vividly in those flourishing pupils that thin her pine–lined eyes. Tilted smirk dotting dimples in her big appley cheeks, cuspid teeth goring a dint in chapped lips crying with dire need of moisture. Sexy– minus the lips maybe.

She knows what effect that look has.

What exactly sits vanward of that hormone tipsy mind, is an excerpt best served in the formula of two tongues tied– for even Ellie herself may strive to compose hunger incarnate at this fledgling hour of daybreak. And yet she cannot. The mere thought of your pussy clots her brain cells. So, how do we fix that?

Play pretend!

“Hey babe,” that auburnette already had her head whipped south towards Dina before you could flit a blink, feet sparking her a brisk carry yon the shabby oak floor. Creak, creak, clonk, foot by foot she departs a sliver of bitterness in your chest. 

A demure bitter, a sense you can simply shake off. For now.

“There you are..” spoken so softly from Dina, who still had a rack of flaxen honeycomb in her hold, slanting to an angle, “what took ya so long?” voice curling.

“Wasn't that long,” she emphasized her vowels, “m'here now..” 

“Good..” 

She was far from there.

“Mhh,” hummed Ellie, pressing her lips into a thin stroke, puckering about to intone a curly, “ohhh, honey– can I have a lick?”

“Mh–mm, that's for the apples.”

“Aww.”

A meshing of lovers. Real love, virgin love, dying love, feigned love, it all wreathes together on the outside– for the sake of earthly vein, tender were those emotions long ago. Hasty do the doves encircle a budding entanglement, and bells chime where dust remains uncollected on wanton hearts. Uncanny, do the crows crawl in their grandeur of an affection died– sprawling sooty wings through tough gravel and mushy mud, rendering them unable to fly again. Unearth that shit, and you're seated for a whole fuckfest, indeed. 

So consume what you see with a grain of shit–face nothingness.

Ellie slinks a glide upon Dina, pushing her harsher on the counter's nook and slumping arms to swaddle her torso. She cradled her in the natural bow of her body, projection of her bony hips plated dual plumb dimples in her ass, grinding with a purpose. Denim chafes on denim, bringing a light noise of fabricy licks. The cottony hem of her soiled tank begins to bunch with each rolled hump, proving the friction to be– lustful. Her hands wander her body, not yours, pausing and choking the fat plush of her thighs, losing sunny–ruddy pigment to wanting pressure, then releases, and traces back up.

Pupils of yours aimed so pinpoint on each sweep of her hand, yet, you bore an idle set of gestures. Cupping a waxy rubber bottle in your grasp, brimmed with milk opaque of lily–white and feinting a crisp chill to your fingertips, you park the nozzle to the baby's lips. Giving a squeeze with care, you feed him– idly, idly turned from the scene afore, except for your eyes.

Strain sets a pull on them as you stare.

A bitsy wince of, “Ellie..” dries moistness on her lips, shuddering to an ajar gasp.

“Mhm, like that?” husked with a bass that ripples, so, so deep in her diaphragm, you swore it nearly rattled your ears from where you poise.

A gasp died into, “We can't–” 

“But we can..” a frugal answer, meant for one pair of ears only. Only, what a joke. An ill timed joke on Dina.

Had it truly been for one person only, Ellie would not be striking risk right in the butt. Nifty as she is, juggling those risks aimlessly, she stares at you. The crown of her head ruffles up messily on her scruff as it pivots, flushed nose pointed to you, pale lids of supple creases kin to a beach cove as they open, batting reeds of chestnut everlasting. They flap, waiting for you, in the delay of that week–past chance snuffed. 

Intimidating, austere demeanor flowering in those buttony pupils– and she eyefucks you with them, even tugging a wink your way. A fucking wink. Her ploy of fondling Dina, so obscenely, clearly dirty, read in gold typeface as ‘Wish this was you.’ loud and proud. Much more so when her digits curl and dig dents in her waist, and her teeth carve marks as she bites her coral lip down, showing you. 

She's showing you how she wants to play with you.

Being an unwelcome voyeur, you felt the tail–tug to glance away. And in that fleeting veer, a loud smack resounded and left you surprised on the tips of your boots.

“Uh!” a yelp ejects air from its jailed position in Dina's gullet, forwarding her body with a jounce.

A foul, “Hehe–” trebles a giggle from Ellie, shit–eating grin withal, “so sensitive.. again?” her hand rubbing circles to where she struck ass.

Fuck.

Fuck, because she has uttered those exact words to you before, wetly on the shell of your ear, yesterday. At dead noon eve, stark flat on your bedroom door, a makeout you'd rather not divulge. Though, did Dina hear that thumping racket?

You feel a throb, a throb that drops. It beats from your maddened heart to your aching hole, literally. A web of hot arousal dribbles over the ribbing of your walls, leaking into a sticky splotch on the plateau of your panties. Fern eyes of something unholier–than–the–moan–of–a–devil felt denser working than self–pleasure, it tickled just right.

But it doesn't belong to you, so don't pluck that apple. Ignore that tickle.

“Okay, baby–” Dina gruffs and shoots her shoulders up, nudging Els’ clingy head off, “seriously, I got shit to do.”

“Hmm, suit yourself.” Ellie gave up and wacked her hands up in defense, feigning offense. 

You slither that milk–glossy tap gently from purling lips, cooing, “There you go.” as you set the bottle down with a placid thud, spurring a lone finger up to bat slowly upon the baby's nubby nose, how maternalistic of you.

A gait of striking steps softly approaches you. With your head huddled and stance shielded the opposing direction of the two, you couldn't see who that person was. Although, you deemed it safe to assume it may be Ellie, coming to poke at you again.

“Hey, could you help Ellie sweep the barn?” a honeyed voice entrances your focus instead, Dina, of course, “sheep dragged in a whole buncha’ shit, shouldn't take long though.” she notes, casually.

A long droning intervenes “Uhhh, I never volunteered to–”

“You did when you chose to live on this farm with me,” her voice strains, flowing into a breezy chuckle whilst gesturing for you to hand her JJ, “Right, babe?”

“Pshh–” 

Bearing aloft, you slink that baby's bum right into her curviform arms, feeling the cottony onesie drag on your forearm as his weight lifts off, bending at the knees scantily.

“Fiiine, I'll muck the– smelly sheep shit for ya’,” her voice bores deeper in exaggeration, becoming a blurry blob moving behind Dina's poise as she slinks forth, “gunna’ need a mask, I think.” and quips, wrapping her lithe arms to a cinch on her waist.

Dina grunts, butting her arms loose before it gets tighter and coasting a few feet yonder, “Barn, please.” reiterated she, flatly.

Tapered as her jaw is, she clenches it further, taking that blow of a refusal to her touch peevingly, teeth to a grind. Jeez, she's quite handsy today.

“Hmmph,” a grunt deadlocks at the fore of her compressed lips, rolling at the neck and cocking aside a signal for you–”c'mon.” she mumbled, clicking her waggish tongue.”

A scoff jumps from you, “M'not a horse.” you squint and trot your feet along, heavy timber steps pittering towards the ajar backdoor, dash of light spilling through.

“What? Didn't say you were.” she headstarts and jerks the door chasmally open, banging against the oaken trim.

“Door!” shouted Dina, now muffled as you enter beneath true light of day.

“Sorry!”

You wince both muck–free feet into a macula of moist earth, feeling your weight sink and squeeze a taint of muddy blob as you hoick off and traipse forth. A kittenly, “I think the only horse here is you– smelling of sheep shit,” comeback lightens the air, giggling, “Peee–yuuu, somebody get me a mask.” and shooing an invisible stench from your nostrils.

“Puuh–lease, as if you don't smell like a hot pile of garbage after your chores,” thrummed out of her gob easily, just so she could smooth in, “Emphasis on the hot.”

“God, you amuse me.” you shake your head low and smile, bloating the inwards of your cheeks ‘till they hugged your nose, two blooming mushrooms.

Her body spirals in a swing of her leg, now walking completely backwards, “Wasn't trying to amuse, m'being serious. U're hot.” she brownnosed, even giving you the fucking eye–up–and–down. 

This baser, coy weirdo. Can't go nary a breath without summoning a smile unto you.

Your wandering eyes travel up a stream of fading cumulus clouds, sheer stranding like a veil pierced with astral rays– and you mull mind over answers across those clouds, for how could you reply, origin of wit?

Then, so cross the dumbest, possibly weakest retort, transferring from sky–gaze to mouth.

“Andddddd u're not.” you skip ahead of her with a feign of sass, causing her to whip back around.

“Not what you said last night.”

Okay that's true, but..

You egg her on, splayed palm melding to cold, rusted iron grip of a shovel, “I said a great many things, remind me?” as you tease.

“Gladly.” a hotness more snug than the sun cupped your wrist, pricking your grasp open free of the shovel–hilt and spinning you like a ballerina– knocking shin to shin so you plaster flat on the splintered wood door of that barn. Els hovered close, horridly close, breath fervent to your mid–face, “where should I start, babe?”

You freeze, blizzard of a kindled burn, a smolder trenching roots through your reddening cheeks. That throb, returns. You just couldn't gauge which throbbed more severely– the banging of a mad heart, resounding echoed thwacks against caved ribs, or the chokehold of your beaded clit, squeezing up into your cunt and getting you to chafe moist arousal from your labia, wringing webs across your entrance.

No, not again, not here.

“You should start..” a gulp burdens the words back in your gut, re–rounding with a deflect, “by mucking the stable.” silkenly fallen to a wholly nether topic.

Dumbfounded was the look to darken her visage, bristly brows dropping like sawed trees and cleft of her lips bowing to a frown, unamused, “Seriously?” 

“Mhm!” you swerve the shovel handle at her unprovoked, letting her catch it prior to crouching under her barred arms and strolling off towards the sheep stall.

And like a dog, she tailgates hot on your hind. Bark bark bark, yapping ditto to one too, “Why do I gotta shovel shit n’ not you? –Huh?” yet in the most unserious, sportive tone, ever. Dorky smirk lingering in her words, pounding a laser through the thickset back of your skull.

Man, if Ellie was a dog– she'd be a damn Siberian husky. Pining for unending attention and peskily playful, too playful, even. 

Each crunch of hay behind you, every little sigh she put forth in bone–dry air, the sum of her laughy scoffs that no way in a verdant pasture heaven wouldn't be expelled without a toothsome smirk. She was the blight of you, your anathema, pockmarking inside your brain imagery of how she looked when you averted your gaze, meanwhile she beheld the rear of your head, cocksure of her annoyance. Oh, and goddess how it never falters to soar her heart high of a heavenly altitude, skirmishing every cloud with her melodious drum of life when even simply laying scrutiny to the hair awry with mess, shrouding your nape in the natural fall of it, bouncing on each step. A love of life that you could give.

That is all her mind bends to, pestering you, so help her goddess, she will enact anything, to make this abominable sin a grounded relationship.

Look upon me, won't you?

You tuck a finger around the tiny hook lock, opening the large sheep stall, “Because–” you pause, cutting past the rails and drawing an arm over to grasp a rickety rake, elevating it over the half–wall, “someone's gotta uncover the shit first.”

Her knee pooches out mildly as she recasts her weight on a wall, twiddling her thumb over every scuffed mark of the shovel, examining its ridges beneath her print. Yet, her eyes stayed absorbed in you, taking the waft of every leg stride, arching of your spine as you stoop down, extension of your hands grasping the rake's shaft– stabbing the crooked tines into a labyrinth of heaping hay, the screaming of metal scraping on concrete, causing her ears to tremble and tighten, alongside a squint. The noise muffles, then awakens as she relaxes her facial muscles, slacking her jaw to speak, “Y'really good at that, y'know..” mumbled, even.

“Mmht–” you smack your tongue moist, dithering your head in puzzled wags, “–I am literally just raking the ground,” humbled you, thinking of her dumbly so, “weirdo.”

“Pshh, yeah, but I bet you'll have this whole stall swept in like a minute tops.” she claims through a fried rasp, vailing her pale lids low as she stares– stares of yearn.

Further squashed upon hilarity, you whack a tuft of hay clean through air, then stake the rake upright to a wooden beam and lean, staring back rich with spite, “And I bet an hour for you, what– just standing there?”

“I don't see any shit yet, m'waitin’ on youu..” her vowel drawls long, smug–fuck expression curling those rosy lips.

“Oh really?” your thumb unlocks from the lot of your clutching digits, breaching the rake with a springy sound as it bludgeons against the oaken column. Ranging your foot forward, you brace the skimp distance from you to her, planting softened steps.

Maraschino cherry of her chubbed cheeks, a puckish smirk reads more and more intently as you approach. Each thwack of sole leather to hardy ground is a pump of excitement for her– reckoning your current passage as a rite of igniting something. Sway of your hips, stopping of your tracks in front of her, she wonders– or hopes, of what you'll do next.

You gave that freckled face a prompt pore–over, recognizing that flare of her brows jerking up slightly when you park optics onto her slit–open ones, inhaling, “Then let me do it.” and splaying your palm up to the ceiling, expecting the shovel plumb in–hand, easily.

“Hmm, nah.”

You furrow a lone brow, “Why not?” 

“Cuz’ I got it.” spoken cockily, lips flubbed out and head swung like a whip, winding the crescent strands of burnished hair out of her eyesight.

So cavalier.

If Dina were here, the place’d be fuckin’ primely polished. Be for real.

“Sure,” you blunt your accent, nigh on sarcasm, “what's gotten into you?” pleating your fist to a ball, you slot it between the warm pocket of breast to bicep, crossing your arms.

You.

You– are what's gotten into her. Two horny adults unchaperoned, in the convenience of privacy, sub rosa, a smidgeon apart, lusting with their parts of lechery, staring down at sorely empty hands that could be full of each other's flesh, it doesn't fare well. Emptiness, a sphere of it, sleeping in palms where it is an unwelcome voyeur– snoring, vibrating. Dormant touch never falls short of pulsation, like a magnet, it reaches for her. 

Stroking the shovel rod as she does, with those knobby fingers of hers, twining the length, was patently suggestive. Soft rings resonate with each tug of her clewed hand, rubbing up and down, slow and thorough, what the fuck. 

And worst–best of all? Eyes. Her sooty, pebble blown pupils thinning the evergreen in her eyes, pierced yours. Forbidding ones. 

God, wary of reality or not– admit this, it was definitely hot. Hot, how her ashen lids embrace the snow and veins, a human cadre of gossamery skin. Hot, because they read debaucherous– and could carbonize a bible to cinders with a single glance, sacrilege to poetry, ergo; ‘Fuck me’ eyes. And lastly, hot, as they sat a throne upon a wicked smile, exposing her front teeth lightly, spit line attached top to bottom. In short, breathing you in, made her high off lust.

Asudden, the bow indenting her mouth is backwashed in a swallow, and her eyes disappear beyond the hood of her brow bone, captivating her soul upon a sigh. A sigh she breaks contact for, a sigh she must take, in lieu of composure– when all she perceived of you was a temptation.

A bastion of forced air swells up her cheeks, lukewarm on the gums, pouty of the lips, “Fffffffuck–” mouthed she full of that exhale, shaking her head to a low duck.

“Fuuck, what?” a mimic of her quiet curse befell your lips, curving tone and brow in confusion.

That's when her head perked, an inch, a slanted inch, bedeviled eyes divided by the drop of a short russet strand, mouth pursing to vowel out, “You.” hoarsely.

“Like ‘Fuck you bitch’ or in a ‘I'm gonna fuck you’ typa’ way?” you undulate your head cartoonishly, heightening the emphasis of both those options, cause both appeared likely.

Fluff of her brows crooking weirdly, she gawks with an inlay of temptations, bought, “That is the dumbest fuckin’–” she chuckles dryly, nose facing heavenward as she spins the shovel, going clockwise ‘round you, “–question, I've ever heard.”

Step by step, on beat, you slowly spun with her encirclement, noticing now that you're inclined to back up into the wall as she kitty–corners you, idle mitt pressing finger wads to textured wood, laying spread.The scratch of it smooches your shoulder blades as you smush plane on the wall, calves ghosting wales of wood coarse enough to leave blushy marks, and yet you rely on it to camouflage from her intimidating gaze.

A heartbeat hastens, brimming your throat with a blockage capable of consuming the words before ears could, tethering a timid gasp out instead.

Ellie rasped deep, “Cat got your tongue, hmm? Don't back down ‘n me now..” the heat of her face hovers close, cocking her head laterally to fit perfectly in your headspace, air blown from every syllable fanning your sutured mouth.

The weight her stare threw upon you was, probing, and direful. Every attempted scape–glance was a gut instinct, a reflex when shagged to a set of human bars. Flesh of bone, bone in flesh, arm to arm, what a bloody mess.

You curl your shoulders inwards, pressing folded elbows skin–tight to your ribs, “Dumbest question?” a gulp cuts the sentence, “you didn't even answer.”

“Want me to?”

“Yeah,” in defense, you tested her, “I do.”

“Ohhaha– okay..” Els’ cadence rose to amused laughter, shifting on her feet slightly, “We can fuck.” but she spoke it like you requested of it, although, did you?

Fuck.

A bulbous mass pushed your legs clean apart, trampiling the dress to a tight pull around your thighs. Confounded, you drop sights, sinking your chin in towards your neck and realizing– it was her knee.

Rough denim rustles clemently, a whisper of two fabrics meeting, between your quads. A friction so faint, so hush, begins to purr more acutely when a– ahh, pressure. A carnal pressure is given, given with urge, urging on your barely confined clit.

It stings as she drives her knee in, getting  you to clench your insides, to seize up.

A juxtaposition doomed to interblend skin.

You impel up on the wall, heel sloping to rest on the flat trim. It smashed your pussy lips, causing a chafe, ramming fabric inside the rim of your hole, a velvety draw of sleek depressing on the cotton tongue of your panties makes it stay there. Thereupon, her groin grinds a roll, nudging your pussy on top of her knee.

“Remember this, babe?” Ellie gives thrall to the dense steel in her vocals, ticking her head aside more to pass that breath firmly on your ear, “–‘member how good my knee felt? Mhm? ‘So fuckin’ good’, you said?”

A diabolical coo, she's trying to get under your skin figuratively– and literally further.

But it surfaced that memory like a buoy, erecting ayond the navy sea line with its eye–catching signal. In you, it materializes. Last night, came a blanket of umbra, yawning its penumbra in the horizon. Witching hour, obscene–eyed, gloaming your senses and eating away at deceit. Deceived? Yeah, that's how you felt, daylight by day bright, a misinterpreter.

All throughout the day, she would ghost right past you en route to Dina, much like earlier– and love up on her. Spread her taint of arousal between you, her, and you, then her again. Leading on last night, where she stowed her knee, just like now, affirming how mortally she may succumb to madness without your vulnerable phasing unto her, except, in a casual way, short of poetry. On top of that continuous grind she gave on your groin, she marked you with a claim so bold,

So freakish, so outré.

Dirty with her perverted thoughts.

You remember it, hard.

‘You love me just as much as your pussy does, face it.’ 

Hence, her knee felt as fucking liberating as it did that stone stark night. Your clit throbs with an ache, coiling your womb in moreish begs, more, moree.. please more. 

“I remember.” uttered softly, throat shutting on the words as you choke up in sensation.

A cordial chuckle blows summery hot on your ear, “Hehe, good,” and is soaked deeper in with a puckered kiss, popping quietly, “Good girl.”

That made you shiver, in a growing delight. A heat seeping between your folds, has you bearing down on her knee, slopping that raw precum all over the ruined seams of your underwear. In bodily reaction, your cunt shriveled in on itself, squelching a drop on barely–there textile– glossing a wet patch on the knoll of her knee.

Ellie espied that moistness saturating through her jeans and spreading warm on flesh when it seeps, slinking her leg a wimp inch out to gauge the spot, a fucking masterpiece, smack dab on her knee, “Fuck,” she spews, pinning teeth to lip, “for me?” she questions, even with an obvious ass answer staring her in the eyes.

Forget Dina, this felt right– too right.

“For you.” 

Her teeth bare vast in a smirk, doubling up her cheeks, “God, I love you.” because finally, fucking finally, she will have her cake and eat it too.

But first, eat the space before you.

And so she does, tucking the wad of her nose squashed in the crevice of your nostril and cheek, brushing of her mildly cracked lips greet yours to part, a balmy ask of entrance. Wagging against, the skin barely hugs with cushy compress, then she nips your bottom lip and wedges her own between, indulging the bump of your cupid's bow to cradle a whisker inside her suckled hold– her humid realm of fog. Buds connected, she felt like butter searing, softness melting, disintegration inside your clasp of a satiny hole, and she was pungent of farmland, muck sweat, everything you could have prest for. Ellie pushes passion in the form of little spit bubbles down your throat– ingesting your voice, your taste, your brain, essence in whole. Taking each other in your own two gullets, bolts of song, and long gaping moans– and even longer pants of make–out exhaustion.

“Mhhh,” she shoves another groan to rattle your teeth, hopping over cloud nine with each moan you reciprocated– like music in a fairytale, a ballad, or of a siren song, splendidly spellbinding, yes? “–fhhck yeshh–” She hums, forwarding a buck of her knee fiendishly.

You yelped, and she liked that, an impish grizzle pushing past the swollen smile and drags saliva across yours.

But.

Those hands once empty, cannot lie powerless to being so. Hers, fly from the wall behind your head and trace down your biceps, buckling unfurled over the bulge of your loose breasts and cup them tender, giving a squeeze that dimples flesh above the neckline of your dress. Not a complaint rose from you, you liked it, yearned hard of it– loved it.

She could tell by the mere movement of your back, arching into her grasp, getting her fingers to squish them even flatter, laughing the kiss to a pause, “Look at you–” she hinds back to look at you, taking your eager rush to follow her lips into regard, “fucking cutie.”

“Don't call me cutie.” you astern.

“Why noott–”

“No.”

A grin enlightens her anyways, “Got it,” and slides her lip back between yours, suckling the plump of your upper, “Mhmm..” hummed so gravelly, so good on your ears, yummy.

This girl will be the first suspect of your murder. Murder of love.. in spring.

Adjourning the freshly–sown kiss with a sloppy smack, you interrupt, “Y'know–” mhhp, a quick peck, “–think I love you too.”

“Think?” she knits her brows together dumb on your featherly melded foreheads, squishing the grooves that form in–between, “could already tell from last night,” her rasp makes it sound of a patent fact, chuckling like an asshole when you whine amid her tease, “hmm–hm, sorry babe.”

“God, you're such a dick,” you bind your head lower and ghost your barren lips over her chin, smiling amongst your dim shadow.

Index and thumb of her hand thaw ripely of your chin, exerting under the bone and beckoning you up with a kind pull, “Would a dick do this–” she twines you to the left, “Mmph,” pasting a kiss beneath one eye, “or this,” twines you to the right, pasting another peck, “or even this?” and lastly, twines you faceward.

Patent of her pattern, you expect a delicate pair of those blood swell, pouty lips to spare something planets away from porny lust– a promise, that none of this was bad. However, hopes are dashed like a racehorse when your chin rears free and a blur of her auburn head plunges out of sight, and under the hood. 

“Els’, where are you–”

Oh.

A gale of air spills up the gap of your thighs, sought upon by the whipping of your sundress’ hem up crinkled in her dual grasps, pushed against your hip bones. Knees grind in shallow dust, planting just next to your parked feet with a soft rub between the four, the perfect position, an orgasmic view. Ellie lets a gasp free upon eyeing the fat blotch soaked thoroughly to a glisten, fabric eased in your labia, showing her the shape of it. God, ‘think she saw you clench just now.

She balls the fabric to one hand, dropping her other and husking dry, “There she is– fuck, missed me?” a waggy finger rises to your clit, toying it in meager flicks– almost as to pet it.

A wince cries from you, “Ahh–” and you perk on your toes, inching away from her fingertip now padded in your sodden arousal.

Yet that fucking finger follows, pressing a hiemal print to flatten your bloated clit, clothed labia hugging the willowy knuckle. Cocky chuckle– likeness of her unabashed assholery and spilt through grit teeth, she muses in your clamping pussy lips, “Hehe, yeah? Need my fuckin’ fingers, huh?” and those damned coos, that tender tune, gosh– you can't get enough of it.

But you've had your fill of plaguing rumination.

Dina's away, nay a breath of her lingers here, not a peep of her can disrupt you, disrupt what you feel– how Els’ makes you feel. It's not wrong, if you're not the one suggesting it. It's not immoral, if it was never held in the hands of your intention. It's not your fault, if you let it transpire. Nothing to rue, not your sin, not your wrongdoing. 

So you pluck the apple.

An ease of your quads down pricks your clit with the poke of her finger, cushing the delicate flesh, “Mhm– yes, yess.” whined you, nigh on breathless.

“That's right,” thick is her voice– like a coddling of wood thicket, pushing past the devout lips that embed themselves in the chub pliancy of your belly, lain of a smooch to your womb, a quiet one, “thaat's fuckin’ right.” and jerking your clit measured with tease, idly rubbing.

The gentle marrow of that contact with your belly and your clit, sent you aquiver. Your abdomen, shaking lightly against her mouth with a breath in, lading your stomach with a rise, high–strung by that simple kiss. Too sweet, you thought, sweetly toxified of honey, unorthodox to how hoggish she usually strikes as– you expected her usual playfulness.

Softness can be addictive, and her version of soft, definitely was.

“Soo fuckin’ good t'me..” her lips detach only to press back in, multiple times, same exact spot. She wouldn't dare budge, not when it was deemed her duty to kiss you there by some unknown force, or her own accord. Ellie whispers, lugging those honey–drug lips over the pouch of your belly, “need that good fucking pussy n’ my mouth.”

A tilt, a modest slant of your hips projecting your crotch against her collarbone was your ask of entrance, and she gave her answer so fast.

“Hold this,” she cranes the clump of skirt to one of your paws, letting go when you meet fingers over fingers with her and hold your skirt to your ribs. She stops playing with your clit completely, tracing said finger up your groin and under your pantyline, pleating the band in on itself as she journeys it to your knees– letting it freefall from there.

Despite the milk–warm weather lambent to your forehead when settled under the sun, meant zilch to the cooler world inside the barn. Not wintry, but a tangible change sensed in your bare pussy. That's why you fastened your quads to a clench, nearly sucking in your cunt– oh, and the fact that two olive fern eyes are bluntly viewing it. Stage fright, much?

 A fried gasp of, “Ohh, shit–” chills it further with exhalation upon discovering the raw truth to your aroused pussy, engorged in size and pinkish in sex irritation. Ellie was drunken in that eyeshot of serumy precum wetting a film between your slit, drawing gluey webs over your hole, barely open for full study. She needs you open, she longs to see, gulping a horny thought audibly before speaking, “spread them pretty legs for me, hmm? C'mon, it's just me–” she assures, donning that calming placidity whilst palming the round of your knees apart to guide you, “–there we go, uh'huh, fuck..” departed of her voice, husky as she studied the open spread of your filthy hole, dripping for her like it fucking knew she was looking at it.

All you could engage was a tunneled stare down of your protruding crotch and her reddish–brown dusted crown, the slump your knees took clung on the flank of her biceps– plowing with an indent in her bare sun–baked skin. Els’ face so sanguine compared to the paler pigment of her fingers, which now push your thighs uncomfortably agape to the extent of bulging fat between her knuckles. Eyes bark, luring under lids so heavy and lashes like a vignette– they bark and say, ‘Keep your fucking legs open.’

Say no less.

Taken in awe, “She's so fucking pretty–” she curses with meaning, a means to make it known, licking up a river between your folds upon seeing that exhilarating view, cupping a glob of slick in her pink muscle.

“Shit..” 

Withdrawing her tongue, she swallows the creamy delight, “Prettiest pussy ever, ‘uh'huh, that's right.” Ellie being Ellie, she slaps it, eyeballing the spongy skin recoiling.

“Ah!” 

“Yeah..”

Your nude cunt was honeydew heaven in her eyes, gleaming wet like grapefruit, that's why her tongue was already slipping out on open air. Head inching to intimacy, the button of her nose dovetails seamlessly between the tippity top of your folds, and your clit, kissed with a hot spell. That bud, it fit perfectly in the wrapping of her lips, straightaway suctioned further into the gummy pucker of her mouth.

An ache zaps that little bouquet of nerves and coerces you to nearly swoon over it, yelp hitching, “Ha– aah,” and shudder teething, “Ellie..” with a hump of your glutes butting her head back, only stirring that hungry mouth of hers to pop off and swaddle it back in, tongue flicking.

Her nostrils sunk deeper in, airflow turning muffled in your crotch– yet her moans remained, abounding, vibrating on your sensitive pearl, “Mhhhh, mhmm.” rumbling deep under the soft squelching her moving jaw brought to fruition. 

Ellie, you fucking god, giving those plumate licks that are barely there, but scarily paired with deftness, getting you to squirm and squeal, “Yess– baby, yess..” That pink muscle snagging under the hood sometimes, smacking that pretty tiny clit of yours around with foams of flavor whisking onto her taste buds, humming in the notes of sex.

“Mhhh, fhhck.” her lips sever an inch, mumbling into your clit, “fuck you and your pretty little hole, god, fuck you.” she curses, cause how dare you let her impulses conquer, returning a trio of digits along your legs and swiftly finding your pussyhole, dilating the lips apart and shoving all three inside. How dare you, engross her ears in your moans echoing akin of a cathedral in her skull, ushering her to fuck you unholy.

“Ellie!” you wail, hoisting on your toes a second and clutching her in those slobbering walls– which only gushed a leak of arousal on her digits, and blocked her from further thrusting slightly, taken aback by the sudden stretch.

Her lips pop off again, slurping up the wet laces strung to her pout from your fattened labia, “Schlp– jesus, you are fucking tight,” the deepness rippled in her voice, groggy from the moist caking her gob, “let me in, don't push me out.. c'mon..” she coos gently, eyeballing the swallow her fingers took past your soaked lips, knuckles disappearing.

“O–ohh,” you tried to mouth ‘okay’, but the word just didn't fit the part.

“Just like that..” Ellie cools a fresh sigh, praising with a proud curl on her face, “Good fuckin’ pussy..” 

Letting go, your gut loosens and heightens the sensation of her skinny fingers bottoming soundly inside your vagina, feeling the callouses rub as they curl and tickle your angelsent spot, airing lips find purchase behind her fingers– and a pointy nose bumps your clit pervaded with purpose.

Spry is the moan, moaning over ‘spilled milk’, “Oh my g– uhnn..” woe is you, clawing phantomly at the spring that coils inside your womb, unknowingly providing Ellie's eager mouth with your precum.

The physical reality around you, suddenly only consisted of you, her, the barrier that stills your back, and a void inside you– being filled.

Literally.

And figuratively? Cause jeez, you must give sanctuary to a sin–eating, fleshoid beast inside your bone prison of a body, coming back here for seconds like that.

Might you be the dirty.. dirty dog instead?

Rivers of filth, she pumps those glossy droplets out of you, leathery scars caressing your ribbed canal with each pleasuring undo of your senses, she steals them like they are impartial to your bliss– bliss is all she needed you to feel for her. Fuck the worry, trash the heartache, yank the anxiety out, and soften into a pretty blob atop her fingers.

Her sultry blessing sitting upon those fingers, that's how she deems you– you do well to remember that. Her, willing frame of hips thrusting back down on the friction she gives, burrowing her nose a scent so naturally seducing, a pheromone, fucking elates her own throbbing pussy. Nothing sugary, nothing stomach–churning, just the taint of you. The threading of her jean's crotch was enough of a brute, bullying her egged clit by driving a split in it, flattening the fleshy hood everytime she shifted weight from knee to abdomen, poor her. 

“Huhnn– shit,” heaved grizzlier in her carp of stimulation decay, lack thereof rubbing one out herself and watching your delicate skin expand and crease. How could you blame her– her hand looked so right plugging your hole.

You suck your belly in, drawing tense on that thickset motion playing with your g–spot, whimpering, “Els’, please.. I can't..” a well floods in your waterline, searing with tears of crystalline iodine.

You really can't.

That scruffy mullet hides most of her big cranium, but, it was so fucking hot seeing the nominal stroke of her face, blushing strawberries betwixt your butter–spread legs. Her nose bobs north and south, dragging the bulb of cartilage over that nippy rosebud she happily exhales onto, pushing you over the earthly edge born of paltry touching. Ellie cognizes the slick–clear gospel that you were pending climax, manifesting as your needy bear downs into her slopping mouth practically lactating your pussy juices deep in the pit of her stomach, and the swelling of your wooed clit led on by her tongue, growing big and reddish on her nose to where it clasps the tip in a pillowy fashion, dabbing a glob of creamy sap. 

A mouthquake splutters wetness mixed with her spit across your inner–thighs abd vibrates your folds, betrothal of her voice waking back up, sourly muted, “She's– suh good.. mhphh– to me..” 

“Ellie..” you falter on breath, leavening in pitch.

“Phh–” a frothy sound garbled in your pussy lips, pushing her spit bubbles inside your gaping hole and traveling deeper with her fingering you, “makin’ this pushhy’ mine..” flubbed she, lapping up her cupid's bow of smeared sleek.

Your hole clamps her in as the pang begins to tick its patchy count of time, wearing the glass knot of your womb to a cracking, and troubling the base of her digits.

“Fuck, you wanna’ make this harder?” she sterned to the velvety rim of you locking on her triple shafts, porking webs of your pre–finish to teardrop down your walls as her palm splashes against your loch–sodden slit and mashes your g–spot repeatedly, plush of your labia bouncing in ripples. The noises were abundant, and pornographic, mushy as she fixes so much of your arousal on the pads of her fingers, hormones spiking at the lewd noises, “you hear that baby, ooh, fuck.” foxily ‘ooed’ that foxy–maned girl, beguiled in how your pussy spurts for her.

It wept in slaps, eliciting a palping squelch to bang, bang– bang– pound, brandishing a chilly tempest through and through your bloating labia, quivering as it readies to release. The stuffing was intimate– like a punch inside your spirit, coaxing the fragile glass to a rend, ergo, pushing out every lash of pure lucid squirt.

On the beat of your hole gushing, yelps batting you shut in the plain intensity such an orgasm brought forth, tore Ellie from simply just watching– to drinking every drop. Her voice, dusky in the backdrop of your wails sounded, “Yes– yess, babe fuckk that's it.. mhm, all over my fuckin–” her words wane as her lips clock in, a sudden rush of void fleets with her fingers sheathing out, drawing a long lubricous bunch of webbing only to be nourished in the warmth of her mouth– pursing into your labia and shaking about as you squirt.

Ellie has no shame in getting soiled of you, even the devil himself blushed at the linkness of her mid–face pancaking your lissom skin apart, spewing you wide.

“Ah! Nuh– nonono, t'much, too– uhhnn..” your throat fails you, clumping wads of words that wanted to breach, but her mouth was too good, and it's fucking obvious that she wouldn't stop, not when she can have you like this, bucking onto her flat tongue. Sinfully good, disgusting in the rawest fashion, making your crotch burn with ecstasy more than it already did.

Water upon the push of her mouth, blowing in and slopping noisily at the meat of your pussy lost it's carry to your ears. A biome of shadow, veils your vision and a pressure rains less than tender between your eyes, blurring everything before you, ebbing the grasp of your skirt to an impossible job, hands ashake. All you could gauge above the hood was fiery sweat, hot, steaming– taunting sweat, licking at your forehead.

Her nose headbutts into your vagina, slinking languidly as her head finally smacks off your numb folds, laughing, “Holy fuck– y'taste so good,” the air windy to your soaked entrance, convulsing in front of her barren eye, “shoulda’ let me lick you sooner.”

Huff, and puff, until the binds of your chest blow down, sprouting with an entire current of air, panting more than dramatic as you dwindle down like a bird's plume, “Too.. huh– haah, bad.”

A new kiss is savored to your clit, absorbing the snift her snort gave, “Haha�� yeah yeah, n'you liked it, don't lie.”

No lie was home to call. You’ve a truthful virtuality.

You truly did like it, love it, cave obsession over that moment– for now it passes, and not a peck of guilt ran prickly on your arm hairs, saving your gullet free of a stony gulp. No crows died in the revelation of your scandal, only doves, encirclement in a trance chirping nuptials to be had.

I really do love you, Ellie.

Is that so bad?

“I can’t catch my– oof,” you grab sudden air with your fructifying lungs, “–can’t catch my fuckin’ breath.” and the struggle was visible, muscles like puppet strings to your fingers losing proper grasp and billowing the skirt plop on her head.

The rotund shape of it wiggles from the draping hem, continuing to laugh when her wet–handed fingertips poked thin on your ankle, bulging on both sides as she drew your panties back up all the way, slithering under your skirt’s canopy and stretching the band to a snap on your hips, skin tiding, jerking you off warning, which for sure winded the breath back in ya.

“Sheesh, no care for my panties at all?” remarked you of fun wit, gliding your thumb apart to rub the bend of your hip crest.

“You literally ruined them before–”

“And whose fault is that?” you winched from the barn wall and met pupil–to–pupil with her rising figure, revealing how slick–fucked her face really is, glossing with evidence of your cunt.

“Mine..” proudly, guilt was basal to her tone, nonexistent, inching closer to you with a slight wobble swaying on her heels.

You hark the crunch of gravel below, but keep your gaze airborne, Ellie–borne, “Exactly.”

“Cause m'hot?”

“No,” you rock your head, evil smirk deepening the corners of your lips to your gums, “that's a dumb question.”

Her arms begin to slink at fore, elbows chafing her flank, “Wow, stole my line.”

“Still dumb.” you pinch the neckline of her tank, straining it up to wipe her mouth clean.

“Coulda’ just used my hand.” she still does, the dork, purging any excess to the hill of her bent wrist.

You scrunch your nose fakely, “Uck,” and express, mumbling, “Bring a rag next time.” 

Her hands then drop, creeping towards your sides, “Didn't think we were gonna–”

“Liar.”

Those strapping hands bend with wrinkles in her knuckles as they plant pleasantly on your hips, fingernails curling with lustier keys, tugging you plane on her body, “You're so fucking cute,” is all she could say, because there was no stem of denial baying for a different answer,

Doing this was always lingering a tail on her thoughts.

“And such a bitch, fuuck– want you so bad,” complained she, pushing the last of her grizzled groans past her blood–swell lips, which now dive in the sweaty nook of your swan neck– bespattering the sensitivity, “–need y’so bad..”

You comb a paw of fingers through her honey–cresten mane, dividing strands apart and giving a fond press to her scalp, whispering upon her pale–rosen ear, “Then have me–”

“I can’t,” her crumbled lips fail to cling, dragging dry beneath your ear, “I fucking can’t.” wearily said, wearing her voice to nothing.

Infidelity.

Wasn't nice at all, on both sidewalks.

A purer bid of tears wet her cheek, drenching into the flesh of your neck as she pushes into you, holding you dear, vast afar from intentions to let go.

“I know..” was a rare comfort, and wasn't one to you right now– for plucking that apple, ripped you of innocence. A blind eye you turn when sensuality is awake. Enrapture chokes your senses, sweeps you in the moment, clouds your memory of those ugly, nasty etceteras– those facets that deplore it. Even now, when Ellie collapses weight onto her ankles, pressing you into that same wall you saw heaven on, touching heartbeats incandescent for each other's total consumption, weeping wet on your bare shoulder– it hurts, aches you to say, “But I don't want to know.”

Clutch of your neckline, she bruises her knuckles tight in it, spiteful almost– gagging on tears that roll the wrong road, “Guh– fucking hell, don't say that..” 

“Ellie, it's–”

“Don't.”

“Not your fault.” you flap your fingers up, palm still glued, patting her head.

She doesn't belong to you.

Yet you act like she does.

Pity.

A sniffle is the intake of air you feel before her nose skims off, craning her neck to an angle where she can gaze adjacent to your cheek, for beholding may prove a demise. But she can't forgo this one ask, this dream perched upon her brain, “Babe..” she purrs, dead of cadence.

“Hmm?” a whirl invites your nose to her cheekbone, offering you the picture of her side–profile. Oh, those lashes so dashing, they curl, darken her snow of eye, and trap tears.

Why, it's as if a rainbow overcasts those auburn reeds.

Ellie's capsized tune finds its stream back to that scratchy rasp, silkenly intoning on your earlobe, “Can you sleep with me tonight?” her buds ghost the rim, popping on the syllables.

Is that even possible? 

You debate with the figments in your mind, casting doubt over your facial muscles, knitting, “Ellie, you know–”

“I don't.”

“Els.” 

Long forked strokes of her fingers run up your jaw, scrolling you to then focus on her face cocooning your entire sight, and a husk enlaces you, “Forget about Dina,” a glimmer summons her lips to curl once again, “just tonight, fucking please?”

Fucking please.

A silence rots in the cordial space sparsely separating you, wrenching her brows with a ravine indenting between them– the serious look you love. And her hold of hands appear to deepen in your cheeks, claiming your skin as one, melting into her prints, squeezing a reply from you.

“Please?”

Odds may dote on you, think about this.

“Okay.”

(couldn't tag everyone who wanted to be)

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[lokisgoodgirl]

Delayed Gratification [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: [Oneshot/companion to Don't be Shy] A timid Loki breaks his s*x drought, with your encouragement. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Sub!Loki. Language. Dirty Talk. (w/c 2.3k)

You pressed a thumb against the pad on your door. It beeped, making Loki flinch behind you.

“Gosh, you really are nervous.” you mumbled with a smile, hearing the rustle of Loki’s crisp shirt as he straightened.

Pouring two glasses of water, you set them the side-table next to the sofa. Loki had made himself comfortable, removing his waistcoat and sitting poised with his legs crossed.

“So how long is a long time, exactly?” you probed, sliding a hand up one muscular thigh as you settled beside him. Loki's eyes darted towards you, adjusting his hips.

“Since Asgard.” he murmured tentatively, voice catching as your fingers danced up his in-seam.

“Oh…that is a dry spell.” you cooed, an amused smile curling at your lips. How is it possible this perfect specimen hasn't been ridden in years, you thought; scepticism creeping in. It's not possible.

Loki hissed as your fingers brushed his hardening cock, feeling the trapped monster grow thick beneath your gentle touch. His knuckles whitened under the crushing grip on the armrest.

Or maybe it is, you pondered with a smile.

“If you don't mind me asking...why is that?” you said, gaze crawling over his twitching brow. "I find it hard to believe you don't have a lot of opportunity-"

“Hardly-” he gasped, ass clenching before he bit his lip. Even with this achingly light level of touch, it was almost too much for him to bear. That was plain to see.

“I just...have a h-hard time letting loo-se, you see.” he stammered, his grip making the armrest creak in protest.

You squeezed again, making Loki’s eyelids flutter shut.

He whimpered, a series of shallow pants wisping from his throat. “I can stop?” you whispered, trailing your free hand over your cleavage. His eyes shot open, afire with sudden fear. “-No.” he choked, looking longingly to the fingers grazing the curve of your breasts. “For the love of the Nine...don’t stop.”

A secret smile pressed against your cheeks as you stood and intertwined your fingers with his. “Come with me.” you said firmly, nerves sizzling as Loki let out a long exhale before unfurling himself to his full height. You walked slowly ahead of him to the bedroom, circling behind and pushing the shy god gently to the mattress.

He began to yank at his windsor knot, before pausing. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

The words were accompanied by a penitent flutter of his lashes. You chuckled. “Loki, you’re sitting on my bed. If you had any idea how wet I am right now…” you groaned, straddling him and sliding your hands firmly over his shoulders.

Loki’s legs widened as the soaking gusset of your panties grazed the hard shaft pressed against his thigh. He swallowed thickly as you began to place messy sucks on his exposed neck, whipping the tie from his collar.

“S-slow...slower.” he panted, breaths quick. Surfacing from stiff cotton, you rose on your knees; tugging his hair back as you descended with a licentious kiss. You could feel his chest heaving beneath your own, the tell-tale thrust of his hips against your core sloppy and needy and desperate.

Loki broke for air, his eyes wild. Your lips curled in a coquettish smile. “Maybe we should start gently, hmm?” you said, seeing Loki nod. “I think that’s...wise.” he muttered, a thin sheen of moisture forming on his brow. Your knees shuffled backwards, lowering yourself to the carpet between his legs and pulling your dress over your head.

“Do you mind taking these off?” you asked gently, pulling at the fabric tight against his thigh. Loki’s gaze refocused from the lingerie cupping your curves, his mouth forming a soft O.

“Of- of...of course. Apologies.” he fumbled, before a shimmer of his magic dissolved the luxurious suit trousers from his body. And his underwear, too. “You don’t have to...do...that, you know.” he mumbled.

You didn’t need to look at him to know the pink tinge in his cheeks was back with renewed force.

Loki’s cock rose between his spread thighs. It was long, pale and utterly perfect. Just as you knew it would be. You curled your fingers lightly around the thick base, making Loki’s hips jolt. Your thumb didn’t reach around the circumference.

“Just breathe…” you murmured, hearing his frantic breaths slow at the command. Your finger caressed up the length, making tingles soar on the surface of his neglected velvet skin. “This should be worshipped, Loki.” you muttered absent-mindedly as you inspected it with awe, hearing him chuckle before you lifted your gaze seductively to meet his. “So let’s make a start on that, shall we?”

His palms rested on your duvet, fingers spread. You could see him slide them into a tight grip, neat fingernails scratching against the fabric as he inhaled sharply, bracing himself. You leant forward, extending your tongue so that only the lightest of licks trailed from the base of his shaft to the tip.

Loki’s moan was raw dynamite, a long ragged sigh that made your thighs squeeze together. He tasted like freshly washed linen, the scent of clean cotton lingering in your nostrils. Unspoilt. Virginal.

You parted your lips, tongue sliding in messy kisses against the meat of his cock. The base of your palm held his length steady, perfectly vertical as his hips rocked upwards.

“F-ffuck..det er f-for godt-” he moaned under his breath, sliding a hand against the back of your head before retracting. Seizing his moment of resistance, you lapped tortuously slowly over the leaking tip. Loki shuddered as he watched the glistening bead of pre-cum that had been trembling there disappear beneath you eager attentions.

“M-more...please.” he stammered, forearms quivering as he braced against the bed. You tilted your chin up to face him, nestled between his thick thighs. “Are you sure?” you said coyly. Loki nodded, shallow breaths making his chest strain against the buttons of his shirt. You pressed your lips together, arching a brow before you descended and swallowed the tip of his cock.

A strangled whine rumbled from the god as you sucked gently, the fingers curled around his base pulsing with each smooth lap of your tongue. You could feel Loki brace against the bed, his fingertips digging into the mattress as his thighs began to shake. And you were barely touching him.

“Det føles for godt…” he groaned, toes curling against the carpet. “F-fuck...im nær...im n-nær-” he growled through gasping breaths. “S-stop.”

You released him, a strand of saliva hanging in a teasing curve between his foreskin and your lips. Loki’s addled stare rolled blissfully along the spittal’s route, landing on your glistening mouth.

“Fuck.” he murmured reluctantly, shaking his head as his eyes darted to the side. “I should not have led you on. This is...not my usual- not my typical performance I-”

You pressed a finger to his lips. “I think it’s hot.” you purred, making his eyebrows slant with surprise. “Really hot.”

Rising to your feet, you tugged down your panties before sliding onto Loki’s lap once more. The thump of arousal between your legs was untenable, the messy slick of your sex crying for relief against his naked thighs. “Just go with it.” you keened in his ear, rolling your hips against the base of the cock sandwiched between you. His breath hitched, fingertips sinking into the curve of your waist. “We can make it a little game.”

“A game?” Loki chirped, interest piqued. “I like games.”

“I know you do.” you hummed encouragingly, sucking his earlobe between your teeth. Loki hissed, a growl building in his chest as you began to unbutton his shirt. “Is this what you thought of as you fucked yourself thinking of me?” you said, feeling his stomach clench beneath your searching hands.

He cleared his throat, back straightening.

“I must confess I was rather more...dominant.” he admitted sheepishly, avoiding your seductive stare. He observed as your fingers made quick work of the buttons, ebony hair falling sluttishly around his jaw. “Dominant?” you teased approvingly. “Why do I get the feeling you made me call you Daddy?”

“Oh, I insist on it.” he joked, before you stripped back the shirt from his shoulders.

The god’s jaw clenched as you pushed the cuffs from his wrists; coaxing him backwards. “Norns…” he gasped, muscular back hitting the mattress with a soft thump. You took a moment to savour the god stretched like an shy whore on your king bed, his soft eyes wide with nervous anticipation. You smiled, crawling slowly up his long body.

“Trust me, Loki…” you said softly, the lust in your voice simmering as the thick veins in his throat hardened. “We’ll ease you back in, don’t worry.”

He opened his mouth to speak, before his eyes fluttered shut. Loki’s back arched as you ground your bare pussy against his length. You slid easily back and forth, dragging through your slick folds. The soft mewls of grateful submission from his lips made your nipples harden.

“You should be fucked every day, Loki Laufeyson.” you slurred, feeling his cock twitch against your cunt. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

Loki huffed in frustration, bucking upwards. The scent of you. The promise of your wetness. It must be driving him crazy.

“Ride me. Please-fuck me, I can’t take it anymore.” he growled, tilting his chin against his chest as your cleavage hung tantalisingly in front of him. His nose slotted between your mounds, a shuddering sigh shaking his body as he lost himself.

"Patience, Laufeyson...” you giggled, hearing a muffled whine against your skin. “A little delayed gratification never hurt anyone. Much less a god...”

You reached between his legs, hovering above his hips as you lined him up. The wide tip of his cock nudged against your slit, his forehead creasing as he tried to restrain himself with a quaking sigh. Loki’s lips formed a stoic line, eyebrows knitting slowly together as you squeezed the thick head inside your cunt.

With every inch you sank, his lips parted further; the skin sticking as he exhaled a ragged, primal gasp of relief.

“I...I...uhh-hh-gods.” he rasped, fingertips sinking into the soft thighs spread against him. You stilled, the head of his cock buried to the hilt. You squeezed.

Loki jolted on the bed, hair fanning in wild tendrils as he clenched his jaw to the ceiling. “I had forgotten.” he moaned through gritted teeth, grunting as you began to roll your hips in miniscule waves. “I had f-forgotten...faen.”

Your clit tugged against his public mound as you rocked slowly to and fro, minimising your movements.

Loki whimpered, brows twitching as he watched you relax into bliss above him; his thick girth stretching your walls as you gyrated. “This feels so good, Loki…” you groaned, letting your head fall back as his legs tensed beneath. The god's feet slid up the bed behind you - knees parking bent at your sides. Tears had begun to form in his eyes.

“Norns.” he gasped quietly, resting his hands on your hips and guiding you carefully back and forth. Like you might break. The needy touch was the final spark, lighting the trail of gasoline to climax like a match.

Your swollen clit pulsed with every slow tug against his neat pubic hair, the solid mass of his cock making you whimper. “I’m going to cum, baby…” you mewled, making Loki’s fingers dig deeper. A solitary tear of desperation rolled down his cheekbone, disappearing to the curve.

He thrust upwards once. A broken cry of pleasure from his throat sent shivers down your spine. It sounded like pain. But it wasn't pain. Far from it.

Your palms pressed against his shoulders, limiting his movement. “Not yet.” you choked, increasing the pace of your rolling hips against his base.

“You’re so...fucking...tight.” Loki breathed, ragged pants filling the air as you rocked into him, orgasm blossoming like a wall of fire. His voice was thick, wet with pure lust. “You feel s-so-uhhh, so divi-divine I-” he stammered, choking as he felt your fingernails dig deep into the ropes of shoulder muscle.

“Now, Loki.” you whined, releasing your hands from his biceps and gripping the brass railings above his head. You slid up his cock, squeezing at the tip before sinking into the god’s sloppy thrust. His eyes were suddenly wild, torn between savouring every inch of your sex-drunk body and becoming lost in his own pleasure beneath the veil of his eyelids. An animal released from the cage.

He tugged your hips towards him, beginning to bounce you on his slippery cock. Nordic curses dripped from his lips like battle cries, a vein by his temple thick to bursting against the furious weight of his basest needs. Every slap of his skin against your fizzing clit sent jolts through your body, the power of raw animalism coursing from his sex to yours.

“Let it go-” you gasped, throwing your head back as you felt an explosion of pleasure surge in your belly. “Don’t be s-shy oh my god, - oh my, uhhh...f-fuck...scream for me, -L-Loki.”

Loki slammed your pussy a final time to the hilt, before a roar of utter devastation exploded from his throat.

Tendrils of damp hair cascaded over his brow as his back arched, errant strands across his lips blown by a feral moan of your name. You could feel the force of hot cum hit your cervix, leaking into every crevice of your stuffed slit as his messy thrusts slowed.

Loki’s eyes had squeezed shut, deep lines ironed into his forehead as he murmured panting praises you didn’t understand.

He lay there silently, breaths slowing. “Was that OK?” you whispered, flickers of sudden insecurity rearing in your mind. There was no answer. "Loki?" You leant forwards, clenching around his cock as you rested against his chest. Loki nodded, humming blissfully with his eyes still closed.

“Truly... I am lost for words.” he slurred, running a large palm down your spine and planting a light, congratulatory smack on your ass.

You felt a wave of pride rise in your belly. “There’s a first time for everything.” you teased, making Loki open one eye with difficulty. “How dare you.” he growled.

In a second, he had flipped you over; pinning you to the bed with his fingers curled around your wrists. “Not so shy anymore, then?” you giggled, feigning a feeble attempt to escape from his grasp.

“Thanks to you, it seems my drought is over-” he purred, spreading your legs with a nudge of his knees.

“And darling?” he smouldered, damp curls clinging to his cheekbones as his eyes darkened. “Daddy’s very thirsty.”

Det er for godt – it’s too good. Det føles for godt – it feels too good im nær – I’m close

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[munsonluhvr]

: playing with his hands - (eddie munson)

contents: some 18+ content. your thoughts on eddie's hands, how you'd play with them. just two kiddos in love. word count - 420.

note: I got this idea from how everyone in this fandom simps over eddie's hands (me included). they're literally the hottest hands I've ever seen, I swear.

as you sit on eddie's worn out sofa in his trailer, light streams into the living area. eddie sit’s beside you quietly, his arm placed over your shoulders as he watches tv on the large, clunky tv. you, too, were watching tv but were distracted by eddie’s large hand, his ring covered fingers, that rested in his lap. you felt so many things while looking at his hand: you wanted to intertwine your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his palms against yours. feel the tug from his fingers as they're intertwined in your hair, pulling your head back to allow him to kiss your neck. you want to put eddie’s fingers in your mouth, tasting the sweet saltiness of the pad of his fingers. you wanted to feel his fingers flicker in your cunt, feeling the way they play against the strings of his guitar except inside you instead. around your throat would also do it, taking the last bit of breath you have from your body.

after eyeing his hands for long enough, you reach across his lap, taking his hand into yours. eddie laughs softly, turning his attention away from the tv screen to watch you analyze his hands. you look at them, thinking how they look like they were carved into stone as you brush your fingers across the veins that protrude at the top of his hand. your fingers touch the cool metal of eddie’s rings that are on his fingers, twisting them around. the designs of the rings intricate yet clunky; your favorite is the largest one, a skull nestled on top of the large, thick, silver band. eddie notices you admiring the rings and he takes one off, placing the piece of jewelry on one your fingers. the ring drops down to your knuckle, and you laugh at how it will never fit your finger properly. it makes your finger look even smaller and slimmer, if that’s even possible.

while everything about eddie ignites a flame inside you: his eyes, his smile, his lips, his cock. what does it most for you is his hands, how they’re so strong, a weapon to protect you from any harm or danger, yet at the same time they’re soft and delicate, similar to the gentleness of wisps of cotton candy. you love eddie’s hands, the way they cradle your face as he kisses your forehead or the way his fingertips graze your cheeks as he admires you. eddie, such a gentle giant, always uses actions, through his hands, to show how he loves you and will always protect you.

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson drabble