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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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purplegrapevines · 7 months

Text

Good Girl

Pairing: dom!Vi x fem!cellmate!sub!reader

Content: edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, praise, degradation, size kink, manhandling, spanking, hair pulling, thigh riding, grinding, fingering, face grabbing, humiliation, oral, overstimulation

Word count: 3.5k

You don’t know how you ended up here. One minute, you’re dealing some shimmer like you always do, and the next, you’re here in these cold, metal handcuffs.

The guard grabs your shoulder to keep you walking, and you push back against his hand, only wanting to defy his authority. But in your situation and position, you really had no choice but to obey.

The prison stunk and the gawking eyes of the other prisoners made you uncomfortable as you shuffled past them.

“There’s no empty cells left,” one guard tells the other behind you.

“Just throw her in with the pink bitch,” the other responds, and your head turns in confusion. You’re going to have a cellmate? A “pink bitch?”

“Who?” you ask them, but they ignore you as they drag you across a few more cells. You’re finally stopped in front of one, and you tilt your head to sneak a glance at the inmate inside of it. Will she be your cellmate?

You’re startled by a thump followed by a crack sound, which you notice is your soon-to-be cellmate’s fist pounding into the stone wall.

You could see the bulging muscles of her broad shoulders, the sweat dripping down between the creases. Tattoos adorned her upper back and followed all the way down to her forearms. Who is she?

You’re so mesmerized by watching her that you almost forget that you’re here to be jailed. With… her.

As the gate to the cell opens up, the shadows of the bars cross her back until you can see her better light.

Suddenly, your handcuffs are tugged off by the guards, and you’re shoved in the cell harshly. You struggle to keep your balance as you hear the cell gate slam shut behind you.

You start to soak in that you’re now stuck in jail until your cellmate turns around and looks at you. Beads of sweat slid down her face, and she catches her breath.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks, scrunching her scarred eyebrow. Her short, pink hair covers her eye. That explains the “pink bitch.”

“I’m… your cellmate,” you respond, intimidated by her presence.

“Yeah, I got that. I meant your name,” she corrects.

“O-oh…” you blush and look embarrassed as you tell her your name, and you then ask for hers.

“Vi,” she responds.

“Like your cheek,” you blurt, and your blush deepens when Vi looks you in the eyes for a couple seconds.

“Yeah. Like my cheek,” Vi says. Silence fills the air for a couple seconds, and you both stand in awkwardness. Thankfully, Vi breaks it.

“So, tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing down here?” Your eyes widen at her unexpected statement, and your face becomes hot again.

“W-what?”

“What? Look at you, you’re so small and sweet-lookin’. Are you sure they got the right person?” Vi jokes. You pout, which makes Vi smile.

“Yeah they got the right person,” you confirm, looking away from her and leaning against the wall. Vi sits on the floor near the other side of the cell.

“What did you do then?” Vi asks as she tilts her head, looking genuinely curious.

“Just some minor shit…” you respond. It was totally a lie; dealing shimmer is the worst business you could put yourself in, especially because of shimmer’s dangerous properties and high demand. But the money was too good for you to resist.

“So, ‘minor shit’ is how a cute girl like you ended up in a cell with me, huh?” Vi says.

“Stop it. I’m not cute,” you say with a frown.

Your eyebrows raise as Vi stands up, walking over to you with her hands in her pockets. She stands in front of you, face to face. She’s tall, at least three inches taller than you.

“You are,” she says, “look at you. You don’t look like you belong in a prison like this. You look like a pretty, little Piltie, looking so fragile…” Vi says, looking down slightly, “so delicate.”

You know you don’t look like the average Zaunite. You’re too feminine and sweet-looking compared to the rest of them. Usually, you hate being called small and delicate, but with Vi, you don’t seem to mind. In fact, it’s making your face hot and your palms sweaty, and you can’t understand why.

“Vi…” you start, not knowing how to finish.

“Hm?” Vi asks as she starts to back away, leaving your heart racing with your back against the wall.

“Nothing…” you say. You brush the dust off your pants and sit on the tiny bed awkwardly. Vi sits back down on the floor as she drags her foot across the ground. You take a small glance at her, and you notice the small smirk on her face. What a tease.

“I’m bored,” Vi says, tossing a small pebble out the bars of the cell. You nod, not knowing how to respond.

“How long have you been here?” you ask her.

“A couple years, I think. At some point, I stopped keeping track,” Vi answers.

“Oh… so you must get bored a lot, then. Have you just been by yourself the entire time?”

“Yeah… been just me,” Vi says, looking at the ground. You assume that she’s extremely touch-starved after spending years in solitary.

“So, then, what do you do when you’re bored?

Vi shrugs, “Usually, I just work out. Or punch the walls, you know?” Vi laughs, pointing at the multiple cracks along the stone. You laugh, too.

“So… how did you get those tattoos?” you ask.

“Oh, I there’s a guy that can do ‘em for you. Why? You interested?” Vi asks, looking up at you.

You shake your head, “No, I was just wondering.”

“Oh? You wanna see?” Vi asks.

“I can see them.”

“No. I mean all of them.”

Blush starts to return to your features, “I-it’s alright if you don’t want to-“

“It’s okay,” Vi interrupts, “come closer.” Slightly hesitantly, you step towards her. She stands and begins to reach for the hem of her shirt. You watch patiently.

Slowly, she pulls it off to reveal her hard, toned abs. You have to stop yourself from gawking.

“Like what you see?” Vi asks. Not knowing how to respond, you simply shrug. But your red cheeks answer her question. Vi smiles smugly as she turns around to show off her muscular back.

Gears and wheels follow the back of her arms to her shoulders, and then extend to the rest of her upper back. Whiffs of smoke intertwine with the gears and everything just comes together perfectly.

“Vi… it’s really nice,” you compliment.

“Yeah?” Vi says. Without thinking, you reach out to touch it. Vi jerks flinches lightly with the unexpected contact, but she doesn’t interrupt your exploration.

After a couple seconds or your hand running over the might of her back, you realize what you’re doing. You quickly pull your hand away.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I-”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Vi assures as she turns around to face you. You stop your eyes from looking down at her muscular stomach and instead force yourself to look into her gray eyes.

“You’re so cute,” Vi starts, “especially when you’re nervous and blushing like that.”

“I’m not…” you argue, but Vi shushes you and drags her thumb along your bottom lip. Your breath hitches.

“You are. You’re so cute, I just wanna ruin you until tears are streaming down that pretty face of yours,” Vi says as she inches her face closer to yours. Your eyes widen at the bluntness of her statement.

“Vi… you can’t just say stuff like that. What if the guards catch us?”

“They won’t. The guards are sleeping right now. We’ll be fine,” Vi assures as you feel her breath on your lips. You decide to trust her as you let your lips brush her gently.

Vi grabs your chin and pulls your face towards hers, kissing you passionately. You give up your control and let her tongue explore your mouth. Vi pushes you against the wall and continues to make out with you.

She grab the bottom of your shirt and pulls it over your head, leaving you in your bra. You blush and make an attempt to cover yourself, but Vi holds both your wrists with one hand.

“No. I wanna see it,” she says. She lowers her head to your neck and starts to bite marks into it. She lets go of your wrists, and uses one hand to hold your chin to the side and the other to drag along your chest.

You can’t help but moan when she pulls your bra down to your waist and kisses your breasts. Her mouth wraps around your nipple as you grab her pink hair. Vi doesn’t seem to mind it.

Vi places her knee between your legs and you absentmindedly begin to grind against it. Vi brings it upward and you groan. The guards may not be able to hear you right now, but the other prisoners sure can.

“Shh…” Vi says, “You don’t want everyone to hear you, right? To hear how much of a slut you are just from grinding against my thigh?” Her words surprisingly make you moan. You shake your head, but you wouldn’t really mind it if they did.

She removes her leg from in between yours and you whine in frustration. Before you could protest, Vi grabs your body and throws you over her shoulder like you’re as light as a feather. It turns you on.

She walks over to the small bed without any struggle, and she tosses you onto it. You look up at her with those adorable, innocent eyes, and it drives her feral. She gets on top of you and makes out with you again, but this time it was much less gentle. Your hands tangle through her hair again, and you grab it as if she’s your only lifeline.

Vi’s lips travel down your neck, down your chest, and she starts kissing down your stomach. She finally unclips your bra, and then she surprises you when she licks a stripe all the way from your nipple to your neck.

Vi’s hand starts to reach for the hem of your pants. She sits on her knees between your legs to unbutton them. She takes your ankles and brings them up, allowing her to yank your shoes and pants off. You blush at being exposed like that, and your position with your legs in the air. You try to bend your knees to cover yourself, but Vi holds you still. Even though you’re still wearing your underwear, this feels very embarrassing.

“Vi…” you whine, but Vi pays no attention to it. Instead, she pushes your knees back so that they almost reach your head. You turn away in an attempt to hide your face from her. She doesn’t need to see your red face; this is humiliating enough as it already is.

“Aw, baby, are you shy?” Vi coos, “Hold your knees for me, just like that.” Despite the embarrassment, you obey. And you can’t say you don’t like it.

“Can I take this off?” Vi asks, gesturing to your underwear. You nod.

Vi pulls off your underwear, and she brings it to your knees. You squirm with the thought of how you must look right now. Legs up, knees apart, so fucking exposed, and it’s all for her.

“Aw, look how wet you are. You’re fucking soaked,” Vi teases. You whimper.

Without any warning, Vi pushes her middle finger all the way in and without any struggle. You moan.

Vi begins to slide another one in. This time, you can feel the slight sting from the stretch, but you like it. You subconsciously grind against her hand to push Vi’s fingers in deeper, and Vi chuckles.

“Fuck, you’re so needy, aren’t you? Good girl.” You shamelessly grind against her fingers as your eyes shut and you grip the sheets.

Vi flips then you two around, so she’s lying on the bed and you’re on top of her, your knees on either side of her waist. Her fingers are still in you.

“C’mon. Ride me,” Vi whispers as she pushes your head down to rest on her shoulder.

You moan at her words and start moving your hips again. You adjust yourself to get her fingers to just touch that one spot… but you can’t. You look down at her and see her smug smile. You know she’s avoiding that spot on purpose.

“Vi, fuck, c’mon,” you whine, still trying stimulate your sweet spot.

“What’s the magic word?” she teases, like you’re a child.

“Oh, fuck, please? Please, Vi, please please please…” you moan into her neck.

Vi suddenly curls her fingers in you. She hits the spot perfectly. She continuously rubbed it, giving you no break or chance to breathe.

“Oh my god… Vi… it feels so fucking good, please don’t stop!” You try to match her rhythm, but it was too fast for you. You do the best you can. When her other hand reaches down to rub your clit, you can’t hold your sounds back anymore. Fuck it if the other prisoners hear you. They can hear how good Vi is making you feel…

“Vi- I’m cumming,” you tell her, mouth agape and expression blissed out.

Suddenly, Vi pulls her fingers out of you takes her other hand away from your clit.

“No, no no no no…” you cry, as you attempt to grind against her, not wanting to lose your high. A tear of frustration falls down your cheek and Vi loves it.

“Aw, did my girl wanna cum?” You sniffle and nod.

“Please, please let me. I can’t take it,” you beg.

“But you look so adorable like this, crying into my neck,” Vi says, tilting your head up so she can wipe your tears away.

“Please…” you beg with desperation. Vi moves your body so that your knees are on either side of her right thigh.

“C’mon. Ride me properly, then,” she says. You whimper and begin moving your hips. The rough fabric of her pants against your swollen clit feels so good, and you try to match the pace Vi was going at earlier, but you can’t do it.

You cry out in annoyance, and you look up at Vi with those wet eyelashes and swollen lips.

“Vi, please, help me?” you ask. Vi shakes her head.

“You can do it. C’mon. Ride my thigh like the slut you are,” Vi says, grabbing your hair and pulling it back. You place your hands on her biceps and use it as leverage.

With each motion of your hips, Vi brings her leg up slightly to help you. Her hand is still in your hair, yanking and tugging on it whenever she feels like it. It hurts your scalp, but it feels so good.

“H-help…” you moan out. And, this time, Vi complies. She reaches down and rubs your clit while you ride her.

“Don’t cum without my permission,” Vi warns, and you nod in response.

In just a minute or two, you could feel your orgasm creep into your body again.

“Vi, gotta cum, please?” you ask her nicely.

“No,” Vi says. Plain and simple. You cry out in need as you continue riding her and Vi keeps rubbing your clit.

“Why?” you whine. Tears fall down your face as you struggle to hold it, and Vi smiles at the sight.

“Because I said so. Be a good girl for me,” Vi says. You want to, you really do. But you just can’t hold it anymore.

Just as you’re about to cum, Vi pulls her hand away and places her hands on your hips to halt their movement. You try to fight against her, but she’s too strong. No no no no…

You start to actually cry this time, not just the soft mewling like before. Vi yanks your hair, making you look upwards.

“Were you just about to cum? Without my permission? You weren’t planning on disobeying me, were you?” Vi says, looking at you angrily.

“‘M sorry, so sorry,” you whimper.

“Bad girl. Told you to hold it, and you didn’t even listen,” Vi hisses. You start to cry more.

“I really tried! I’m really sorry, I did listen!” you try to convince.

“Oh, really? So if I didn’t pull my hand away, you wouldn’t have cum?” Vi asks. You sniffle and stay silent which answered her question. Vi sighs.

“I’m so sorry, Vi, please,” you say in desperation. Vi grabs your face harshly and squishes your cheeks together. You try to apologize again, but it comes out in gibberish.

“Fucking slut can’t listen to fucking instructions,” Vi says. Her other hand reaches down to slap your ass. You moan in both pain and pleasure.

“M-more…” you moan, not even realizing what you said until Vi lets go of your face raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? You want more?” she says with a smirk. She brings her hand down on your ass over and over again, causing you grab onto her shoulders. You moan her name as more tears drip down your face.

“Such a dumb slut. Crying from a few spanks. But, fuck, you look so fucking pretty like this,” Vi whispers into your ear. She continues with her hard hits, making you squirm on top of her. She holds you down easily with one arm.

She doesn’t stop until red hot handprints litter your ass.

“You look so beautiful right now…” Vi tell you.

You sniffle, “Please, wanna cum now, I can’t take this anymore!”

“Aw, poor baby,” Vi says, stroking your hair, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts, Vi. Please? Please help me?” you ask her nicely.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Vi says as she pushes you onto the bed and gets on top of you.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” she says. You obey. Vi kisses down your body until she reaches your dripping pussy. She gently places a peck on your clit, causing you to back your hips up against her face. Vi laughs at your desperation.

Finally, she licks a stripe up your slit and circles her tongue around your clit.

“Oh, fuck, Vi, it’s so good,” you moan.

Vi eats you out like there’s no tomorrow. Her tongue fucks deep into you and her nose nudges against your swollen clit.

“You taste so fucking sweet. I love it,” she whispers into your pussy. The slight vibration from her talking makes you go feral.

From all the edging you experienced prior, it doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge. Her lips sucking your clit and her strong hands holding your thighs was too much for you to handle.

“Vi, I need to cum, please, can I cum?” you whimper. For a second, you’re worried she’ll deny you again. But instead, she hums and nods between your legs.

You let go with a scream. This is the most intense orgasm you've ever had. You see stars and your legs shake around Vi’s head.

Vi doesn’t stop. She continues lapping up your juices as they drip down her chin. You make an attempt to push her head away, the sensitivity being too much, but she stays put until she gets every last drop.

You finally get a chance to breathe when she pulls away, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, and smirking at the sight of you.

Vi brushes your sweaty hair our of your face and coos at you.

“So good for me. Good girl,” she says. You nuzzle into her neck as you start to drift off. Vi gently puts your underwear back on for you and drapes the blanket over the two of you.

“Thank you…” you whisper. She slowly drags her fingers down your arm.

“Hey?” she asks. You hum in response.

“How’d you get in here?” Vi asks, “You never told me.”

“I… dealt some drugs,” you respond.

“Oh? So it really is just minor shit. I thought you were hiding something,” Vi laughs. You laugh too.

“Yeah, just some shimmer,” you admit. Vi stops laughing for a second and her eyes widen.

“You’re kidding,” she says, stunned.

“I’m not,” you chuckle.

“You dealt fucking shimmer? That’s fucking crazy. I didn’t know you were capable of that shit,” Vi replies, sounding impressed.

“Yeah, well, I got caught, so…”

“Well, you know, if you didn’t you wouldn’t have had the best orgasm of your life,” Vi smirks. You nod in agreement.

You yawn and your eyes began to close. You rest your face comfortably in her neck, and she looks down at you in adoration.

“My good girl…”

#vi x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #vi fanfic #vi league of legends #vi x fem reader #vi x you #vi smut #sub!reader #dom!vi #dom!character #vi tag #vi arcane #arcane #vi

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riki-dazed · 26 days

Text

jake accidentally stumbles upon you and your boyfriend, riki, getting busy inside a practice room

!! NSFW !! pure smutty filth😭· wc: 1053 · requested

Riki's hand wrapped itself around the front of your neck, his fingers pushed upwards at your chin as he forced your gaze to meet his in the mirror. His breath hot against your ear, erotic sounds slipped past your lips as you took in the image before you. He continued to rut into you from behind, the sight of his desperation alone had your knees wanting to buckle but the grip Riki had on you ensured your body stayed upright for him. The image reflecting back at your boyfriend through the mirror had his mind in a complete daze, you looked so explicitly delicious to him. So shamelessly desperate for him to completely ruin you as you panted Riki beside his face, and boy did he ruin you.

You had just awoken from a lengthy nap on one of the sofas in another room, all you wanted to do was check if your boyfriend was done with his solo practice session, he had been going for hours on end. Being pushed up against the mirror in the practice room was the last situation you thought you'd find yourself in at three in the morning, but you found no reason to complain about it.

"My needy baby," You choked out between rugged moans, your eyes still burning into his through the mirror. "Couldn't even- even wait until we got home,"

He groaned at your words, his thrusts becoming faster and harder as his grip around your neck tightened ever so slightly. He was a complete and utter vocal, loud mess. It was just how you liked having him, dangerously needy.

"Need to taste y-you so bad," Riki groaned, his hands swiftly spun your figure around, a hushed gasp escaped your mouth as you had suddenly found your back being pushed against the cool mirror.

Your eyes scanned down his torso as you took a moment to admire the way his damp tank top clung to his glistening skin, your gaze settling upon his hand and how it was pumping at his girthy length. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, the sounds of his pleasure was music to your ears.

Riki dropped onto his knees in front of your fucked-out figure, his siren-like eyes had almost rolled into the back of his head at the sight of your dripping core inches away from his drooling, open mouth. The poor boy was hypnotized by you. His free hand wrapped itself around the back of one of your soft thighs, right under your ass. He proceeded to pull you into his face hungrily. Riki didn't waste another second as he began relishing in all of your juices, your jaw falling open at the intensity of the feeling. Both of your hands found their way into his hair as you pulled his head closer into you, you were seeing stars. He was always so good at eating you out.

He hummed against your clit, his tongue dominating every inch of you, "Tastes so good,"

Riki continued his actions as your gaze suddenly fell upon the door to the practice room, a wicked smile found its way across your lips at the realization. You definitely remembered shutting it completely closed behind you earlier, yet it was now left slightly ajar. You let another moan escape your lips, one slightly louder this time, perhaps on purpose.

The knot within your stomach grew as a tightness, in which engulfed your chest, began to make its appearance also. You tapped at Riki's shoulders, urging the boy to stand up. You assumed he must've been close too. You were tired, you didn't want to leave a mess behind on the wooden flooring that would need cleaning up. His tall figure stood up, a hint of confusion played behind his eyes as he looked down at you. His red, plump lips parted, chin glistening with remnants of your liquids. You pulled at his tank, his face ending up not even a full inch away from yours.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke against his wet lips, "Baby, can you cum inside me? Please,"

"Fucking hell," Riki completely crumbled before you as his lips engulfed yours, the innocent tone behind your voice had sent his mind, and dick, into overdrive.

With his tongue fighting against yours, he pushed himself back into your dripping, overly sensitive core. He couldn't even get a single thrust in before he began to twitch inside of you, his climax had also triggered your own.

Riki held you close to his body as he filled you up, cries of pure pleasure continuously escaped his mouth between grunts. Your eyes peeked over his shoulder as you began to come down from your own high. Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of Riki's neck as you continued observing the entry, one of your eyebrows raised, you noticed how the door was suddenly closed shut again.

"It's almost four, we should get going," You spoke quietly as you escaped Riki's grip, he nodded in agreement before he pulled his sweats up, you checked your outfit in the mirror.

Riki let out a hushed gasp as he pulled you through the door behind him, his hand in yours. He stopped in his tracks.

"Hyung..?"

The both of you were met by a quiet, flustered Jake, who stood with his back against the wall beside the door. His cheeks were flushed, the obvious shade of pink that covered his skin had caused a small smile to find its way onto your face.

"I-I thought you were at the dorm," The flustered boy stumbled over his words, "I'm sorry,"

"Instead of watching next time, just ask us to join," A hint of playfulness could be heard behind your voice, your words had caused Jake's breath to hitch. The poor boy wasn't completely sure if you were joking or not.

Your boyfriend's eyes widened at your comment, though, he couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle as he shook his head. He loved how much of a little shit you were too.

"There's cameras out here," You added, whispering towards Jake's direction. You looked back at the door to the practice room briefly, and then at his groin. "You should probably go take care of yourself in there."

#enhypen smut #niki smut #riki smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen hard hours #enha #niki imagines #riki imagines #enha x reader #enhypen scenarios #riki-dazed #riki-dazed requests

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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What’s In a Name?

Summary: Bradley really loves the way you say his name. At the grocery store. At the bar. In his bed.

Warnings: fuff, and so much smut. Minors DNI

Length: 9K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(This is a one-shot for my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

Bradley loved hearing you say his name.

He’d gone almost two years without hearing it. Back when he was ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ to you. Back when you weren’t sure how you would fit into the life he had built in San Diego when you had moved there for a promotion. Now he made it a priority to show you just how seamlessly your lives fit together, to remind you just how right you were for each other.

There were times when he still couldn’t believe that he was able to have you so entirely. You went from being just his closest childhood friend to being his everything. And now that he had you there was nothing he liked more than the sound of his name coming from your lips.

He loved hearing it every chance he could.

He’d never come so hard has he had the first time he’d heard you chanting his name over and over again as he’d fucked you in his bed. Your hair had been a riot on his pillow, your lips swollen from the attention he’d given them with his own. He’d just barely gotten you over the edge before he’d followed, so overwhelmed by your sweet voice so needy and breathy in his ear.

BradleyBradleyBradley

He had even changed his contact information in your phone from ‘Rooster’ to ‘Bradley’ one lazy Sunday afternoon when you had been dozing on his chest, adding a little sparkly heart next to it for good measure. In general, he wasn’t much of an emoji user, but he thought you might find it cute when you discovered it. He was very pleased with himself months later when he realized you’d never changed it back, pink sparkly heart and all.

He loved hearing you say his name at the grocery store.

He had gone off to find his favorite brand of protein powder, the store had recently rearranged their health food section and he could never remember where it was stocked. He didn’t want to drag you around on the scavenger hunt, especially when he knew you’d rather be doing anything else than grocery shopping.

Once he had it, he’d tried a few different aisles before finding you standing near the baking things and spices, he would have recognized your curves in those jeans anywhere.

You were chatting away with an elderly woman like you were a pair of old friends. It didn’t surprise him, since you’d always been the type that strangers had gravitated towards, your warm energy apparent to who crossed paths with you.

Walking up to you, he put the powder in the cart with the items you had accumulated while he had been wandering the same three aisles over and over again before he found what he was looking for near the bottom shelf.

“Bradley!” you greeted turning towards him beaming, your smile pure sunshine, before cheerily spinning back to the older woman, “See, I knew he’d find us eventually.”

“And he’s just as handsome as you said,” your new friend replied, giving him the once over.

“Yes, he is. Very handsome and very tall,” you told her with a teasing lilt in your tone, glancing back over your shoulder to send him a wink.

He’d happily be objectified by anyone you wanted, including elderly women wearing fuzzy purple sweaters, just as long as it meant you were bragging about him to them. That they knew he was yours, and you were his.

“How can me and my six-foot-two-inch self be of assistance to you ladies?” he asked, putting on his most winning smile. It couldn’t be said that he wouldn’t commit to a bit when the opportunity was presented.

“Can you reach Ruth a couple of those containers of Hungarian paprika, please?” you asked him while pointing to the red and green tins on the top shelf.

He was glad you had waited for him. They were so pushed back that there’s no way you would have been able to reach them on your own without climbing on the bottom shelf for a boost.

Safety first and all that, but also, he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see the way your shirt would have ridden up your back. The dimples at the base of your spine were for his eyes only.

“Of course, I am at your service,” he pressed a quick kiss to your temple before stepping around the cart to grab the spice for the older woman.

“Oh, and then maybe one for us too, Bradley. I’ve never tried making Hungarian Goulash before. You’ve made it sound so good, that now I think I have to.”

“If you want to make it, mine is the number one reviewed recipe for the dish on AllRecipes,” Ruth boasted, there was no hiding the pride in her voice.

He hands Ruth the tins he had grabbed, and passes the other one to you to add to the collection in the shopping cart.

“But what I left out is that I always use this specific brand of paprika, and that I make mine with half pork and half beef. I save that tidbit for friends and family, I couldn’t just give all of my secrets away to the internet people.”

That had you laughing, “So sneaky, I love it! Thank you for sharing your secrets with us. Sounds like we know what we’re having for dinner tonight.”

You were already opening pulling the recipe up on your phone for later.

“I’m looking forward to it, especially since we know the tricks of the trade now.”

His eyes catch on the overflowing hand basket resting near the older woman’s worn Birkenstock mules. It looked heavy, almost like she didn’t originally plan on getting as many things as she ended up with.

“Can I carry that for you? Or if you have more shopping to do, I would be happy to go and get a cart for you,” he asks, gesturing to her overloaded basket.

“Oh no, those were the last things on my list,” Ruth replies, waving off his offer, “My youngest daughter is having her 50th birthday and the whole family is having a get together. I thought doubling my recipe would be fine, but I decided last minute to triple it.”

She bends down to reach for it, but he beats her to it. His mom raised him right.

“No, ma’am, I insist.” He’s pretty sure he catches you checking out his ass when he stands back up, “I’ll be right back, sweet girl. Stay out of trouble.”

He holds out his other arm for Ruth to take so he can escort her to the front of the store to pay.

“I don’t find trouble, it always seems to find me,” you joked.

“I believe that,” chimes Ruth.

He turns back to get a look at you, and sees you bringing your hand up to your forehead to mimic a full swoon.

He just smiles and shakes his head at you and your antics. Such a brat.

He helps Ruth at the check-out unloading the basket onto the conveyer belt, and then carries her packed grocery bags to her car getting them settled in her trunk.

Once they’ve parted ways, he heads back inside to find you.

You’re standing in front of the cooler with all the dips and fresh salsas, your head cocked to the side as you deliberate your choices.

What he also notices as he makes his way to you is that you’ve caught the attention of another man, one who should be paying more attention to his bagged lettuce instead of eyeing his girlfriend.

Sneaking up behind you, he wraps his arms around your middle lifting you up off the ground.

“Bradley! Oh my god, seriously?” He can’t help but laugh at how startled you are, he’s pretty sure if you were wearing pearls you’d be clutching them right now.

“Here I thought you were a gentleman, helping sweet Ruth with her groceries. It’s rude to sneak up on innocent and unsuspecting women,” you protest trying to twist out of his arms once he has set you back down.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” he settles his hands on your hips pulling you back to his chest, letting his fingers slide through your belt loops, before lowering his voice, “Unsuspecting, maybe. But innocent? There wasn’t anything innocent the blowjob you gave me in the Bronco outside the Hard Deck last night.”

He knows the shiver that goes through your body isn’t from the cold case you are both standing in front of.

Looking over to his left, he sees the man who was checking you out putting down the bag of spinach in his hands. And he is hit with a feeling of smug satisfaction watching as the guy quickly wheels his empty cart out of the section completely.

“No getting handsy by the hummus, Bradley,” you tut, still set on giving him the cold shoulder, but the way you lean back against him gives you away, “Should we get that lemon beet kind again?”

“Whatever you want, kid,” he murmured against your neck. “Plus, the word on the street is that you think I’m handsome, so that’s got to count for something.”

When you pull away from him this time, he lets you go. Getting a glimpse of the skin above the top of your jeans as you reach up to grab the square container of hummus.

You set it in the cart looking back at him as you toss your hair over your shoulder, before primly stating, “Oh, and Bradley, if you’re going to quote me I do believe I said you were very handsome.”

And with that final word, you push off with the cart meandering to towards the fruit section, the sensual sway of your hips he knows is just for him.

He especially loved the way your voice sounded when you’d just woken up, when his name was one of the first words out of your mouth to start a new day.

There was nothing Bradley liked better than the nights you spent together in the same bed. It didn’t matter if it was his place or yours, just as long as he was able to wake up to find you warm and tucked away under his arm.

“G’morning Bradley,” you’d whisper, voice soft and sleepy, a little raspy from disuse, as you turned to nestle closer burrowing your face in his neck. He knew you liked a gentle wake up, and he was more than happy to trail his fingers along your back until you woke up a bit more.

He was always up before you, his internal alarm clock permanently altered from his time in the Navy. For as much as you claimed to be a morning person, you were always the one snoozing yours in favor for spending a few more minutes in bed. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to learn about you, and he liked being the one who got to share those intimately domestic moments with you.

The only surefire way to get you out of bed and moving on those mornings was the suggestion of hot coffee-- that or the promise of his mouth.

He loved the way you said his name when you were surprised.

When he’d gone to that furniture store you liked, his only plans were to find a new larger dresser for his bedroom. He had claimed he needed more space for his stuff, but really, he wanted there to be more room for you to keep your things at his place.

The home stylist at the store not only helped him pick out a new dresser he thought you’d approve of, but also convinced him to also purchase the matching king-sized canopy bed frame and set of nightstands.

He was told the mood was “cozy mid-century chic”, whatever that meant.

Bradley knows he runs hot, you’ve told him enough times that he’s like a furnace. So when the stylist showed him the cloudlike and breathable comforter along with the 800-thread count white cotton sheets, he had them add that to his collection too.

You still wouldn’t move in with him, but he was working on it. He knew he’d reel you in soon enough. And if it took a payment plan, so be it.

Although, he could only blame himself for the new lamps and giant rug he also purchased. He’d gotten a little swept up in the salesperson’s enthusiasm.

Hopefully that guy got commission, he deserved every dollar.

It had hurt a bit when he swiped his credit card, but it was worth it to hear the way you said his name when you saw it all for the first time after it had been delivered and assembled.

“Oh my god, Bradley!” you laughed, “I thought you said you were just getting a new dresser. Did you buy the whole store?”

“What can I say? The salesperson was very good at his job, sweet girl,” he was trying to not let his leg bounce as he waited for you to say more. A little nervous now that he’d gone overboard and missed the mark, “Do you like it?”

“It’s absolutely perfect, Bradley,” you gushed as you slowly made your way around the room taking it all in. “It’s warm, it’s classic, it’s cozy. It feels like you. You’re going to have a hard time getting me to leave now, I love it in here.”

That was all he wanted.

He felt all the tension leave his body, grinning as he watched you sit down on the bed running your hand over the soft deep green duvet. It had become his favorite color the second he’d seen you in that green dress the night at the seaside restaurant when he’d told you how he felt about you.

“So, do you want to help me break it in?” he asked, pushing off from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and sauntered towards you.

The way you slowly reclined back on the bed, your lips turned up in a mischievous smile was an answer in itself.

He loved the sound of you saying his name at the Hard Deck.

Your voice was so familiar to him that he could pick it out anywhere. He was so attuned to the way you said his name that he could be in a conversation with someone in the noisy bar, but his ears would perk up if you said his name in a passing comment.

It was like he was hearing his friends talk with one ear, while the other was always listening for you.

He could be with Mav catching up and chatting about the new plane he was working on, until:

“Yeah, I could use another one, let me see if Bradley needs one really quick and then I’ll go up with you.”

And then he would find himself standing next to you at the bar.

He could be playing around of nine-ball with Hangman, until:

“No, you’re kidding me! There’s no way you caught Coyote doing that, has Bradley heard this one before? Oh my god, you have to tell him.”

And then he would find himself abandoning his cue on the pool table.

“What the fuck, Bradshaw? You can’t just quit because I’m kicking your ass,” Jake would shout at him as he made his way towards you.

After all, you’d said his name and now he was curious.

He could be at the jukebox trying to find something better to put on than whatever terrible song Fanboy had picked, until:

“Oh! Bradley knows how to play that one, let’s see if we can bribe him to go perform it. I doubt we’ll have to try very hard, he’s such a little show off.”

And then he would find himself seated at the piano.

To everyone else he was ‘Rooster’, ‘Bradshaw’, ‘Lieutenant’, and soon to be ‘Lieutenant Commander’.

To you he was Bradley.

Seeing Bradley seated at the piano was a normal sight for you.

Since being permanently stationed in San Diego, he’d had all of the things from his storage locker shipped over, including his Dad’s old upright. He liked to play in the evening to decompress after his day and you liked to watch.

There was something about the way his large fingers moved over the keys so gracefully that was always so mesmerizing to you.

You still remembered how embarrassed he would get all those times when your moms would beg him to put on an impromptu piano recital. Usually fueled by a couple too many glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, you realized later on.

Your mom and Carole had definitely been the “Wine Moms” at the baseball and tennis games they’d sat through in support of you and Bradley.

He would get a little sulky in the way that all self-conscious teens got, but he could never hold out for very long before pulling out the wooden piano bench. Bradley wasn’t one to purposefully disappoint his mom, their relationship special in the way that only a single parent and an only child could understand.

Once he realized it was a good way to get noticed by the girls in high school, he’d been quick to change his tune. And now it was clear he reveled the attention it got him when he sat down and started tapping out a carefree riff before launching into a song, all preening posturing and smug smiles.

You were usually right next to Bradley when he put on a show, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, always one to want a front row seat to see him in action.

Tonight the bar was a bit more packed than usual. It took a little longer to move around, and a little longer for Penny to make your drink since you had opted for something slightly more complicated than a beer.

Slowly, but surely, you wove your way through the crowd. Careful to avoid any stray elbows to avoid jostling your full drink as you made your way back to your friends where they were gathered around the ancient upright. You were nearly there when a burly man stepped around you, giving you a clear view of Bradley playing.

And you were stopped short by the picture in front of you.

The performance he was currently putting on at the Hard Deck was different than anything he did at his own home. His leg bouncing in tempo as he shimmied perched on the piano bench, like it’s a struggle for him to be contained to one spot.

He was captivating in the way that he commanded the room.

Maybe it was the way the way the muscles of his forearms were flexing as his fingers were precisely flying over the discolored keys.

Maybe it was the way the light sheen of sweat was collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Or maybe it was the way the veins were standing out against his neck, the way the thick tendon that ran along his throat had you transfixed as he threw his head back to sing at the top of his lungs.

His sunglasses were sliding down his nose as his head bobbed between glancing down at his hands and scanning the room. He smiled when his eyes found yours over the top of his aviators. Your hand tightened around the glass in your hand, the condensation dripping down your wrist as you stood there and watched.

You weren’t sure if it was your imagination or the tequila you’d been sipping on all night, but it seemed like he was working the keys of the piano a little harder, a little faster as he held your gaze.

And then his tongue was slipping out. Just a bit, and just for you.

Thankfully no one could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat over the sound of everyone in the bar singing along. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on.

The intensity of Bradley’s heated gaze, the way his body was moving, the way you wanted to crawl in his lap and lick the taut line of his neck and taste the salt of his skin right there in front of everyone.

You probably looked as desperate as you were feeling, because his easygoing smile turned more knowing every second your eyes stayed locked.

“I’ll be right back,” you said to no one in particular as you abandoned your spicy margarita on the nearest surface to make your escape.

You felt like you were about to vibrate out of your skin.

It was easier to slipping away to the bathroom than had been trying to reach Bradley in front of the stage, needing a moment to yourself out of his heady orbit.

Locking the door behind you, you lean against the worn wood that was littered with stickers that had been collected and brought back from around the world. You try breathing in and out a few times, the way you’ve learned to do at your expensive yoga classes, in an attempt to slow down the rapid pounding in your chest. Actively trying to not think about the way he looked at you.

There was no question in your mind that you suffered from an incurable Bradley kink. Now that you could let yourself revel in all sorts of unfriendly thoughts about him, everything he did was a turn on for you.

You had a sneaking suspicion that he might have one too. His eyes always a got a bit more heated, and his hands would grip you a little tighter when you said it.

You knew that if you were to slip your fingers past the waistband of the dainty lace underwear you had just bought that you would find yourself wet.

And for a moment, you’re tempted to do just that. To let your fingers skim up your thigh, along the scalloped edge of the panties you’d bought specifically with Bradley in mind, to think of him as you slide your fingers inside of yourself.

You’re feeling so high-strung that you know it wouldn’t take long to come. It wouldn’t be the first time you would have used the bathroom at the Hard Deck to get off.

Your hand is halfway under your sundress, when you hear the chanting:

Roo-ster! Roo-ster! Roo-ster!

In your mind’s eye, you can picture him standing behind the piano doing his version of a touchdown dance.

You’ve teased him about it before, calling him a “slutty little songbird”, which he didn’t deny. He thrives off the attention, and you can’t say you mind watching him do that sexy little shimmy he is so fond of.

You also don’t mind helping him find other ways to work off the post-performance high.

Knowing that he will probably be looking for you now that he’s done, you smooth down the skirt of your dress with shaky hands and make your way to the sink.

Standing in front of the dingy mirror, you can see just how much a wreck your appearance actually is. Your cheeks look warm, your lips are slightly swollen from Penny’s special spicy margarita mix, and your eyes have that certain wild gleam in them that only Bradley brings out in you.

You turn the cold tap on, and stick your wrists under the running water. Hoping the cool water on your pulse points will help ease the heat that is spreading under your skin.

While the chanting has stopped now, you can still hear the lively sounds of the packed bar. Figuring it’s alright to leave the safe confines of the tiny bathroom, you turn off the water and dry your hands, determined to not let anyone see just how riled up you were.

You’re barely five steps outside of the bathroom, when a strong arm wraps around your waist.

“Hey, kid.”

And just like that your heart is racing out of control again. His woodsy smell paired with the faint hit of sweat has your brain going fuzzy.

“You doin’ ok?” he rasps against the shell of your ear. He has you pulled against his warm, broad chest and you can feel the echoes of his question reverberate throughout your whole body.

You pull out of his grasp to turn and face him, taking a small step backwards towards the wall.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Everything is fine,” you ramble, nodding your head as you try to avoid looking in his honey brown eyes.

“You sure about that?” he asks taking a step towards you, which has you retreating another one back. “Thought I should check on you since you disappeared there for a bit.”

“Just you know,” you trail off briefly glancing at him and gesturing pathetically towards the bathroom like that explains your clearly unusual behavior.

“Mm-hmm, sure,” he allows, his head tilting to the side as he observes you.

You know the exact moment when he realizes what’s going on by the way his cheek twitches as he tries to control the wolfish smile he is fighting back. And you’re suddenly feeling very much like his prey when he presses forward again. This time when you step back you feel the wall against your back as he crowds into your space.

“We should probably go back,” you stutter out when he cages you in with one hand above your head.

“Maybe,” he muses, tracing his thumb along your lower lip, “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s got you so ruffled?”

The way he is looking at you, the way he feels against you, it’s all too much.

“Bradley.”

You don’t know what you were trying to sound like when you said his name, but there’s no missing the neediness in your voice.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. He takes your hand in his, guiding you to his zipper, letting you feel him through his jeans. “You got me all worked up too, sweet girl.”

The sound you make is lands somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he has you leading the way up to the bar, using your body to hide his hard on as he pays. Not even bothering to wave goodbye to your group of friends as he hustles you to the Bronco.

He definitely broke the speed limit and a couple minor traffic laws on the drive back trying to get you home to his place.

You had looked so flushed when he had been pounding away at the keys of the upright at the Hard Deck, and you had dashed away abandoning your freshly made drink. He might have sped up the tempo to wrap it up faster so that he could check on you, worried for a moment that you might have caught a bug or food poisoning or something.

That was until he caught you outside of the bathroom, and saw just how flustered you’d been and he knew.

It took everything in him not to push you back into the tiny bathroom and have his way with you right then and there. He was hit with an image bending you over the sink, and showing you just how good you looked coming around his cock.

However, a hot and dirty quickie at the Hard Deck wouldn’t have been enough for him.

He knew exactly how he wanted you: flustered, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

So yeah, he floored the gas pedal needing to feel your body under his as soon as possible. And it didn’t hurt that it probably cleared out some of the engine build up in the Bronco along the way either.

He pressed you against the door the second you’d gotten inside, letting you rock your hips against his thigh as he sucked along the curve of your collarbone. Your hands coming up to tug at the curls at the top of his head.

“U-upstairs,” you gasp when he grazes his teeth along the swell of your breast.

You didn’t need to tell him twice.

He lifts you up, and your legs wrap around him immediately. It had taken all of his will power not to slip his hands up your frilly dress at the Hard Deck. He loved any chance to he got to get his hands on your ass.

He almost misses the first step going up the stairs when you drag your hot mouth along his neck.

“Wait, wait,” you pant in his ear, “Put me down.”

“It’s fine, I got you,” he promises as he tightens his grip on you.

You pull away and shake your head at him, “I don’t want either of us to end up in the Emergency Room for a sex related accident. Could you imagine? Jake would never let us live it down, and Nat would be worse.”

“It’d be worth it though,” he winks at you.

“You say that now, until you’re stuck in a neck brace unable to fly or have sex,” you admonish jokingly, stroking the side of his throat with the scars he earned from that night at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party.

“Yeah, but you could still ride me. The way I see it, it’s a win-win either way,” he chuckles at the exasperated way you roll your eyes.

“You’re handsome, but I don’t think even you could pull off the color of those hospital gowns,” you quip with a quick peck to his lips, “Now, hands off the goods.”

Giving your ass one more squeeze, he lets you slide down his body. He may not have his hands on you anymore, but it doesn’t stop him from admiring your figure as you bound up the stairs in front of him.

He stops short at the threshold of his bedroom at the sight of you pulling your dress over your head. Of all your soft skin on display for him.

There were times he still couldn’t believe he got to have you like this.

How did he think it could have ever just been a friendship with you?

He liked how comfortable you were in this space with him, liked how perfectly your things fit in with his.

He liked knowing that one of the pillows on the bed smelled like you.

He liked knowing that if he went in the bathroom he would find your expensive shampoo and conditioner in there next to his.

He liked knowing that if he opened the drawer on one of the nightstands that he would find your lip balm, your lavender lotion, a vibrator from your place that had found a home here, and a notebook and pen in case you needed to remember to do something because you didn’t like having your phone in bed.

What he currently liked most about his bedroom was the way your dress was decorating the floor, and the way you were kneeling on his bed like a vision.

You were wearing a matching pale pink lace set he’d never seen before. Your skin was peeking through the floral embroidery of the sheer mesh in an all too enticing way.

You were his sweet girl.

“Come here,” you beckon, inching closer to the edge of the wooden canopy bed.

He’s not one to deny you, he’d willingly go wherever you wanted. He saunters in towards you slowly, putting on a bit of a show for you as he comes to stand before you.

“I like this, it’s pretty,” he hums as he runs his knuckles slowly over the edge of the embroidered cups, enjoying the way you lean further into him.

Cupping your jaw, he pulls you forward for a lingering kiss. Being this close to you, the smell of your musky floral perfume is intensifying thumping of his pulse.

Your hands slide under his Hawaiian print shirt, helping to ease it off his body and then tossing it somewhere near your dress. You ruck the tank he has underneath up his chest and he reaches down to pull it over his head as your hands run over the ridges of his abs.

His body has been humming for yours since the bar. The hurried encounter at the door barely managed to take any of the edge off, and he was still just as starved for you as he had been when he saw you holding that drink looking at him like he was something to be devoured.

His left hand moves from where it’s been settled on the flare of your hip and up your back to the clasp of your pretty bra.

He’s been letting you take the lead, but you’re not nearly naked enough for him.

“Hands to yourself,” you mutter as you work to get his belt undone, “I’m trying to get you naked you here.”

Part of him wants to take his time with you, to take you apart slowly and see what new sounds he can uncover. The other part of him wants to have you holding onto that rich espresso colored headboard while he shows you just how much he appreciates you wearing this little set just for him.

“You like my hands,” he murmurs against your neck. He is quick to unhook the clasp of your bra with one hand, easing it down your arms and flinging it behind him.

Yet another offering to his bedroom floor.

And then he is trailing his fingers down your soft stomach, dipping them under the band of your matching panties.

He groans when he discovers you’re already wet for him. He finds your clit, and teases you there making gentle figure-eights with his finger, “Got yourself so worked up you couldn’t even stick around for the end of the damn song, huh?”

You’re quick to abandon your crusade against his favorite pair of jeans, leaving him unbuckled and half unzipped, as you circle your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

“God, your fingers feel so much better than mine,” you sigh against his mouth as he licks his lips before bringing them back to yours.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more.

He slips his tongue in your mouth taking advantage of your gasp as his circles against you turn from teasing to purposeful. The kiss turning messy with need. With want.

“I know another part of my body that you like just as much,” he murmurs, as he palms your ass.

Your hand starts moving down his chest, down his stomach.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsks, catching your tricky hand before it has a chance to reach his cock, bringing it back up to rest on his shoulder.

“I want to touch you,” you whisper against the spot below his ear that you know drives him wild.

“I’m getting you off right now,” he says firmly as he speeds up his motions against your clit.

It doesn’t take long before he has you panting against his mouth, your hips rocking against his fingers.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “Let me give you what you want.”

He knows from the sweet whimpers you’re making that you’re close, he breaks away from your kiss to hold your half-lidded gaze as you come for him.

He will never get tired of watching you fall apart.

He will never get tired of seeing you satisfied and spread across his bed.

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he shucks off his jeans and his briefs, releasing a small groan as his cock springs free. He’s been hard for you since he cornered you by the bathroom at the bar. Sending you a lazy-half smile at the way your eyes take him in standing there above you as he slowly pumps himself.

He knows he looks good, it’s literally his job to keep his body in peak condition.

But you make him feel good.

No one knows him better than you, makes him laugh harder than you, makes him feel as important as you do. Your appreciative gaze of his body is just another bonus to the many ways you make him feel good about himself.

He climbs on the bed, settling between the cradle of your open thighs.

“You gonna tell me what got you so keyed up, sweet girl?” he asks in-between scattering kisses across your cheeks.

“That’s classified,” you retort breathlessly as you wrap your legs around him.

“Is it now?” he grinned, kissing along the delicate line of your jaw. He’ll let you keep your secret for now, he had other more pressing questions he wanted answers to, “Did you touch yourself when you ran off to the bathroom?”

“No,” you whine, as he pulls your nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.

“Did you think about it? Think about me?”

He wanted to know. He needed to know that he drove you just as crazy as you did him.

“Yes,” you gasped out in confession when he moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, “I’m always thinking about you.”

Good.

“Already know how you feel about my fingers,” he rasps as he kisses down your stomach, making sure to place one on the little tattoo near your hipbone. “Should I let you have my mouth too, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe working your hands into the curls at the top of his head, “Please.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he agrees mouthing at the last little bit of lace still on your body.

He pulls off your pretty pink panties and throws them somewhere behind him, probably landing on that overpriced dresser he bought for you.

He loved that he was the one who got to see you like this. Your hair was a mess from his hands, you pupils were blown wide, and your flushed chest rising and falling with rapid shallow breaths.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says reverently before licking a firm stripe parting you open.

It’s not long before his mouth is meticulously working between your thighs, his tongue gliding over your clit, one of your legs thrown over his shoulder.

He’s sliding his finger into you and then another, making room in your body, determined to pull a second orgasm from you.

You’re so wet for him, so soft for him, so sweet for him.

He knows what you like. He’s studied your body just as thoroughly he did the aircraft manuals he was given, if not more so.

“More,” you moan, your hips rolling from the stimulation, “I need more.”

Pulling away from you with one more broad lick of his tongue, he leans his head against the thigh that’s thrown over his shoulder, watching your face as he pushes another finger into you. The way you’re pressing your heel into the muscles of his back has him fighting the urge to grind himself into the bed.

“You look so good like this,” he praises, taking in the way you writhe against the three fingers he has buried deep in you, as he squeezes you hip with his other hand.

He’s seen a lot of unforgettable sights from the cockpit of his plane, but nothing will ever compete with the way you look as you chase your release. Your eyes fighting to say open as you watch him watching you.

“Oh my god,” you exhale when he hits that spot inside of you, your leg starting to tremble with the need, “Please, I’m so close.”

Using his fingers and mouth in tandem, he works you with same pressure, the same pace. He feels you clenching around his fingers a few moments later, your back arching in pleasure as you fly apart for him.

Teasing his lips and mustache along the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, as you come down from your high, before kissing his way back up your body. Your greedy hands reaching out for him, pulling him to your mouth. He feeds you his tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

The way you’re whimpering beneath him is making him feel out of control.

“I want you inside me.”

Wrapping his large hand around his cock, he drags it through your folds few times before he finally lines himself up at your center.

And then he’s finally pushing into you, savoring the way you cling to him as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Rooster,” you say with a sigh against his lips.

He starts to move when your hips start to shift seeking more friction. And then he’s rocking into you with the smooth, deep strokes that never fail to make your toes curl. Once, twice, three times.

“What’d you say?” he asks, as he slows the pace down.

Your hands are in his hair, and you tug on the strands when he pulls away to look at you. Your lips are swollen, but he knows that look in your eye. He can already can guess what you’re going to respond with before your lips have even formed the word.

“R-ooster.”

The word comes out a stutter, as he roughly thrusts into you again.

He doesn’t know why he’s bothered asking, he should have known that you were going to make him work for the one thing he wants to hear.

“Say my name.”

He was so gone for you, he wants you riled up and feeling the same way as him. He wants his neighbors to hear you saying his name. Wants them to know that he’s the one making you feel so good.

“Lieutenant,” you taunt, not bother trying to hide the self-satisfied on your face.

If he wasn’t going to get what he wanted then neither were you.

He pulls out of you completely, flipping you over on the forest green duvet. His hand coming down on your ass, a quick sharp slap.

The sting of it has you gasping into your forearms pillowed underneath your head, and your cunt fluttering around nothing.

Leaning forward, he kisses down the length of your spine admiring the way the goosebumps pebble on your skin now.

“Say my name,” he coaxes again.

He tugs your hips up and licks deeply into you once before pulling away. Watching smugly on his knees at the way your hips tilt up after him, your legs spreading further apart as you offer more of yourself to him.

“Bradshaw,” you counter.

Closer, but still not what he wants to hear.

His open hand connects on the other side of your perfect ass, earning him a sweet moan from you.

Grasping his cock to slide it through your wetness, he stops just short of where he knows you want to feel it the most.

He wants you dazed. He wants you desperate for him.

You’ve always been the type to take a mile when you’re given an inch. And he intends to only let you have exactly eight inches tonight.

“You want this cock?” he rasps.

He knows he’s got you where he wants you when you don’t reply with another bratty remark, only desperately nodding ‘yes’ into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You’re slow to lift your head up to look back at him, your eyes are a little glazed over as you take him in. You look as wrecked as he feels. He can only imagine what he looks like through your eyes. He can feel the sweat collecting at his temples, can feel the flush that’s working its way down his neck to his chest.

“You know what I wanna hear, kid.”

That makes you whine.

“Oh, you wanna be my sweet girl now, huh?” he asks, squeezing your hips.

He wants to taste that lower lip, the one that’s pouting prettily at him as you nod for him again. Even now as you writhe against him you’re still trying to get your own way, still trying to get him to break first.

“Well, you know what to do,” he feels like barely hanging on now, “Say. My. Name.”

He punctuates each word with the rock of his hips, his cock just grazing your clit. Enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the stimulation that you want.

“Bradley!” you cry out.

He’s inside of you before you’ve even gotten the second syllable out.

Groaning your name, he throws his head back at the sensation of finally being surrounded by you again.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he tries to ask teasingly, but it comes out more a rumble than anything else. “My sweet girl.”

Your pussy squeezes him harder at the praise as you roll your hips up more to better accept his body in yours. He loved the view he had, loved seeing how wet you were for him, loved seeing just how well he filled you, loved seeing you stretched around him.

He leaned forward a bit, brushing back your hair off your face to see you better. The change in angle making you gasp as you fisted the material beneath you.

“Say it again,” he prompts, smoothing a hand down your back, “I wanna hear you say it again.”

His name.

The only thing he wanted running through your mind.

His name.

The only thing he wants coming from your mouth, other than the sweet whimpers and moans he is pulling from you.

“Bradley,” you indulge, his name sounding something between a plead and a purr.

Without disrupting the pace he’s set, he nudges your knees further apart. Wrapping an arm around your middle to pull you up against his chest, needing to be closer to you.

“Go on, let them hear who is making you feel this good,” he grunts roughly in your ear.

“Brad-ley,” the staccato of his name punctuated by his steady thrusts against you. Your hand digging into his hip.

Interlocking his fingers with yours, he lifts your arm to hook it around the back of his neck, holding you to him there. Turning your head, you greedily mouth at the column of his throat, frenzied and wet.

You were it for him, there was no question about it. And he would happily prove to you in all the ways he could think of that he was it for you too. There’s nothing he wants more than to make you feel good. To please you. To give you the best you’ve ever had.

His other hand slides up from where he had been squeezing your waist to get his hand on your breast. He loves how perfectly you fit in his hand.

He meets you for a kiss, sloppy and perfect, messy and deep.

He can’t control the sounds of satisfaction escaping him as you move together, feeding off of your sighs and moans. Your hands are grabbing onto whatever part of him is in reach: his hair, his thigh, his arm.

Enjoying the drag of his cock as he moves in you, he lets himself get lost in the sensation of being connected with you like this. The room filled with the sounds of labored breathing, of your bodies coming together, of you saying his name over and over again.

You’re starting to tremble in his arms, he’s pretty sure your legs would have given out by now if it were for the way he was holding you against him. Your nails biting into the back of his neck, as he slowly drags a hand down your body to where you’re connected.

“I love this,” you murmur into the base of this throat.

He doesn’t know if you realized you said it out loud, doesn’t know if you meant to say it out loud, but he loves hearing it all the same.

“God, you feel so good,” he can feel the sensation building at the base of his spine, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

The way his circles his fingers against your clit has you gasping into his waiting mouth.

“Bradley, please.”

He’d give you anything. He’d give you everything.

“C’mon then,” he insisted hoarsely, pressing his forehead against the side of your temple, “Say it for me one more time, sweet girl.”

He speeds up his fingers, set on ending you. Working your body with the precision that he handles his sixty-five million dollar aircraft. Determined to give you what you’re so sweetly asking for.

And it’s his name you gasp as you come undone.

Your is head thrown back against his shoulder as you spasm around his cock, your hips rolling as you are lost to the pleasure of your orgasm. He kisses your neck and lightens the pressure of his fingers on your clit, wanting to extend it out for you as much as possible, enjoying the tiny pulsing aftershocks he is drawing from you.

It’s only when he feels you go boneless that he starts to lose his own composure. His breathing going completely ragged and hips snapping erratically against you as he chases his own climax.

A few more powerful strokes later he follows you coming hard with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he spills in you.

Somehow, he manages to get you both sprawled out horizontal on the bed without him completely crushing you.

“Holy shit,” he curses flinging an arm over his eyes, his other reaching out to touch whatever part of you he can find. There’s nothing but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch his breath.

Time gets away from him as he runs his hand up and down your back. It could have been a few minutes or an hour when he feels the bed move, and you slipping out of his grasp as you get up to use the bathroom.

“No, stay,” he attempts to pull you back to him, feeling the need to have you close again as he tries to settle back into his body. You’re seemingly recovering much quicker than he is at the moment.

“I won’t even be gone two minutes, you can time me.” He can hear the soft affection in your voice.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he grouses halfheartedly lifting up the arm with his watch on. He manages to raise his head up in time to get a glimpse of your naked figure as you close the door behind you.

True to your word, you are back one minute and forty-seven seconds later. He opens his arms to you as you climb back on his bed and drape yourself half over him.

Much better.

He feels you shift yourself up a few moments later to press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder.

“I just want to try something,” you murmur before making your way along the bend of his collarbone.

Up the side of his neck.

He feels his pulse start to kick up again as you work your way up the line of his jaw. He tilts his head away to give you more access to his skin there, basking in the feel of your lips on his body.

“Bradley,” you whisper lightly against the shell of his ear.

The guttural groan that rips through him surprises him. He feels his cock twitch against his thigh, a visceral reaction to you.

And then you’re giggling.

“I knew it,” you get out between fits of laughter, “You’ve got a name kink.”

Your face pure joy at your discovery. He’ll happily let you tease him for the rest of his life as long as you keep looking at him like that.

“Nah, I got a you kink,” he says as he hauls you on top of him.

“I’m already planning on letting you have your way with me again tonight, Bradley,” you proudly declare, propping yourself up on his chest, smiling down at him. “You don’t have to try so hard, I’m a sure thing.”

If he wasn’t already gone for you, the cheeky wink you sent him would have sealed the deal.

He feels himself already starting to get hard again, one of the perks of being a part of the 1%.

“Sweet girl, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he chuckles, running his hands up your back, “And I remember someone once telling me that they give as good as they get, so I won’t be dialing it in anytime soon.”

And then he is pulling you down for a kiss.

Later that night when you’re riding him so good, you get him chanting your name.

Over, and over, and over again.

A couple hours later, he watches you slip away into slumber, satisfied and spent beneath the fluffy comforter on the bed.

His bed. Your bed. Their bed.

It was just as much yours as it was his, regardless of whether you were officially living together yet or not. He bought it for you, after all.

Even on the occasional nights you spent apart, you were still everywhere.

He liked the plants you had picked to fill out the empty spaces in the room. He liked that the right side of the bed was your side of the bed. That those were your books on the nightstand, the bookmarks peeking out waiting for you to pick up where you left off.

There was a trinket tray for your jewelry on top of the dresser right next to the to the leather watch display box that you had gotten him for his birthday. And the drawers of that well-made, but overpriced wooden dresser were filling up with more and more of your things, just like he had hoped for when he got it.

He smiled to himself as he gently stroked your hair. The last time he was at your place, he had accidentally seen the letter from your apartment’s leasing office confirming your decision to not renew your rental agreement and your move out date. He hadn’t told you he knew, he’d rather hear it from you anyways.

You would always be worth the wait.

The packages that were delivered to the door?

His, for now, until you moved in a couple months from now.

The name signed on the lease for the condo?

His, for now, until you were ready to ink yours down on a deed for a new home with him.

The little velvet box tucked away in the back corner of his nightstand?

His, for now, but always meant to be yours.

You can thank @mak-32 and her photo set of Rooster at the piano for this fic!

Also, many many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse for being my go-to gal! I wouldn’t have been brave enough to post the smut if she hadn’t given me the all-caps go ahead!

Here’s Bradley’s bedroom, if you’re curious!

You can check my other fics out here!

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @starryeyedstories

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic

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pandoraslxna · 1 year

Text

Sinner and saint

Miles Quaritch x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.4k

Summary: Quaritch captured the oldest daughter of Jake Sully, making it his personal goal to draw every bit of useful information out of her.

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, non-con, captivity / kidnapping, age + size difference, degradation kink, p in v, semi public sex, mirror sex, rough sex, corruption kink, mentions of blood, oral, blackmailing, unprotected sex

Notes: I wrote this instead of sleeping lol I just feel like there aren’t enough Quaritch fics so I had to do my part

Sully‘s daughter, the oldest of his spawn, put on a tough fight. But in the end, she sacrificed her freedom in order to protect her younger siblings, letting herself get captured by the RDA‘s recombinant squad. Quaritch himself was the one to throw her into a cell and he made it his personal goal to draw every useful information out of her, regarding Sully and his Clans location. The method he chose to do this, though, was entirely up to him. General Ardmore said so herself.

The cell is quiet, save for the sound of your own breathing and the faint noises coming from behind the door. By now you already know the gait of his footsteps, the heavy combat boots against the concrete floor. The door then slides open and an entirely too big recomb enters the room, bending over to even fit through the door frame.

Sully‘s brat was young. Not so young he should’ve felt creeped out by himself when his eyes lingered on your body for longer than necessary. But still a tad younger than him. He’s surprised you were even able to put on such a fight with his squad. Your limbs are long and thin, no board muscles in sight and he could’ve sworn your face wasn’t the one of a warrior, too pure and innocent looking. But apparently that’s what you were, a warrior, given the smeared remnants of war paint on your face and the way you easily put down three recombinants with your primitive weapons only. Parts of your hair are braided in intricate patterns, with colorful beads and feathers just like your mothers –the woman of Quaritch’s nightmares.

Big, scared eyes look up at him from under the table that’s standing in the middle of the room, trying your absolute most to look intimidating. How cute, he thinks to himself with a grin on his face. You’re left almost entirely bare before him, just the little loincloth and top your people usually wore, were covering your privat parts. A delightful sight. Nothing else but a few leaves and strings of leather. No wonder you’re shivering.

Like some cornered animal, you dart out from under your hiding place, once Quaritch approaches you, scrambling across the floor and towards the door. But you don’t make it very far. "Easy, Kitty," the recomb scoffs as he scoops you up like you weight no more than just a feather to him, before he roughly pins you down over the table. The metal is cold against the bare skin of your front and you hiss, struggling against the big blue hand on your back that’s holding you down without any effort.

"I just wanna ask you some questions and if you‘ll be a good girl and answer them, you’re free to go, back to your cute little family. Doesn’t that sound good?" It sounded more than just good, if you were being honest. But still, you weren’t even tempted to answer any of them. You weren’t that stupid and whatever those questions were about, you wouldn’t give them anything. You wouldn’t betray your family, even if it meant dying in this cell. You wouldn’t say a word– not over your dead body.

"Where’s your daddy, hm? Tell me where he hides, kitty and I’ll let you go", he tells you. You can feel the warmth of his entirely too tall body caging you in, invading your personal space. With every passing second, he inches closer to you, the hand on your back holding you down with more force, until you have trouble breathing.

"I will slice your throat, demon", you hiss at him in Na’vi and your tail whips around, almost hitting his face in the process. With a grunt, Quaritch wraps his hand around the base of your tail and tugs. It’s not too hard and not necessarily painful but still, you yelp and all your movements stop immediately. You feel frozen in place.

“You know, cupcake", he lowers his face closer to yours, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear, making it twitch, "Capturing you really was something. Had me stressed the whole night and now three of my men are dead. The least you could do, is answer my questions." One of his boots swiftly kicks your legs apart and your eyes widen in fear.

"I have to have some way to deal with all this stress…”, he says lowly and your stomach twists when he tugs on your tail again and your back instinctively arches like a cat. “Lucky for both of us, I usually handle it by fucking.” He emphasizes the last word with a groan as he grinds his growing erections against your bottom.

"Well, do yourself a favor and fuck off then!", you hiss the words like venom but the recomb only laughs at your bitterness. "You really are your daddys girl, aren’t you?" You bite your tongue, preventing yourself from spitting any more insults at him and possibly getting into more danger than you already were.

"Well, better answer my question then. Or didn’t daddy teach you any manners, cupcake?"

Behind your back you hear the buckle of a belt being opened and then a zipper and your blood runs cold. For a moment, you think about lying. But would he even believe you? What if this was a trick? What if they already knew where your family was hiding? What if they managed to capture one of your siblings too and just wanted to see if your answers match? Lying could mean the death of either one of you, if that was the case. "Fine", the Colonel sighs when you don’t reply, "If you don’t want to make any noise, I‘ll have to draw them out of you."

You can feel his hand, the one that was holding your tail, lower itself to prod at your bottom. Expertly, he flips your loincloth to the side, exposing your privat parts to him. With a gasp, you want to push yourself off the table but his other hand still holds you firm and secure, bend over the table. "Now would you look at that", Quaritch muses, "What a pretty little pussy."

He moves back a little, just enough to unfasten his belt and zipper before he pulls his cock out, hard and leaking pre-cum from its tip.

"One last chance, kitty", you hear him chuckle behind you and then feel the head of his cock, thick and warm, nudge between your soft lips, prodding at your entrance. "Tell me where he is. Where is Jake Sully?" But stubborn as you were, your lips were still sealed shut.

Quaritch doesn’t know what outcome he would’ve preferred here –you giving him the much needed information about Sullys hideout or you keeping you mouth shut and letting him fuck you, until you were nothing more than just a cute little mess below him. He slowly starts to believe that it’s the latter.

A sick and twisted part of him wonders if you’re still a virgin, such an innocent, pure looking thing. Did you have a boyfriend back home? Would daddy even allow you to bring boys home? Quaritch wonders if you’re curious, did you kiss and touch them behind your fathers back or were you an obedient little girl? Never giving them much more than a quick glance to the sway of your hips or a tight hug that was nothing more than friendly to you, but gave them enough feel of your soft chest pressed against them so they could rub one out once they’re alone. God, he wants nothing more than to corrupt you. He can’t stop the grin spreading on his face when he imagines the look on Sullys face once he finds out about this– the man he wants dead ruining his perfect, precious daughter. Makes this whole thing even better.

With that thought in mind, Quaritch pushes the tip of his length past your entrance. He goes slow at first –he’s not a monster. He lets your body adjust to his size, letting his cock sink into the tight heat of your cunt and it’s rewarded with a high pitched whine falling from your plumb lips. The one way mirror in front of the table you were sprawled out on gives him a nice view of your face, eyes squeezed shut and with your lower lip sucked in between sharp teeth. When his pubic bone finally meets the swell of your ass, he groans and let’s his head fall back against his neck. For a moment he stays like this, just relishing in the feeling of your soft walls around his cock.

When he looks back down at you again, he finds you looking at him from over your shoulder. Your eyes are sharp and there’s a hint of desperation now as they glare back at him.

Quaritchs hand finds the plump swell of your ass and he caresses a cheek before giving it a hard smack. A sharp inhale of air is drawn in between your lips and you whine at the stinging pain cursing through your body. Your eyes go dark as you continue to look back at him.

The recomb tilts his head slightly, grinning, before returning his hands to your hips. He pulls out ever so slowly and for a moment, your gaze softens as if you believed it would be over so quickly. But then he’s ramming forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt. You hiss, stifling the scream that is threatening to escape from your lips and you grab at the edges of the table as you endure the waves of pleasure and pain as they come.

You hear a mixture of a moan and a laugh coming from behind you and you shut your eyes tightly once he begins to fuck into to you in long, hard strokes, hammering your quivering hole.

It doesn’t take long for you to moan, not able to hold back your bodies natural responds anymore. Much to Quaritch amusement.

"Where did all your bratty attitude go, hm kitty? Not so bitchy anymore, now that your cute little pussy is stuffed full of my cock!"

You know you aren’t going to last long. Not with the way he’s thrusting into you, not with the way you’re tightening around his cock, not with the way his balls slap against your clit, hard and rhythmic.

A pressure is building up inside you and you want to suppress it. You don’t want to come, don’t want to give him this satisfaction. But you can’t help it. It’s wrong, yet it feels so, so incredibly good. You clench around his hard cock forcing its way in and out of you and mindlessly, you push back against him, bratty and wanton. You’re rewarded with one of his hands darting to your head and yanking a fistful of your braided hair. Your head whips back violently and you accidentally bite down on the tip of your tongue with one of your canine. The coppery taste of blood floods your mouth and as he forces you to look at yourself in the mirror in front of you.

"See how fucking good you look? That’s much more how I prefer you, fuck yes, takin' me so well, like a good little girl", he groans behind you. Due to the strong thrusts of his hips against yours, the table beneath you begins to squeak and slide forward a few inches.

“T-Too much, 's too much”, you sob, swallowing back the metallic taste that sours your mouth when you feel your orgasm approaching.

He hammers into you and you can feel the pressure mounting as your legs begin to shake. You’re a little more than a trembling, incoherent mess when you cum, the walls of your pussy bearing down around his cock. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you would have collapsed on the table below you if Quaritch didn’t have such a firm grip on your hair and hip.

"There we go, cupcake, there we fucking go."

He continues to fuck you, his thrusts have become painfully hard, too deep for your comfort, the tip of his cock teasing your cervix.

You let your head rest against the table, the side of your face pressed against the cool tabletop and the table’s edge digs into your abdomen and the tops of your thighs. You moan as he keeps his rhythm up, loud and shameless, squirming underneath him from overstimulation.

"Gonna cum, fuck kitty, you’re so tight I can’t help it. Gonna cum in that sweet little pussy, yeah?", he moans and you can feel his hands squeeze around your hips so hard, you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. Quaritch buries himself deep inside you one last time and then it fills you– warm and sticky cum filling you up to the brim, with a groan falling from his lips. His strong grip finally goes slack after a few shuddering breaths.

You feel like a warm puddle of goo when he pulls out of you. You’re still slick between your legs and feel his cum dribble out of you when he steps back. With his thumbs, the Colonel spreads your lips apart and hums at the sight of more of his release seeping out of your overused cunt.

You barely register it at first, the way he moves, circles the table like a shadow until he comes to an halt with his crotch right in front of your face. Your eyes widen when you find that he’s hard –again or still? You don’t know. Doesn’t really matter though. "Alright, cupcake, let me ask you again", with his hand he gives a slow, almost threatening, stroke of his cock right in front of your face, "Where is he? Where is Sully hiding?" Your eyes narrow as you look up at him, a glare contorting your otherwise soft features and you shake your head -no. You wouldn’t tell him anything.

Quaritch only chuckles at that. Oh he would have his sweet, sweet fun with you, you just didn’t know it yet. You swallow thickly when he steps closer.

"Open wide, kitty", he nudges the tip of his cock on your soft lips, his thumb prying your mouth open before he swipes his digit over your sharp canine. "And be careful with those. I‘ll be nice once. Then I won’t."

#avatar 2 #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #awow #atwow #colonel quaritch x reader smut #colonel quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles quaritch #quaritch smut #recom quaritch #avatar quaritch #quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader #･｡ﾟ☆: *my works* :☆ﾟ.

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reputationmunson · 1 year

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Bad Habit | Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader

[3.0k]

Summary: your brother’s friend has a bad habit of sneaking into your bedroom

Content: Smut (18+ ONLY), AFAB!reader, r is Steve’s adopted sister and is a year younger than him, making out, grinding, oral/fingering (f receiving), virgin!reader, some pet names, fluff, two dummies in love <3

part two

The first time Eddie climbed through your bedroom window, you thought he was just trying to scare you. You had no idea you’d end that night in Eddie Munson’s lap desperately making out and barely giving in to the need for air.

Now, it’s a part of your nightly routine. It’s pretty simple.

Step 1: Get ready for bed

Step 2: Say goodnight to your naive brother

Step 3: Triple check that your door is locked and let in the cute boy patiently waiting outside your window

Sneaking around with Eddie made you feel alive. He sees you for who you really are.

Everyone else sees you as the quiet, innocent girl that occupies the corner of a room while your eyes wander, observing the people around you. While there’s nothing wrong with those things, Eddie knew you were much more than that and he was the perfect person to help you break out of your shell.

People expect you to be just like your brother. But when you turned out to be the complete opposite, no one paid much attention to you. As much as you loved Steve, being in his shadow made you feel invisible.

You weren’t much of a partier and you weren’t… friendly like Steve was. And by friendly you meant a little slutty. It was hard to get out there and make more friends let alone date anybody.

You were so drawn to Eddie from the moment you met him and ever since that first night he snuck into your room, you felt your walls start to come down and he’s the only person that doesn’t make that scary.

——————————————————————————

Three taps on your window alert you that Eddie’s outside. You scurry over to let him in and greet him with a quick peck on the lips. Your arms wrap around his neck and his hands find your waist, pulling you a step closer to him.

“Hey, gorgeous” He says with his signature smirk on his face.

“Hi’ You reply, shyly. Even though Eddie helps you out of your comfort zone, you can’t help but avert eye contact whenever he compliments you.

Every time you do, Eddie puts his hand under your chin and gently tilts your head up. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl” He loves making you bashful almost as much as he loves kissing you.

Eddie guides you to your bed, never breaking eye contact. He falls backwards and pulls you down with him, making you giggle.

“I missed you” He whispers quietly, like he’s scared you’ll hear him being vulnerable. “I missed you, too.” Usually you would make a joke like “yeah it’s been a whole twenty-four hours. How did you survive?” But you always miss him.

You can’t exactly tell him you wish you could shrink yourself to three inches tall so you can live in his pocket and never be apart, so you cover it up with humor. But right now, there’s nothing funny about the way your heart is beating because of the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re the only girl in the world.

Eddie likes to tease you. He thinks it’s cute that you whine when he doesn’t immediately give you what you want. He knows it's a little mean but it makes him feel wanted and being wanted by you is the best thing he’s ever experienced.

His nose brushes yours and you think he’s going to put his lips on yours, but instead he gives you a soft kiss on your cheek. Then on your forehead. And one on both corners of your mouth.

“Eddiieeee” You whine and he chuckles. “What, baby?” He asks like he has no clue what he’s doing to you. So as expected, you do your signature pouty face and he has to act like it doesn’t affect him as much as it actually does.

You decide you can’t wait anymore. You take his face in your hands and lean in to get what you’ve been waiting for all day.

His hand comes up to grab a hold of your wrist. You worry he's going to remove your hands from his face, but he just keeps his hand on your wrist, rubbing it lovingly with his thumb. His other hand goes to rest on your lower back, sliding under your shirt. The feeling of his big hand on the bare skin of your back sends shivers down your spine.

Eddie’s tongue swipes across your bottom and you open your mouth to grant him access. He brings the hand that’s holding your wrist to where his other hand rests on your lower back. Both hands begin to slide up your back, making your shirt ride up all the way to your shoulder blades.

You let out a small gasp, suddenly feeling exposed. “You okay?” Eddie asks, worried by your reaction to your shirt being halfway off. You hum in response and find his lips again.

For the past month, you and Eddie hadn’t gone further than messily making out and clothed dry humping. It’s not that you don’t want to go further. You want nothing more than to rip his clothes off and then have him do the same to you, but you worry that your lack of experience would turn him off.

It was no secret to Eddie that you were a virgin. Considering he was your first kiss since Bobby Hopkins in the third grade and how nervous you got around him, it wasn’t that hard to piece together. Of course he wants to be your first time, but doesn't want to pressure you. If things never went any further and he had to go home and jerk off after every makeout session, he would happily do so.

After a while, you pull back for air and roll off of Eddie, laying on your side to look at him. He rolls on his side to look at you. “Hi” He speaks up, scooting closer to you. “Hi” You place a kiss on the tip of his nose. His hand comes up to rest on your hip and you cover his hand with your own.

Neither of you speak a word. You just stare into each other's eyes with lovesick smiles on your faces and soak in each other's presence. These nights are your favorite. Everytime you all hang out in a group, you ache to touch him. It’s difficult to keep your hands off one another, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make if it means keeping your brother from killing Eddie.

Eddie’s about to say something but before he can, there’s a knock at your door. “y/n?’’ Steve calls out your name from the other side of your bedroom door. Your eyes widen and both of you freeze. Steve says your name again and you know he isn’t going away until you respond.

“Y-yeah?” You barely get out. Steve tries to open your door and sounds offended when it doesn’t open. “Why the hell is your door locked?” He’s still wiggling the doorknob. “Because I’m allowed to lock it. How can I help you?” Eddie snorts at this and you glare at him.

“Do you have my walkman?” You can’t help but roll your eyes at this question. “No, I don’t have your walkman. I have my own walkman that I got on the same Christmas that you got yours. I’ll help you look in the morning.” You hear Steve huff dramatically and walk away.

“I’m gonna put on some music” You say before rolling off your bed. “Play my favorite?” Eddie requests. You were going to play his favorite anyway.

Once the music starts, you turn around and see Eddie playing air guitar. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t move from where you're standing. You just stay put and watch him act like a total idiot. He’d act like an idiot for the rest of his life if it meant making you smile.

He finishes his air guitar solo and looks over at you and tilts his head. “C'mere,” He says, motioning for you to sit next to him.

Once you get to the bed, you crawl towards him and straddle his lap. Feeling hot and bothered, you place your hands on his shoulders and start to grind down on him. Eddie lets out a sigh and throws his head back to rest on your headboard.

Feeling bold, you take his chin in your hand and move his head so he’s looking at you. He puts his hands on your hips and encourages you to move faster.

You can feel him getting hard and you let out a small moan. Eddie puts a hand on the back of your head and pushes you closer to him, capturing you in a breathtaking kiss.

You’re moaning into each other's mouths and it feels so good, but you need more. You pull away from him and take a second to catch your breath, thinking of how you want to word what you’re about to say.

Eddie can tell you want to tell him something. “What is it, baby?” He brings a hand to your face and rubs his thumb back and forth on your cheek. Your heart swells at how well he knows you.

“I was wondering if we could take things a bit further tonight.” You respond and his smile widens. “Hell yeah we can. You sure?” You can’t nod fast enough.

“Lay on your back for me. Don’t be scared to tell me if you want me to stop, kay?”

“Okay” You smile and roll onto your back.

Eddie hovers over you and leans down to give you a quick peck on the lips. Then he starts to kiss down your jaw and to your neck. He starts with light kisses and when he hits the sensitive spot on your neck, he kisses harder. He starts to suck on your sensitive spot, making you moan.

Usually, you both steer clear hickeys to avoid questionings from any of your friends and your brother, especially. But right now, you’re so turned on you can’t find it in yourself to care. You wrap your arms around his back and push his full weight onto you. He licks and kisses at the fresh mark.

“Fuck, that feels nice” You moan out. “Want me to do something even better?” He pulls back and smirks at you. “Please.”

He goes to tug at the hem of your shirt and looks at you for approval. Once you give it to him, he removes your shirt and is pleased to see that you aren’t wearing a bra. He looks up at you and raises his eyebrows. “What? No sane woman wears a bra to bed.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Trust me, I am not complaining.”

He goes back to kissing your neck. His kisses start moving down to your chest and he plants one on each of your breasts before taking one of your nipples in his mouth.

It feels…different, but in the best way possible. “Eddie, that feels so good” You’re trying to keep quiet but you’re feeling things you’ve never felt before.

“Say my name again”

“Do something that will make me say your name again”

You can tell he’s surprised at that.

“Challenge accepted”

He kisses down your stomach and puts his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. At a torturously slow place, he pulls your shorts down and throws them on the floor. “No panties either? Is it my birthday, sweetheart?” You laugh and roll your eyes. “Get back to it, Munson” You say in the most unserious tone ever. “Jeez, okay. Someone’s bossy”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you, uh, take your shirt off too? This feels unfair”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to take off his shirt.

“Maybe your pants too?”

“Anything for you” And he means it.

He stands up to take off his pants. Once they’re off you can see how hard he is and your jaw drops. Your clit throbs at the sight and you involuntarily whine.

Eddie sits on his knees, placing himself in between your legs. “I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” “Eddie, please. Need you” you mewl.

He runs a finger through your folds and groans at how wet you are. “All this for me, baby?”

You nod “Just for you. Always”

“Tell me, pretty girl. Do you ever touch yourself and think of me?” He starts to slowly rub your clit. Your eyes roll back and you slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. “Tell me or I’ll stop” You remove your hand from your mouth and try to keep quiet. “Yes. Every night after you leave”

He starts rubbing your clit a little faster and you start to lose composure. “What do you think about?”

“I think about you touching me. Just like this. Or going down on me. I think about your cock inside me. Fucking me until I can’t take it anymore” You admit. “Hmm. I think we could start to make some of those fantasies realities”

He removes his fingers from your clit and you feel like you’re gonna pass away if he doesn’t make you cum any time soon. “Eddie, please don’t stop. pleasepleaseplease. Touch me again” You feel desperate for begging, but lucky for you, Eddie is even more turned on than before.

He doesn’t say anything. He just lays down between your legs, admiring how wet you are. You’re about to beg some more but then he starts to run his tongue up and down your folds. “Oh my god”

He begins to suck your clit and it feels so fucking good you can’t believe it. Sure, you’ve heard your friends talk about it, but you never would’ve imagined it feeling this good.

Your eyes start to tear up and you look down at Eddie, letting out a moan when you see how much he’s enjoying it.

Your fingers thread through his hair and pull it a little, making him moan into your pussy. You swear you feel the vibrations throughout your entire body. You don’t think it can get any better until Eddie slowly inserts a finger into you. You would have expected it to feel uncomfortable, but there's nothing unpleasant about it. “More, Eds” You plead.

He thinks about teasing you for a second, but he knows how badly you want it. He obliges and inserts another finger, reaching that spot you can never reach on your own.

You can feel the tension building in your stomach and Eddie starts going faster. His fingers are pumping in and out of you and you can hear how wet you are. He’s eating you out like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Eddie can’t help rutting up against the mattress. The way your pussy feels and the noises you make are driving him fucking mad. Both of you swear you’ve died and gone to heaven.

It hits you like a fucking bus. Your back is arching off the bed and you have to cover your face with your pillow because it’s impossible to keep quiet. You’ve never been more thankful that you don’t share a wall with Steve.

Eddie works you through your orgasm and slowly takes his fingers out of you when you're finished. You look lifeless and he can’t help but chuckle at how blissed out you look. He slowly crawls next to you and lays down,

“You alright?” He whispers.

“Well, I feel like I left my body for a second so I would say I’m more than alright.”

“Good. So you had fun?” Eddie sounds insecure. You turn to look at him before you respond.

“Eddie, were you not there? I was losing my mind. I had no idea it could be that good” You give him a well-deserved ego boost and he flashes his million dollar smile. “Okay, your turn.” You say, eagerly. “Don’t worry, babe. I came in my boxer like a goddamn teenager.” His cheeks turn red and you give him a kiss on the cheek. “Next time?” you ask. “Definitely”

You lay your head on his chest and he wraps an arm around you. “Thank you” You say, snuggling as close as possible. “For what?” He starts to rub your back. “Everything. My life’s better with you in it’’ Eddie’s heart nearly bursts. He can’t believe he’s improved your life even a little bit.

“Anything for my girl” He kisses the top of your head. Your lift your head up and look at him with the biggest smile on your face “Your girl?” Eddie tries to play it cool “Yeah, if that’s something you’d be interested in.” You can’t think of anything else you’d rather be. “Only if you agree to be my boyfriend.” “Hm.. can I think about it?” You playfully smack his chest. He grabs your hand and kissed it, looking into your eyes.

“How about you agree to be my girlfriend and I’ll agree to be your boyfriend and everyone’s happy”

“Deal, boyfriend” You can’t resist the urge to kiss him any longer. He hums in appreciation and the kiss goes on longer than intended.

“I should probably get going” He sighs. “Nooooo” you protest, holding on to him tighter. “I know, but I gotta unless you want to risk your overprotective brother finding out I’m here” You know he’s right and you move allowing him to get up. He hands you the clothes thrown on the floor and you both get dressed.

“Maybe I can stay with you tomorrow night? I can tell Steve I’m staying with a friend.” You move to stand in front of Eddie. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He smiles and pulls you in for a hug.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” You nod and he gives you one last kiss.

You watch him climb out of your window and after you shut it, you stare out your window to watch him run out of your yard. He turns around to give you a wave and being the wonderful girlfriend that you are, you decide to flash him. Without hesitation, Eddie lifts his shirt up and flashes you back, causing you to laugh a little too loud.

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is the man you’re going to spend your life with.

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x harrington!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #18+ fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb

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gaysindistress · 4 months

Text

Limits of a Fae Heart - one

All ive been reading is ACOTAR fics for the last 9 days so here’s a lil something for our shadow baby boy Az. two | three | four | five | six

“We’ll take it from here,” a rich smoky voice calls from behind me. The two sentinels shuffles around, nervous with this new arrival and both reach for the swords strapped to their hips. I look over my shoulder to see a shadowy figure emerging from the treeline. From this distance, all I can tell is that it’s a towering form blurred by a vaporous mist that blends in with the darkness around us. A shiver pricks up my spine at the sight of the mist as memories of the King of Hybern’s men chasing me come flooding back. They never spoke to me, only jeering and laughing, so I know that this figure isn’t one of them but the fear still finds a home in my stomach.

My hand itches to reach for the black blade I used to wear but there’s nothing. I have no weapons and am only clothed in a thin white nightgown, making me feel vulnerable in a way that I detest. All I have is my body language and my words so I straighten my back and square my shoulders before turning to face the figure.

“Stop where you are. You are not welcome here,” the taller sentinel shouts to the shadowy figure and it stills a few feet from me.

I can’t see much without the sun but the lightning illuminates enough for me. The first thing I see is the small smirk that plays on parted pink lips, revealing straight white teeth.

“I am welcome anywhere that I please,” that stupidly smooth voice response and my eyes tear away from the lips to meet a pair of stunning hazel eyes that I will never forget. From beneath long lashes, the most soul piercing eyes make me their sole focus. In them green outer rings fade into golden brown pools that reminds me of the trees back home. Something about them warms the freeze that’s set into my body while also setting off every alarm bell inside of my head.

“Leave before we escort you back to your court of nightmares,” the sentinel shouts again but neither the figure nor I acknowledge her.

The figure takes another step towards me so I can see more of him as the sky streaks with more flashes of lightening. My eyes fall to the ground from the bright light and they land on his feet. Black leather boots cling to his legs while leathery scales act as a second skin and protect every inch of his body. He’s wearing Illyrian fighting leathers.

The recognition of my people’s armor stings worse than it did when I was cut down.

His skin is a golden tan, only furthering my suspicion that he’s Illyrian but the massive wings that sprout from his back are the true indicator. I pry my eyes from them and continue to take in every detail as I reach his face. Short dark hair falls over his forehead and curls over his ears as the sharpness of his face becomes too perfect. He is tall and sculpted, honed muscles seem to make up his entire body. Everything about him is too perfect, too sculptured, too attractive. The hair on the back of my neck stands on high alert and I find myself backing away from him without realizing.

The sentinel voice breaks my trance, “Shadowsinger, leave at once.”

His smirk turns into a devastatingly beautiful smile at the mention of his name as his eyes shift over to the men but they find me again within seconds.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Y/N,” he says to me and me alone. Once again a hand is offered to me but this time I want to take it and I almost would have if someone hadn’t seized me from behind. I let out a shout, albeit cracked from being silent so long and struggle against the strong arms that encircle me.

“Quiet, we’re helping you,” a low male voice whispers into my ear.

“Don’t move,” he mutters to me and pulls me further away as the sentinels frantically look between the two Illyrian males and me.

“Hold onto me,” he instructs as he flares his wings out and spins me so we’re chest to chest. This male has the same hazel eyes and tan skin as the other but there’s a roughness to him. He winks at me, no doubt teasing me for staring and then he shoots up into the sky. He takes us high above the island that I must have been buried on and only stops to hover when we are a safe distance away. Below us, the sentinels and the other male are but specks of light and dark.

A flash of lightening strikes close to us and the male holding me curses under his breath. He mutters an apology to me before we’re encased in a cloud of black mist and my knees meet cold stone floors. I tumble out of his arms, gasping for air and gagging all at once. His muffled chuckle makes me more angry than I am sick and I clamor to my feet. Searching for something to use as a weapon, I find a vase on a nearby table and hurdle it at him. He ducks and the other male appears behind him, subsequently being hit with the vase. He’s able to cover his face and it shatters on his forearms, sending shards of clay everywhere.

A third male voice calls out, “I specifically remember telling you to not piss her off, Cassian.”

A shudder races across my body at the sound of his voice. The High Lord of the Night Court comes to stand beside the rough male, Cassian while the other, the one the sentinels called the Shadowsinger brushes off hits of clay.

“I didn’t do anything,” Cassian says with his hands held up in defense and shakes his head. “We willowed here and she probably got sick, hence throwing the vase.”

The High Lord arches a dark brow and turns to the other male, “what about you, Azriel?”

Azriel.

The Shadowsinger. He is name is Azriel.

Now I can see that the black vapor around him are really shadows, twisting and moving around his body. They reach towards me as a hum begins to vibrate in deep inside the void of my chest. Long ago a similar hum lived there but the male it was tied to had done terrible things and destroyed it. The golden warmth that once filled me was stolen when he betrayed me and left me to bleed out on that island.

I narrow my eyes at the shadows and Azriel sucks in a sharp breath, causing them to flinch away. Rhysand glances between us, obviously sensing the internal conflict happening between us and opens his mouth to speak.

“You should’ve left me alone,” I hiss before he can say anything.

Azriel stiffens and Cassian steps closer to him. Rhysand clears his throat and speaks, “we need your help.”

“Whatever trivial matter you’ve gotten yourself tangled in isn’t any of my concern. You should’ve left me alone on that island.”

“You were stuck between…” Rhysand tries again but I interpret him.

“I may have been stuck between this life and the next but at least I wouldn’t have been mates with yet another male who just wants to use me.”

Azriel blinks slowly at me and his jaw tightens at my words. Cassian and Rhysand both draw in sharp breaths. They shoot confused glances to each other before Cassian grabs ahold of Azriel and attempts to drag him away.

Rhysand steps towards me, placing himself between me and his brothers. His voice is quiet and softer than I expected as he asks, “You have a second mate?”

I don’t answer but my fleeting glance to the silent male behind him is enough.

“Impossible,” he mumbles under his breath with a shake of his head. His piercing violet eyes find mine, searching my hallow ones. “That’s impossible.”

#azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #azriel spymaster #spymaster #limits of a fae heart az x reader

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absdoll · 5 months

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abby jerking off her strap while r is fingering their 🐱💕💕

mmm so hot & yummy i love this <3 i’m sorry it’s short , maybe i’ll rewrite it soon ! mwah

abby loves control. while obviously she wants to fuck you, make you take every inch, begging her to ease up while also begging her for more. today she wants to see you all pathetic and needy. putty in her hands.

abby loves watching you totally desperate and aching for her, knowing how badly you wish your fingers filled you up the way her thick strap does. the tall blonde is towering over you as you lie on the bed. she wraps her big hand around her girth, as you whine and moan around your dainty fingers. she begins to stroke her dick. you bring your hand to your mouth, sucking your white slick off your pink painted nails. “how’s it taste baby?“ she taunts, “bet you wish you were sucking that off my cock.” the blonde lets out a small grunt when the base of her strap hits her clit.

your fingers dive into your wet hole again, your sweet nectar leaking down your legs. abby’s got a steady pace going on her silicone member, never taking her eyes off your glistening pussy. the tall blonde throws her head back, the sensation of the constant friction against her needy clit is getting her closer to her peak.

“go faster princess, fuck yourself the way i would fuck you” she huffs through gritted teeth, “cmon baby fucking faster, i know you can do it.” you add another finger, now three hitting up against your g-spot.

“mmm just like thaaat baby, doing so good for me.” abby says shakily, awaiting her release.

as you both continue to fuck yourselves into oblivion, the pit of your stomach starts to feel warm and fuzzy, your vision dizzying. “i’m c-close abs.” you warn her, biting down on your lip as you go cross eyed due to the pleasure.

“hold it in pretty girl, i’m almost there. fuuuuckkk.” abby demands. but the way your fingers are moving, combined with how fucking hot abby looks all flustered and close to her orgasm. she’s vigorously pumping her cock in one hand, the other groping your breasts, twisting your sore nipples.

“i’m gonna c-cum abs ahh-gh i’m c-cumming!” you exclaim in pleasure. abby looks down at you, watching as you release your sweet syrup all over your fingers and palm. with one final jerk of her strap, she’s a blabbering, fucked out mess. “fucking hell baby, ugh uh uhhh fuck!”

you smile up at your girlfriend, “that was so hot abs” you blush. “we’re just getting started doll” she smirks as she flips you over, ass exposed as she lays a loud smack across it. “up on your elbows.”

you brace for her 8 inches to completely destroy you.

a / n : this is rushed i’m sorry :( but hope u nasty sluts still enjoy it hehe ♡ reqs are still open for now btw !

💗 @whore4abby @hersweetheart @enbesbians 💕

#🧸 bee writes ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ ✉️ : reqs #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby anderson

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rizsu · 7 months

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observations with gojo ﾉ height differences.

short reader.

he's tall. like freakishly tall. when he comes over, his legs dangle off the bed. his hands are also huge — its size, lengthwise, being almost as long as a litre bottle. he's aware of his proportions; having lived with them all his life, it never dawned on him that he's a towering giant until he met you. you are short. when standing next to him, you only make up half his height. he thinks it's cute— waking up to you in random shorts and a white tshirt that's swallowing you in its depths.

he likes holding hands, you don't. his idea of hand holding consists of firmly caging your entire hand in his, leaving no room for your blood vessels. most times, when he's feeling funny, he'll throw things on the highest shelf just to mess with you. it's cliché, he knows, but it's funny watching you super jump to reach the top of the fridge. it's also top tier comedy seeing you tiptoe to reach at least his chest when you're taking pics together. you know what isn't funny to him? losing you in a crowd. it scares him how easily you blend in. makes him want to buy you those umbrella hats so he can spot you easily.

tall reader.

all his life he walked among others as the tall, lanky fella with an odd hair colour. this, of course, didn't stop the people from thinking he's attractive. within the group of his glazers, he found himself attracted to the woman whose legs make up a third of her body. maybe you're just wearing heels? wrong. that height is nothing short of natural and trust he's intrigued. what's a fine woman like you doing in the men's section? dumb question, he knows it's because the ladies section doesn't have your shoe size. he just needs a reason to flirt.

he's aware that the height difference isn't much. probably just a three-inches difference at most. however, it tickles something in him. without heels, you reach his chin. with heels, you're as tall as he is. he knows you sometimes think of your height as too manly for your gender. for example, there were times you immediately got sad when his shirt didn't travel down your thigh. instead, its hem sat perfectly on your hip. he didn't truly understand why you were sad — in his head he loved the way his clothes fit you. makes it way easier to sneak in his clothing in your closet. he's a simple man to amuse: once you're in his clothes where he can smell his cologne it's gameover.

#+ rizsu: jujutsu kaisen.#this for the short & tall girlies #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x fem!reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru headcanons

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bloodmoonmuses · 1 month

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sun-faded youth; shimmering potentiality | choi beomgyu

genre: choi beomgyu x reader, childhood friends to lovers, angst (like, wayyy more angsty than I anticipated lol), eventual fluff

wc: 3.2k

warnings: some swearing, mentions of food

summary: one day, after disappearing from your life for three years, beomgyu returns to place in which you grew to love him most: your childhood home.

The sun faded wallpaper of your childhood home would be remembered as the backdrop to your early morning adventures. Clad in your Princess Belle costume and Beomgyu in his Superman cape, the two of you wake to brave the world. Side by side, as always.

You and Beomgyu are alike in every way. You like the same foods (applesauce and goldfish crackers). You like the same TV shows (Spongebob). You like the same activities (drawing and playing make-believe). You like the same time of day (morning). Every Saturday, Beomgyu would come over to your house for breakfast. While your mother made blueberry pancakes, the two of you would craft.

You remember one day in particular, the memory wrinkling at the edges like a withering flower:

Strewn haphazardly across the living room is an array of crafting materials. Crayons, glitter, colorful paper, magazine scraps- it almost resembles a candy shop in how colorful it all is. Beomgyu snatches a glue stick away from you, using it to paste some torn pieces of newspaper to his hodge-podge of an art project. Picking up a pair of scissors, he cuts a few notches out of the top of the paper, making triangular peaks. His little hands can barely hold the scissors. They’re clunky in his grasp.

Despite his small hands, Beomgyu is quite tall for a 6 year old. Your eyes drift to your heights etched into the archway. A red line at age 2: You’re about 3 feet tall. Beomgyu is 3 and a half feet tall. A blue line at 4 years old: You’ve barely grown. Beomgyu has doubled in size. Most recently, there’s only an inch difference in your height. You’re finally catching up to him.

When satisfied with his embellishments, Beomgyu bends the paper and glues the ends together. He holds up his creation gleefully, wearing a huge grin that’s toothy in the best way.

“It’s a crown,” he declares, voice buoyant and as clear as a bell.

“Make me one too!” You demand.

Beomgyu crosses his arms and pouts. “You can’t be a prince!” he says. "I’m a prince.”

You roll your eyes at him. Boys are so simple, as your mom always said. Your best friend was no exception. “I wanna be a Queen, Beomgyu. It’s different.”

“Nuh-Uh!” He shakes his head furiously.

“Yuh-huh!” you contest.

“You’re full of it,” Beomgyu says. He turns away from you, placing the crown on his own head triumphantly.

You talk at his back. “Queens are, like, more better than princes, silly.”

At this, Beomgyu promptly turns back around, still grinning with his pouty lips. In all honesty, arguing was his favorite pastime. He liked seeing you riled up. “Meanie,” he says.

“Stupid,” you retort, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“Nerd.” Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. How princely, you think.

“Loser-”

“Time for breakfast!” your mom calls out from the kitchen.

The memory dissipates, like mist momentarily illuminated by a ray of sunlight only to then disappear into the sloth of a summer day. You try to grasp onto it, but with each passing day it more so resembles a daydream than a lived experience. All you have left is the occasional recounting of your youth with your mother.

Sometimes, you wish you didn’t remember Beomgyu at all.

It’s the summer before your senior year of college. You’re back in the same home you grew up in. Your mother refused to sell the house, even after all these years. In many ways, you’re grateful for this. In others, it makes you angry. Beomgyu hasn’t spoken to you since highschool graduation. It’s been three years. A part of you thought he’d drift back to you eventually. He knew where you lived. He knew where to find you. But he never came.

“Have you heard from Gyu?” Your mother would often ask.

You were never sure where it all went wrong. You loved him as much as you could possibly love someone without literally fusing into their form. Your eyes beheld the same stars as his but saw different constellations. Hearts that once followed the same rhythm were now out of sync. Your love couldn’t scale the distance. It couldn’t withstand the time, or weather the storm of your respective metamorphoses. When the flood passed, the clouds parted and the sun emerged, you weren’t gifted a prophetic rainbow. Instead, you were left with nothing.

“What do you think?” You’d always say, venom lacing your tongue.

Your mother looked at you with softened eyes. “Sore subject?”

“Yeah. Sore subject.”

Regardless of your fluctuating bitterness, being home did bring you comfort to some degree. You liked being shrouded in familiarity. Per the tradition, albeit without Beomgyu, you and your mother are making pancakes. There’s a wordless groove between the two of you, your mother measuring out the ingredients while you mix them accordingly. When the consistency is to your liking, you gently fold blueberries into the batter.

As you’re reaching for a pan, there’s a knock at the door. Well, four knocks. You hear Beomgyu’s voice in your head: A fourth to let you know it’s me.

It can’t be. There’s no way. Last time you checked, Beomgyu wouldn’t be back in town for another week. (Not that you’ve been stalking his socials or anything like that.)

Your mom dusts her hands off on her apron, then walks to answer the door. You remain in the kitchen, stricken with something you’ve never felt before. It feels as though you’re in quicksand, sinking into the floor beneath you.

“Gyuie! My little pumpkin, it’s been so long!” It’s really him. The gleeful timbre of your mother’s voice makes you nauseous. She doesn’t sound like a real person. How she can just pick up where they left off is beyond you. She doesn’t know of the guilt, the shame, the confusion that you’ve been harboring for the past few years. You’re sodden with pain.

When you walk into his line of vision, Beomgyu freezes, but only for a second. “I’m still taller than you,” he says. There’s a smirk dancing on his lips. Typical.

You’re instantly transported to your younger self, so full of admiration for him. Looking up to him- both physically and figuratively. He’s in a black tee and baggy jeans, looking laid back and nonchalant. Except, you know better. His nose is twitching, a tell that he’s actually a bit nervous. He’s grown into his face. His eyes are just as bright as you remember them. You’re happy to see that his spark isn’t gone. Then, that fondness twists into something hot- liquid and molten at the pit of your stomach. You wash away your distorted reverie, stepping back into your body.

You see Beomgyu eye the archway of the living room. The height markings have been painted over.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. It’s all you can bring yourself to say. There’s a bite to your tone, one that you don’t expend much effort concealing, and Beomgyu looks visibly wounded. He quickly recovers, scrunching his nose as he takes your anger on the chin.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to see your mother gathering her belongings. “I’m gonna head to the grocery store. Forgot to get bacon to go with the pancakes.” She grabs her purse and walks to the entryway. “Put the pancake batter in the fridge. Beomgyu, you know you’re always welcome here. Be good, kiddos.”

When she exits, the door slamming with such finality that it rattles your bones, you stand there in silence. No words are exchanged, but his eyes are saying so much. They’re swirling with a mixture of hurt, embarrassment and yearning. You look away.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu says. “I really am.”

You want to speak, but the words never come. Not when you need them most. Regardless, Beomgyu isn’t one to back down. “I wanted to see you. I’ve missed-”

“Don’t,” you say, cutting him off. More silence follows.

Beomgyu pivots. “Is the treehouse still in the backyard?”

“Yeah,” you say carefully. Your voice sounds like it's running away from you. “Haven’t been in it in years.”

“Wanna check it out?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

When you climb into the treehouse, your heart lurches. It’s a time capsule- a snapshot of forgotten dreams and naivete. There’s a dusty toy box, likely rusted shut from lack of use. In the corner is a pile of blankets and pillows. A few chairs are stacked in the far back, and fairy lights are still strung to the ceiling. On the walls are your drawings, fantasies of princes and princesses rendered in waxy crayon. It instantly brings tears to your eyes.

“Needs sweeping,” you say, sniffling.

Beomgyu chuckles. “The queen doesn’t keep her castle clean. Shocker.”

You scoff. “Can’t manage the kingdom on my own.”

“Prince and Queen are very different roles, you know,” Beomgyu jokes back.

“Well, you didn’t want to be my king, clearly.”

Beomgyu again takes your jab in stride, shrugging it off. “Going for jester instead nowadays.”

After exploring the treehouse a bit more, Beomgyu positions the chairs in a triangular formation. He whacks the dust off the blankets, and drapes them over. Then, he climbs under the fort, placing another blanket underneath. He adds some pillows and settles there, motioning for you to join him. You shake your head.

“Oh come on, _______. Get in here.”

“Fine.” You enter the pillow fort and lay on your back next to him.

“Look what I found,” says Beomgyu. From behind him, he takes out a paper crown- the same one from your wistful memory. “Here.” He places the crown on your head and it fits perfectly. As he does so, he looks directly in your eyes, a blush appearing on his cheeks and nose. His hair is slightly damp with sweat. The humid heat of summer drapes over the entire room, intensified by the tiny shelter under which the two of you lay.

“How’s college?” you ask.

“Fine. Soobin stays on my ass, not that I get into much trouble anyway.”

“You’re in a band, right?”

Beomgyu makes a face at you and you flush. You could’ve sworn he told you about the band before he left. He used to talk your ear off about his dreams of joining one. You had seen some pictures on Instagram of Beomgyu and a few of his friends playing shows at random dive bars in their little college town. Now he knows you check his page periodically.

“Stalker.”

“Loser.”

“Wow. Great comeback, stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker.”

“Whatever you say, weirdo.” You smack his arm. “But to answer the question you totally don’t know the answer to; Yes. I’m in a band. You’ll have to meet the guys one day. You won’t believe how tall Kai has gotten. And there’s this guy, Yeonjun- the girls go crazy over him.”

“What about you?” you continue. “Do people go crazy over you?’

“Not anyone I care about.”

You turn on your side to face Beomgyu, your noses so close they almost touch. His hair falls over his eyes, long and floppy. He’s grown so much. You wish you were there to see the bags under his eyes form. To see his smile lines deepen and shoulders grow broader. You subconsciously reach to sweep a few strands of hair out of his eyes, tucking the tendrils behind his ear, and admire his pretty face.

“You actually look more like a prince than a rock star,” you muse.

“Not a rock star. I’m just in a band. Which you already knew.”

“I actually hate you.” Beomgyu laughs, eyes forming half moons.

Your mind is racing. You have so many questions to ask him- questions you thought you’d never get the answers to. He’s here, real and tangible, and you’re terrified that he’s an apparition- that at any moment, you’ll wake up and realize you’ve been dreaming. You try your best to not impose your own wants onto him, but all you can see is the little boy to whom you divulged all your secrets. Now, you want nothing more than to run away from him, as quickly and as far as possible, so that he can feel what you felt so many years ago.

“Why’d you leave without telling me?” The words leave your mouth before you can even register that you’re speaking.

“I’m not good at goodbyes.” Beomgyu attempts to chuckle it off, always trying to confront his shortcomings with some type of levity. His smirk is more like a pained grimace.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” you confess. “You were my best friend, Beomgyu.”

“If you had told me to stay with you, I would’ve in a heartbeat.”

“I wouldn’t have given you an ultimatum. I always knew you wanted to go to a bigger school with more opportunities.” You’re exasperated, pinching your nose bridge in annoyance.

“I know, but if you had even suggested it-”

“Well, I didn’t! I didn’t do anything but support you, Gyu- like I always have! And you punished me for it.”

Unlike your childhood, the memory of Beomgyu leaving is burned onto the back of your eyelids. When you close your eyes, you see it so vividly:

You had just graduated highschool. You and Beomgyu had agreed to meet in your treehouse right after the ceremony. He was the first person you wanted to celebrate with. You biked all the way home, still in your cap and gown, feverishly pedaling down the streets of your neighborhood. The town was ablaze with elation. Music blared in the streets and confetti littered the ground.

When you arrived, you threw your bike to the ground, not even bothering to prop it up on its kickstand. You climbed up into the treehouse, only to find it empty. You checked your phone. No messages from Beomgyu. You figured he had forgotten. You mounted your bike and made your way to Beomgyu’s house a few blocks over. In his bedroom window, you saw a girl caressing his face- similarly to how you would when Beomgyu was sad. She fluttered her lashes at him and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. You recognize the twisting of your gut as jealousy.

When did Beomgyu slip from your grasp? Did he fall in love with her while you fell in love with a hypothetical- shimmering potentiality providing you comfort as you accepted the inevitably of your separation. Three months of summer together, then what? You’d confess your love for him and ruin the near decade of friendship your relationship boasted? It was a risk you weren’t willing to take, so you held the secret close to your chest, to wither away with the rest of your forgotten dreams.

Your vision whites out, fuzzy and blurred. You end up walking your bike home and crying for the rest of the day. In the following weeks, Beomgyu didn’t call, visit or even send you a text.

You tried one more time, the night before you drove up to campus, to see him, knocking on his door four times. His mother answered, looking at you solemnly.

“Hi, Mrs. Choi! Is Beomgyu here?”

“No, he left for school last weekend darling.” she had said. You felt the soft spot in your heart for Bomegyu harden, and walked home in the cold.

Your body jolts back to the present and you realize you might’ve never moved on from this day. Beomgyu shakes you from the thought, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry, _______,” he whispers.

You take the crown off of your head, giving it to Beomgyu. “I… admired you so much back then, even though I’d never admit it,” you say. “I wanted to be just like you. Now we couldn’t be more different.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we can get to know each other as we are now,” Beomgyu suggests. Always hopeful, never one to play the pessimist. It’s one of things you loved about him most. “It’ll be a new adventure for us both.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I admired you too, by the way,” he adds. “I wanted to be as headstrong as you. Do you still draw? Do you still want to be an artist?” Beomgyu looks at you with wild curiosity. It’s like you’re meeting him for the first time all over again.

“Yes, and yes. You thought I was headstrong?”

“You’re the only person who put up with my bullshit. So, yeah. Very headstrong.”

Suddenly, your stomach growls. Loudly. Beomgyu stifles a laugh and asks, “Wanna cook up those pancakes?”

In the kitchen, you wait until bubbles rise to the top and flip the pancakes accordingly. Beomgyu rummages through the fridge, pouring two glasses of orange juice. You sit at the dining table, side by side.

“I have a confession to make,” Beomgyu says. “I hate blueberries. I ate them because you like them.”

You gasp. “Gyu! I would’ve lived without the damn blueberries!”

“I’ll just eat around them,” he says with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath.

You take a bite of your pancake, a blueberry bursting in your mouth. As you eat, you help Beomgyu pick around the blueberries in his. When done with your meal, the two of you wash dishes. He washes and you rinse. The sloshing of water and clinking of dishes orchestrate your movements. You catch up with one another while cleaning, joking around like you used to. Out of nowhere, Beomgyu plops a cluster of bubbles onto your nose.

“You did not!” you exclaim, immediately repaying the favor by throwing suds back at him.Then, there’s bubbles everywhere, flying and floating in the air like dandelion fluff.

“I absolutely just did, loser!” Beomgyu says, chasing you around the kitchen with more bubble ammo.

“Nerd!” you yell out as you run away from his attack.

“Stalker!”

“I am not a stalker!!!” In your tizzy, you slip and fall on some soap, Beomgyu promptly falling on top of you right after. Hovering above you, he bores into your visage fondly, deep eyes sparkling with affection. He looks like a dream. Then, like in some of your dreams, he leans down and kisses you. He takes his time, gently moving against you. It takes a second for your body to catch up with your mind, but when you do, you’re kissing him with the fervor of three years, four knocks, a lifetime of shared pancakes and the burgeoning of unabashed love. He cradles your face closely, not wanting to let you go.

When he comes up for air, Beomgyu says, “It’s a good thing saying goodbye isn’t really my thing, ‘cus I have no intention of saying it to you any time soon.”

As Beomgyu leans back in to kiss you again, the front door swings open.

“The grocery store was a madhouse, but I managed to get some bacon,” your mom says. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t–” She closes her eyes dramatically, dropping her shopping bag on the floor.

You and Beomgyu instantly stand to your feet, putting as much distance in between you as possible.

“Mom, please don’t make it awkward,” you groan.

“I mean, I always had my suspicions, but–” she starts.

“Mom! Please!”

Your mother smiles knowingly. “So I guess this means you two made up?”

a/n: unedited + feedback is always appreciated!

#bloodmoonmuses #beomgyu fic #choi beomgyu #txt fic #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #txt x reader #beomgyu fluff

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tinyluvs · 1 year

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❥ watermelon ˚ rafe cameron

❥ summary: rafe gets home from work & just needs his girl. ❥ warnings: oral (both receiving), fingering, unprotected sex! general contents of smut! minors do not interact! ❥ authors note: i’m a slut for soft!rafe :) 3.3k ❥ pairing: soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

the swing seat on the upstairs balcony of the cameron house sways where you sit on it, your head leaning against the rope holding it up. a slight breeze passes through your hair and you bask in it, enjoying the fresh air over your face and neck. the transition between spring and summer is a beautiful time of year in the outer banks

a bowl of watermelon balances on your thighs and you pick a piece from the bowl before looking out over the garden. you notice the flowers in full bloom and lush trees standing tall, leaves rustling gently as the breeze passes through them. the balcony also gives a gorgeous view of the water, sun reflecting off of the ripples as boats full of kids pass by in the distance.

your attention gets turned back to the garden when a car rumbles up the drive, you smile and stand from your seat, moving to lean on the balcony. the range rover comes to a stop in front of the house and your boyfriend steps out. he looks up at you with a squint, his sunglasses left behind in the car before rushing forward into the house

his footsteps draw closer as you step back into your bedroom, dress shoes dragging against wooden stairs. rafe appears around the doorframe, “hey angel,” he breathes out a sigh, something between happiness and relief, like seeing you is the best part of his day.

“hi handsome,” you reply softly, shamelessly letting your eyes rake over his appearance. his hair has grown out from the buzzcut, tousled and messy from his hand running through it. the buttons on his white button down are still neatly in place though his tie has been pulled loose underneath the collar, his sleeves are rolled and pushed up just under his elbows.

you watch as he drops his bag and phone onto the bed and then he’s stepping into your space, wrapping strong muscly arms around your waist and back, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. with him standing at a whole six feet and two inches you raise up onto your tiptoes to slide your arms around his neck, “how was work?” you hum when you feel him pressing his lips against the top of your shoulder

“same as usual,” he replies and stands up straight, looking down at you. moving your hands to cup his face you stroke your thumbs over his cheeks, his eyes flutter shut as his head grows a little heavier in your hold, “don’t wanna talk about it” he manages to mumble before you pull him in for a kiss

he kisses you three separate times, like he always does and then kisses you softly, slowly. your bottom lip slips between his and he sucks gently on it, trapping it lightly between his teeth. your hands slip down his neck, over his shoulders and then down his arms until your hands meet his at your waist, fingers tangling together almost immediately.

rafe pulls you closer, kissing you a little harder before stepping away, lifting one of your joined hands over your head. you spin under his arm with a small giggle.

“pretty girl” rafe sighs when you turn back to him, his eyes flicking up and down your body. you look down at your flowy cotton shorts and vest that ends just under your ribs before frowning up at him, “none of that”

gentle fingers smooth out the line between your brows and then his hands settle on the tops of your arms. you roll your eyes playfully at him when his eyes flick down to your chest. you rise up, pressing your lips to his again

his hands fall to your waist and you feel him smiling against your mouth, “what?” you giggle, breaking the kiss slightly. he hums but doesn’t answer, pressing his lips firmer against your own, his teeth briefly grazing over your bottom lip.

rafe bends, one of his arms tightening around your hips. he stands to his full height, picking you up swiftly, his free hand sliding around your thigh, never breaking the kiss once. your arms wrap loosely around his neck as he turns to the bed.

he holds you over the bed while he kisses you, only pulling away to drop you down onto the bed. you bounce, your back hitting the soft mattress. he stands between your legs where they dangle over the edge of the bed

“you taste like watermelon” he sighs, looking down at you. you run your tongue over your lips, nodding when you lick over sticky watermelon residue, “tastes nice”

“i’m glad,” you whisper and push yourself up onto your forearms. he loosens his tie futher before pulling it out from under the collar of his shirt. he drops it onto the floor before he leans down over you, his forearms either side of your head

rafe brushes his nose against yours, his thumbs stroking against your hairline. you bring your legs up, knees knocking his ribs, his shirt rustles slightly. he kisses you once and then places open mouthed kisses along your cheek and jaw, using his nose to push your head to the side slightly, the skin on your neck gets quickly peppered with kisses

his hair tickles your cheek and a breathy giggle escapes you, your hands tangling into his hair immediately. rafe grazes his teeth along the side your neck before sucking gently, putting a stop to your giggle as it dies in your throat, changing to a soft whine

rafe nips your neck once, pulling away slightly to see you gasp, a spot on your neck turning a pretty shade of pink. spurring him on by bucking your hips up against him, he groans and attaches his lips to your neck again, sucking deeply, causing your back to arch off of the bed. he pulls away, watching blood rise to the surface under your skin and his spit, he wipes the sheen off of it with his thumb and kisses it once before standing over you again

you pout slightly at the loss of contact, staring up at him with soft eyes. tightening your knees against his hips you pull him in, trapping him there, “i know, m’not going anywhere” he reassures with a hand on your thigh. his fingers trail up your leg and then up your sides, pushing your top up

your nipples perk up from the breeze blowing in through the open balcony doors and rafe wastes no time, swooping down to kiss over your soft tits.

your hands fly into his hair again, a soft whine flowing from your mouth when he starts to suck, pulling your nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing your skin. his free hand moves to your other tit, squeezing and pulling gently to elicit soft pants and moans from you

rafe ruts down against you, his hips rolling, pushing his clothed cock against your pussy, your thin shorts falling to the side leaving your panties on show. “oh god” you moan when he bites down on your nipple, he smirks against your skin and swaps his assault to the other side, brushing his thumb over your spit sore nipple.

soft moans, both yours and rafe’s fill the room, his muffled by your tit in his mouth. he rolls your nipple between his teeth, slowly biting down harder, enjoying the way you whine, head tilted back and pushing into soft sheets. he hums when he removes his mouth from you, happy with the way your tits look pink and almost sore

his lips are soft, spit slicked, when he kisses you again. he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip and your mouth falls open, letting him in immediately. fumbling with the buttons on his shirt you manage to get it undone, sliding your hands up warm skin and muscle to push it off his shoulders. he hovers over you, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off, letting it join his tie on the floor.

with a harsh roll of his hips, the zip on his trousers catches your clit through your panties, you shudder out a moan when wetness floods from your cunt, sticking fabric to your sensitive folds every time he pushes down against you

a string of spit hangs between your lips when he pulls away, both of you panting softly, lips swollen and red. “rafe,” you whine under his gaze, bumping your wet cunt against his clothed cock, “please touch me”

“i’m getting there, baby” rafe hums, his tongue licking over his bottom lip, “you’re going to be the death of me,” he groans after and you follow his gaze to the damp spot on the front of his trousers. you open your mouth to mumble an apology but you get cut off, a whine replacing your words when he presses his thumb against your clit

he stands back up, looking down at you with soft eyes and a smile. you tilt your head at him, trying not to ruin the moment by moaning, doing everything in your power not to concentrate on his knuckle pressing against your clothed hole

“pretty girl” he repeats his earlier comment, smiling wider when your cheeks heat up. your hips wriggle against your will and he breathes out a chuckle, his hands moving to the waistband of your shorts.

rafe crouches down at the end of the bed while pulling both layers of clothing down your legs. large hands settle on the back of your thighs, pushing them back to spread you open for him. your cunt dribbles and he groans, his finger sliding up your slit immediately.

crying out loudly when he bumps your sticky clit, you reach down, your nails digging into his tanned shoulders when he starts to trace up and down your pussy. he teases your hole, barely pushing his finger into you before pulling out, staring up at you to watch your tits sway as your back arches away from the mattress

broad shoulders press into the back of your thighs as he leans in, kissing your clit before delving his tongue between your folds. you keen, pulling on his hair when he wastes no time, eating you out messily and loudly. the sound of him sucking and licking, lapping at your wet hole filling the room

his nose bumps against your clit and he growls against you when you shuffle, pressing your cunt further into his face, “tastes so good,” rafe whines and your jaw drops open at the neediness in his voice, a warmth starting to spread in your stomach, embarrassingly fast

he wraps his lips around your clit and starts to suck at the same time he pushes a finger into you. “fuck baby,” you pant, chest tightening. he slides in and out of your sloppy cunt a couple of times before adding another finger, pushing in deep

the coil in your stomach starts to tighten when he curls his fingers, pushing into your spot hard. his tongue flicks at your clit, timing it with his fingertips rubbing deep inside of you. he mumbles against your cunt though you can’t make out what he says but it vibrates harshly through you, causing you to clench around him

a stream of, “oh god’s” fall from your mouth as you get closer to your orgasm. you pull on his hair and writhe beneath him, his free hand moves to hold your hip down. you struggle against his hand and he huffs, throwing his forearm across your waist, forcefully holding you down, “fuck” you whine

his fingers slip out of you temporarily and you suck in a harsh breath, your cheeks puffing out when three fingers push back in, “angel,” he pulls away to mumble, his lips and chin shining with your slick, you moan in reply. “i need you to come, can you do that for me?” he grits his teeth, angling his wrist just right to push you even further to the edge

“yeah” you pant, your brain switching off as you’re not even sure what you’re saying yeah to. heat burns from your stomach to your cunt and stars start to sparkle behind your eyes as the coil starts to snap, “o-oh, fuck, yes” you squeak

“there you go,” rafe drags out the first word, fingers working while you ride out your high, “so fucking good,” he mumbles to himself before licking over your clit once. his fingers slip out of you, strings of come keeping them connected together. you come back around, pushing your head up just in time to see his tongue darting out over his fingers

he stands up and your eyes dart to his crotch, erection still pressing against his trousers. you sit up, head still foggy with the post orgasm haze. your fingers trace the outline of his cock and he hisses, head tilted back to the ceiling. slowly you pull on his belt, metal clanging when it comes undone. you pull the zipper down even slower, looking up at rafe as you unpop the button last.

you look a picture, soft, watery eyes, pink cheeks and swollen lips. honestly, he could come there and then, in his pants. his trousers fall down his thighs, revealing his boxers. you bite down on your bottom lip as your thumb slides over the dark spot, pre come leaking through the fabric.

hooking your fingers under the thick waistband, you pull, keeping eye contact with your boyfriend. he moans when his cock springs free, dangling just over your face. he’s big, long and thick. the tip is angry, red and dribbling, pre come beading and threatening to drip. you stick your tongue out and lean forwards, collecting it before it goes to waste.

“oh, shit,” rafe groans, deep and low, his hand cupping the back of your head. you look up at him and nudge your head back against his hand, giving him permission. he guides you forward, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips.

a whine falls from your mouth as you part your lips around him. his hips roll forward, forcing his dick into your mouth, his hand on your head keeping you there. you swirl your tongue around him, tracing the vein on the underside of his cock and he grunts, hips stuttering involuntary

his fingers tighten in your hair and you breathe through your nose, knowing what’s coming next. he pulls you back until just the head spreads your lips open and you start to suck, moaning when warm pre come floods your mouth, “so good,” rafe whispers breathlessly.

slowly he pushes you back down his length, your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat and you frown slightly, realising he’s not even all the way in. “it’ll fit, don’t worry,” rafe smirks slightly, looking down at your wet eyes

nodding you breathe through your nose, letting him push you down until he’s snug in your throat. he rocks back and fourth, gently fucking into your warm, wet mouth and your eyes stream, your throat closing around him, attempting to push him out.

your hand leaves his thigh, reaching for his balls. rolling them softly between your fingers causes his cock to kick in your mouth, twitching violently as his hips shift forwards, “oh god, your mouth” he growls, pulling you off of him completely. spit and come leaks from the corner of your mouth and you heave, filling your lungs while tears run down your cheeks

“please” you whisper, your hand wrapping round the base of his dick. you squeeze gently and his head tilts back. your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you flick under the tip before dipping against his slit. humming to yourself, you suck him into your mouth again.

in your free hand his balls start to draw up, tightening in your grip, “fuck angel,” rafe moans loudly, his chest shuddering, his abs clenching. you slide along his length, dribbling around him as your mind clouds. the hand that was wrapped around him drops, your fingers dipping into your own wetness, circling around your clit

both of you moan, desperately, as warmth starts to spread in your stomach for the second time. rafe grits his teeth, sucking in harsh breaths as his fingers tighten in your hair again, “fuck,” he drags the word out, “oh god, oh go-, baby, no, fuck” he rambles, pulling you off of him, his dick slipping out of your mouth.

before you can whine he crowds into your space. he steps out of his trousers and boxers and moves in between your legs, “wanna come inside you,” he mumbles, dragging his lips lazily over yours, tasting himself on your tongue.

the tip of his dick parts your folds, dragging up to your clit and then back down. loud sticky sounds fill the room and your back arches at the same time he rolls forward, his cock splitting you open in one deep thrust.

“oh fuck, rafe!” you cry, a hand tangling into his messy hair, another going to his back. nails scratch at his muscly back when he pulls back and you’re sure you draw blood when he rolls forward, tip bumping your cervix, filling you to the point you can feel it in your chest

clenching around him makes him pant, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. he sucks and bites over your skin between groans and moans that line up with yours. your cunt drips, wetness slipping down to soak his thighs and the sheets beneath you

the veins on his length drag against your walls and his balls slap against you as he pounds you into the mattress, deep, harsh thrusts that stretch you open around him, moulding your pussy to fit only him.

rafe hovers over you, his hands scrambling to find yours. his fingers tangle with yours, bringing your hands back to the bed, pinning them down either side of your head. he holds your hands so sweetly while he fucks you, “such a good girl, my girl” he moans against your damp cheek

“yeah,” you whine, brain failing you as it turns to liquid inside your head. your hips rut off of the bed, meeting his thrusts in the middle with a filthy slap. your tits press against his chest, your nipples dragging over solid muscles which makes you shudder

“come on baby, need you to come for me” rafe starts to ramble when his dick twitches inside you, he’s as close as you are, “need you to come around my cock, tight little pussy, was made just for me,” he grunts

pinching your tongue between your lips you start to nod your head, words being places by moans and whines, “m’close,” you manage to get out. his hips grind against yours and you tighten, coil beginning to snap, “come with me,” you whine

rafe growls, his fingers squeezings yours, “yeah, fucki- come for me, i need it, i'm coming,” he pants and it sends you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him like a vice, “take it, take it all” thick ropes of come splash up your walls, his cock kicking and his body shuddering against yours

your stomach burns, stars still shining in your vision while your cunt pulses, sucking him further into you and keeping him there as your bodies give out. he collapses down on top of you, his hot breath fanning over your sweaty skin. you let go of his hands and wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, “i love you,” you whisper, kissing his cheek

it takes him a minute to register what you’ve said, “i love you too,” he replies softly, pushing himself up over you again, “so, so much” he kisses you three times again, sweet and short kisses that make you smile against him. he hums appreciatively, “you still taste like watermelon”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

#❥ my works #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks smut #❥ rafe cameron fic rec #❥ rafe cameron #❥ my rafe works #❥ cait’s recs

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arachine · 1 year

Text

— what's going on down there?: a dick analysis

ᥫ᭡ featuring :: jake sully, miles quaritch & norm spellman

ᥫ᭡ includes :: their human forms + avatar forms

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: talking about dicks obviously, explicit sexual content (?), humor lol

ᥫ᭡ note :: if you know anything about arachine, you know i love a good dick analysis. these posts are intended for comedic purposes only, which means they’re not to be taken seriously.

— jake “ima slut you out” sully

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: as we all know, jake’s life on earth was very unfulfilling. he was a man who sacrificed his legs for the fate of the country, only to be disposed of into the unforgiving hands of society, with no way to reap the benefits (or lack thereof) that veterans were promised to receive. and after losing the privilege of mobility, his body changed drastically. he got smaller, his body got weaker, and yet, one thing remained—that dick! jake is a survivor, through and through—his personal motto is: if it ain’t broken, then it’s still working—and boy, he does not disappoint when it comes to the downstairs department. standing tall at 7 inches, is little jake (maybe not so little). when flaccid, his length measures at a solid 5.7 inches. definitely a grower.

⟳ width: a little bit on the skinnier side, but he knows how to use it and that’s all that matters!

⟳ color: i think for the most part, his shaft definitely matches the rest of his body; though, i can see it maybe being slightly a little more darker at the base, like a very light beige. when he’s flaccid, his tip is a pretty pink, almost like a ballet slipper (aka the best pink). turns into an angry red when fully erect!

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: jake pegs me as the kinda guy who doesn’t really care? i mean, trimming isn’t foreign to him, because he has trimmed it before, and does so when he notices it’s gotten to be too long…but, i don’t think it’s something that he does often. to him, it’s just hair. he’s on his grown man shit, you know?

02. curved?: uhm, yes! you know that one beyoncé lyric? yeah.

03. any veins?: absolutely covered in ‘em

04. how he fucks with it: i’d like to think before his accident, he was a doggy style connoisseur—come on, it’s jake we’re talking about here. can’t nobody tell me otherwise! i just know he had bitches bent over, weaves sweated out, makeup all over the pillows…mans was f-u-c-k-i-n-g okay? fuckingggg.

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: the masses may attack me, but it’s time i spoke up. the man has a monster schlong. a cooter cat killer, if you will. if you thought his human form was big, shit, you ain’t seen nothing yet! completely flaccid, his cock measures to about 10 inches. when fully hard, he grows an additional three! talk about impressive…

⟳ width: so thick that it basically slaps his thighs when he walks. the man could create a beat with it, get em into the soundcloud business now!

⟳ color: self explanatory tbh, it’s fucking blue. as blue as papa smurf’s ass.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that because he’s an avatar, he grows hair there. even if i’m wrong, i’m right. i don’t give a damn what james cameron says. he’s basically my character at this point, and i will him to have hair damnit! just…the idea of him having a full bush down there, in the wild, all primitive and shit…does something to me. idk. don’t ask me why i’m so nasty, blame my deadbeat father.

02. curved?: is a banana yellow? there’s your answer.

03. any veins?: i might have a brain aneurysm just thinking about it, but yes! god, yes. so many…so, so, so many. ribbed for her pleasure or whatever trojan said.

04. how he fucks with it: is he still the doggy style connoisseur? yes. but now that’s got the strength of 20 men, backshots sound a whole lot like gunshots now. they say every time the mighty toruk makto thrusts into a cunt, a tree falls down or something. so, yes. fucks hard, fucks rough, fucks like he’s on a mission. what’s that one tik tok audio? “rest in peace to all the soldiers that died in the service, i dive in her cervix.” yeah, he lives by that.

— miles “on your knees, cadet!” quaritch

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: just gonna cut right to the chase. he’s huge. like pussy splitting huge. i don’t care what anyone says, you can argue with ya friend, you can argue with ya mother, but you cannot argue with me! coming in at a solid 6 when flaccid, quaritch takes the cake for the biggest cock on this list (at least, human form wise). at full length, he measures to about 7.8 inches!

‘booooo’ you say, well, guess what? it’s the truth, and i’m just the messenger. whether you hate him or love him, he’s just that guy.

⟳ width: surprisingly average. but it’s okay, sometimes you can’t have the best of both worlds.

⟳ color: if my memory serves me right, he was pretty tan in the first movie. so, i’m gonna stick with that and say that it’s a pretty tan that transitions into a pale pink. i don’t know if some of you have seen old dick, but their tips get less saturated with age. it’s a phenomenon (not really, the blood flow to the groin is just a lot slower, which can make it appear kind of gre—anyway, i digress!)

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: this man is a colonel, so he’s all about discipline and keeping things nice and tidy. so, obviously, his hygiene reflects that. i don’t think he goes completely bald, but he does give it a good trim. kind of like a fade…just imagine a patch of grey, prickly hair. yeah.

02. curved?: yes, and since he’s older, it’s probably curved a lot. you could probably hang something on it. maybe a towel, or a lanyard. it’s definitely useful for something!

03. any veins?: god, i don’t know why, but i have it in my head that he’s on steroids. he’s just so buff and strong, and i mean, yeah, he could just be really fit…but he could also be a self-image obsessed freak who takes drugs to be the perfect soldier. the correlation, you ask? well, i just feel like people who take steroids are really veiny, and i feel like his dick would be really, really veiny. so, thus the rant about steroids. steroid dick.

04. how he fucks with it: don’t let his age fool you. he may very well be pushing his late fifties, but he’s still a young man at heart—and he’s definitely got the sex drive to prove it! i can see his favorite position being something like missionary. not so much because he enjoys the intimacy of it (like being face to face), but more so because he’s got a size kink—and definitely a dacryphilia kink. he enjoys seeing his partners cry, whether in pain, or in pleasure, or both! so, when you’re fucking him, don’t expect anything romantic. he just wants to see your pretty little face all teary eyed and pathetic.

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: so big you can see it from space; that’s how the RDA mfs know they’re close, because they can see the tip protruding from pandora. no, but seriously, it’s still really huge. like maybe 12-14 inches—maximum.

⟳ width: probably twice as thick as a human’s forearm. and god, it’s sooooo heavy. big breeding balls to match.

⟳ color: blue blue blue…like wet fun dip. with just as many stripes as the american flag or whatever.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: yes, but the hair is black instead of grey and it’s probably really straight because na’vi hair is straight as fuck.

02. curved?: sir, yes sir.

03. any veins?: what’d i say? steroid dick. but even worse (better) now bc he’s so damn tall, he needs all the blood he can get down there.

04. how he fucks with it: has you in all types of positions. his favorites are anything that shows off his new found strength, so i’m betting on full nelsons and mating presses. just fast, powerful strokes. lives by the motto: can’t stop, won’t stop.

— norm “what’s the sq root of 69?” spellman

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: i’m sorry to disappoint the norm fuckers (if there are any), but he’s not that big. when he’s soft, his cock measures to about 4.8 inches, and at most, 6.2 inches when hard.

⟳ width: skinny dick.

⟳ color: dawg he’s so white, it’s like hella pale and the tip is so pink that when he’s aroused, it looks like there’s something wrong.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: like jake, i don’t think he really cares.

02. curved?: straight like a pencil

03. any veins?: like two, and they’re really prominent because he’s so fucking pale.

04. how he fucks with it: i don’t think human norm is getting puss, let’s be real.

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: i am a firm believer in N.W.B.C—nerds with big cocks. it’s just the universe’s way of saying thank you, they just…they just do so much for us, you know? norm may not have been packing down there in his human form, but this was his second chance at redemption. he’s now a proud member of N.W.B.C, sporting an impressive 15 inches. you know that one scene in the first spider-man when pete’s looking at himself in the mirror and he looks inside his briefs? yeah, that was norm when he found out. the man got so excited, he accidentally catapulted a scientist out of pandora’s atmosphere with the weight of his cock. joking.

⟳ width: on the skinnier side but still toe curling, nonetheless.

⟳ color: laffy taffy blue, with little (big) blueberry balls.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: no, he’s too busy in the lab and getting na’vi puss.

02. curved?: unfortunately no

03. any veins?: more than before, which he was pleasantly surprised to see.

04. how he fucks with it: norm’s got a big dick, but he acts so shy, like he’s scared of it or something. like stop playing boy and drop them drawls, the fuck? anyway, i think norm’s a sub. he pegs me as the type of guy who likes strong women, women who’ll tell him to shut the fuck up (because he talks so much) and eat their pussies. i guess this makes him a munch. yeah, he’s a munch. ice spice actually wrote that song with him in mind!

#jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader smut #jake sully smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles quaritch smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #avatar the way of water #avatar the way of water smut #atwow x reader #atwow smut

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inoreuct · 6 months

Text

i just got a brainwave. ZOSAN DANCER AU.

zoro mainly does hip hop, sanji mostly does ballet, they’re both attending this prestigious dance academy; zoro’s a scholarship student and he thinks sanji’s an absolute fucking snob. he can’t stand the prissy rich boy three studios down, golden with all the money from his royal background— he’s a vinsmoke. he’s a prince. it’s right there on the student name list, clear as day.

he’s only seen sanji from afar and yeah, sure, maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge but the blond infuriates him with his stupid hair flips and his heart eyes and his mirror-hogging and the way he kneels down to retie the girls’ pointe shoe ribbons for them so that they don’t have to. he’s tall and willowy and strong and fucking talented and every time zoro sees him he wants to kick a hole through the drywall.

now, zoro doesn’t really practice in school often. he enjoys lessons well enough, but he and his crew dance their best in the streets. so when he signs up for a practice slot the one time and gets there (already fifteen minutes late, mind you) just to realise there’s a very familiar annoyance in his studio? he’s pissed. he slams the door open right as sanji executes a spinny jump thing that reaches a frankly ridiculous height, sinking to one knee with his head thrown back, the air ringing after the music’s final crescendo.

zoro doesn’t give a shit. he’s tired and hungry and needs to get his fucking step sequence clean before next week’s dance battle, and thus opens his mouth and shatters right through the thick quiet as he barks, “vinsmoke!”

and he doesn’t know why, but sanji’s gaze flicks to him and he freezes in place. the blond’s expression, just moments ago composed and focused, is dripping with something that zoro can’t quite name, but he has to stop himself from gulping when sanji gets up and beelines straight for him, jabbing a manicured finger right into his sternum without reserve.

“don’t. fucking. call me that,” the blond grits, damn near seething, jaw so tense zoro’s honestly afraid he’ll crack a tooth and it’s almost funny, but he suspects that he really did cross some sort of line, and he might be rough around the edges but he isn’t an ass.

“okay, i’m sorry,” he offers, cautious, hands up in the air. the words taste weird in his mouth, but sanji looks slightly less livid so he counts it as a win. “what do i call you, then?”

the other man looks torn between kicking zoro soundly in the shin (which zoro can already tell would hurt like a bitch) and storming out of the studio, but he huffs loudly and turns away. “black. sanji black.”

zoro hums carefully and slowly inches his way to the corner of the room, setting his duffel down much gentler than he normally does. he should really leave this alone. he has a solo he needs to practice for and dinner to catch after. so what if sanji renounced his supposedly royal last name? it didn't make him any better than every other stuck-up dancer with a superiority complex.

(he decidedly doesn’t leave it alone, because this is the first time that he’s seen cracks in the blond’s porcelain-doll facade, and he can’t help but want to dig his fingertips in and pry. he’s never claimed to have a sense of self-preservation.)

“so…” he starts, facing the barre that he’ll never use and watching sanji through the mirror. “your parents—”

“not my parents, i’m estranged,” sanji cuts in, blunt and terse, emotionless to the point where zoro knows he cares much, much more like he wants to seem like he does.

he watches sanji sit in the middle of the wooden floor and fiddle with the elastics on his weird sock shoe hybrids, going into splits with no apparent effort and pressing his torso flat to the ground. a bright blue eye meets his and zoro looks away sharply, yanking on the zipper of his duffel and grabbing his snapback to pop the closures just to look busy.

…god, fuck, zoro wants to ask so bad. estranged. that word is rapidly reshuffling his worldview regarding the man currently yanking off his knitted leg warmers behind him and tossing them to the side. he wants to know how much of all of it is real; the money, the rumours, the gleaming reputation that surrounds sanji like a shield. he’s their academy’s golden boy and a shoo-in for the principal position at its sister ballet company, once he graduates. zoro had thought of him as an absolute primadonna— put bluntly, a pompous brat. a classic silver spoon child. but even just sitting here and stewing in his thoughts, the ability to cling onto the image he’d admittedly half made up in his head is rapidly slipping away from him.

it’s painfully obvious that sanji can talk the talk and walk the walk. jump the jump? “hey, what was that spinny jump thing you did just now?” jesus christ. zoro winces; his voice is so loud against the silence that he nearly puts his head in his hands.

“mm?” sanji’s voice isn’t even strained as he sits up from where he’d had his face pressed to his knees, forearms around his feet. how a person could even fold that far forward, zoro would never understand.

“the— the jump thing. when i came in.”

“oh, the double entrelacé?”

zoro squints. “the fuck kind of name is ontrolassay?”

“it means interlace in french, you—” the blond seems to struggle with choosing an insult before he finally lands on, “—goonhead. although i wouldn’t expect you to be able to appreciate it.”

the KT tape on zoro’s calf rolls back at the edge as he rubs over it absentmindedly, and he quickly stops. that shit isn’t cheap. but he’s more concerned about why he'd been doing it in the first place, because he only does that when he thinks, and zoro has enough self-awareness to know that when he thinks too hard it usually doesn’t end well. he’s all instinct— and something in the back of his mind is telling him that sanji is tired.

the blond isn’t just a pretty boy with no bite, that much is obvious. but now, with the sky dark outside the full-length windows and the air still and silent, it’s easier for him to see the weariness that sanji hides with all his fawning and flirting and smiles. he eyes the other man in his peripheral and clocks it settled bone-deep in the weight of sanji’s eyelids, the parting of his hair, the curve of his back.

he turns around properly to look at sanji over his shoulder and thinks, ah, fuck it. he’d been late to begin with and he’s spent so long here fiddling with his fucking hat under the guise of doing something important that half of his hour-long slot is gone, anyway. “the crew and i are going for pizza. come with.” a smirk pulls at his mouth as he cocks his head. “or are you gonna die if you eat something other than rabbit food?”

the blond looks up with an arched brow and a scowl. “you fucking wish,” sanji scoffs, but after a moment he gets up and starts tossing things into his bag. “it better be makino’s. arlong’s pizza dough tastes like sardines no matter what you get.”

zoro would have been impressed if sanji knew any neighbourhood pizza places to begin with, but this sounds like he has experience. “of course it’s makino’s, curly. we have standards.”

“i wouldn’t have known,” sanji sniffs delicately. “and curly?”

“yeah.” zoro shrugs, the strap of his bag digging in over his baggy tee as he stands. “your hair, your brows, your spinny jump thing—”

“double entrelacé.”

zoro makes a like i said gesture with his hands, grinning broadly. “spinny jump thing.”

sanji sighs as he tosses his hair out of his face. zoro gets a glimpse of two sapphire eyes, blue as the heart of a flame. “you’re a barbarian.” the blond shoulders him aside and snaps the lights off, pulling the door shut as he fishes out the keys. “and you’re buying.”

zoro hums non-committally and deliberately neglects to mention that makino’s fond of both luffy, his best friend, and luffy’s godfather shanks— which means that the whole crew basically eats free on late weekdays like these. on a side note, shanks has a thing with his own dad, mihawk, but they refuse to admit it. it’s infuriating. maybe he’ll rope sanji into helping to get them together before christmas because he has a bet running with nami and it is not looking good for him.

they walk out into the brisk night air as he flips his snapback onto his head, picking up the pace when he sees sanji shiver. “i drove, c’mon.”

“oh, you’ve been driving,” sanji says airily, raising his brows again as he digs around in his well-loved canvas bag for his cardigan. it’s pink and it’s cashmere, because of course it is. “driving me crazy.”

zoro doesn’t even realise he laughs until after it’s left his mouth and sanji is looking at him with wide eyes, blue, blue and more blue. he clears his throat. “let’s hope i don’t crash, then. did i mention i’m half blind on the left side?”

he cackles as sanji squawks at that, half-terrified and disbelieving, and on the way to makino’s he explains how he’d gotten into a scooter accident with luffy as a kid. (“of course you did,” sanji mutters, rolling his eyes. there’s no malice to it.) his crew’s already waiting for him when they arrive; to his dismay (or is it?), sanji hits it off with them marvellously.

zoro finds out that sanji’s biological family is royal, sure. royal assholes. sanji had run away one day and the bastards hadn’t done a damn thing to make sure he was alright, which, he supposes, made sense considering sanji had literally run away. (he isn't given a reason. he doesn't push.) and yet vinsmoke judge still refuses to let sanji change his name, which means that sanji’s father zeff had never been able to legally adopt him. he pays his own school fees working at zeff’s restaurant; not as a waiter but as a chef, and at this point zoro resigns himself to seeing this guy around a lot more because luffy’s already vibrating with excitement and in this friend group, luffy somehow always gets what he wants. sanji’s in it for the long haul now.

but it doesn’t seem like such a horrible thing anymore. zoro almost feels bad for thinking that sanji had been some kind of spoiled brat the whole time, and isn’t that something? the blond is quick to laugh and hardworking and snarky and proud, yes, but it’s deserved solely based on how much he’s trained to get to where he is— he’s damn good and he knows it, and zoro can appreciate that.

(he takes that last bit and shoves it into a box that he locks up tight and buries deep, deep down. he will Not be thinking about that tonight.)

he’s impressed all over again as he watches the sanji inhale an entire four cheese pizza and five garlic knots to boot, and he laughs when the blond gives him a petulant glare.

“fuck off, marimo, i’ve been training all day. m’fucking starving,” he groans through another mouthful of garlic and cheese, elegantly hiding his mouth behind his hand.

oh, hell no. “marimo?” zoro deadpans. “really?”

“not inaccurate,” nami hums from beside him, and he nearly smacks his forehead to the table. he cannot let these two get along. that would be the beginning of his own personal hell.

it’s too late. “small and green and fluffy,” sanji coos, faux-condescending as he reaches out to pet zoro on the head, and zoro snaps his teeth at slender fingers. he listens to sanji meld effortlessly into his friend group and wonders just what he's gotten himself into.

(there is warmth blooming between his ribs. he knows it will grow no matter what he does.)

they get closer as the weeks go by. zoro learns that sanji hates oregano with more vitriol than should be possible towards a herb. he learns the blond’s favourite brand of dance shoes (he knows that they’re suede slippers now, considering he got beaten over the head with them). he learns that sanji’s left arm never healed completely right from where his oldest brother snapped it when they were children, and he has to dig his nails into his palm so that he doesn’t punch something. sanji drags him into an empty studio one day and tells him to lift his leg as high as he can, which devolves into a stretching session that zoro is more inclined to call torture. sanji is adamant that having at least some degree of flexibility will help him dance more fluidly and loosen up his muscles. zoro tells him to eat shit.

(he goes home, and stretches, and he’s mad as hell because sanji’s right.)

the whole crew goes to the ballet course’s end-of-semester recital and nearly gets kicked out with how loudly they scream when sanji finishes his presentation. zoro throws a rose along with everyone else and pretends that he doesn’t.

(sanji pretends that he doesn’t find the exact one zoro tossed and press it to his nose as he sits in the dressing room backstage, his classmates bustling around him not enough to break his bubble of makeup mirror lighting and silky red petals and the memory of keen grey eyes, watching from the darkness of the audience seats.)

(zoro had been the first one to stand when he’d bowed. he’d cheered the loudest. sanji saw him. sanji heard him.)

zoro doesn't realise how much he talks about sanji until his sister threatens to peel the skin off his face if you don't ask him to come watch nationals, zoro, i swear to all that is unholy— and he shudders. perona is... terrifying. he also loves her terrifyingly much, but that won't stop her from peeling his face off, so he drops sanji a text with the details of the national finals of the dance battle that he was supposed to be training for that fateful day. he's too chickenshit to do anything else. too much of a coward to ask him face-to-face.

they win. their friends and family flood the stage. zoro looks for one face only. he feels a hand on his shoulder, whips around with his heart pounding and oh, he's here. radiant under the stadium lights, hair gleaming like brazened honey, eyes bluer than the sky and his smile even brighter. zoro opens his mouth to say something. anything.

sanji crashes into his arms and kisses him, and he feels like the fucking king of the world.

(the wolf-whistles only register when he realises sanji's legs are wrapped around his hips, his hands beneath strong thighs, but sanji is flushed so brilliantly pink and he looks so happy that zoro doesn't even care. luffy's elbow loops around his neck, nami crashing into his back, usopp coming in fast from the right, and sanji wiggles down to slide his arms around zoro's waist and tuck right up against his side. the trophy shines in his fist as he raises it high above the crowd and his nakama press in tight around him, and zoro screams and cheers with them until his throat goes hoarse.)

(mihawk and shanks get together three days later. sanji and zoro split the money nami begrudgingly forks over and then buy the whole crew pizza.)

#zosan #op zosan #zosan au #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #one piece sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece #ino writes #GOD i love dancer aus #can yall tell i was obsessed with the step up franchise at one point

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