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rebelfell · 2 months

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actor!steve x assistant!reader x rockstar!eddie

cw: fingering (fem receiving) 1k 18+, MDNI

The Vanity Fair party…it haunts me…

“She looks so pretty tonight. Doesn’t she, Ed?”

Steve’s hot breath hit the shell of your ear as he held you pinned against him. He was pressed so firmly into your back you could feel every button on his dark gold shirt, every shiny stone on the chain that hung around his neck, every strand of dense chest hair that peeked out from beneath his collar. His hands squeezed tight around your waist to hold you steady, his hips moving in a filthy grind in time with the bass vibrating the floor beneath your feet.

Shivers ran down your back as stubble rasped against the nape of your neck, his voice as rough and coarse as the scruff that dusted his jaw. In front of you, Eddie’s teeth tugged back his plush bottom lip as he bit back a lustful smile seeing you squirming in your formal wear.

“Oh, yeah, Stevie. Just gorgeous…”

Eddie hummed to himself as his eyes roved over you and his knuckles traced the neckline of your gown, making your skin fizz like the champagne flowing freely in the next room.

One of his chunky silver rings flicked your nipple that stood rigid behind the sparkly stretch fabric, earning him a sharp inhale from you that had his eyes lifting to meet yours.

They danced with pure mischief, his rich brown irises all inky darkness in the low light.

The slinky black dress Steve picked out for you and left in your hotel room still felt more like a costume compared to what you typically wore running around the city doing his errands. It was simple, not remotely as ornate or elegant as the custom-made designer ones being photographed by hundreds of paparazzi.

Still, the material draped nicely around your body and the slit that ran up one side showed off a decent amount of leg. The salacious cut initially made you balk, but you found you rather liked it after all—especially now as it granted Eddie’s hand access to your bare skin, the soft pads of his fingertips running slowly up your thigh until he reached your hip and groaned when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

All night you’d been running around in a near constant panic, just trying to navigate the event without getting in anyone’s way. And all your efforts had led you here—tucked into some dark corner, between your boss and his best friend.

The heat of their bodies encasing yours and the mixture of their colognes in your nose made you lightheaded in the best possible way. Your chest heaved as you inhaled deeply, trying to keep your wits about you as it was so easy to lose them when it came to these particular men.

This was hardly your first time messing around with them, but their intensity never failed to steal your breath. It had been such a long night already, and it seemed it only would be getting longer.

Only Eddie had actually attended the ceremony. Corroded Coffin had been nominated (again) for the work they did on a score, just to lose (again) to whatever summer blockbuster had swept all the awards. He would have blown it off entirely except this year he’d also been drafted to do a surprise guitar solo during Ryan Gosling’s performance of “I’m Just Ken.”

It was already trending everywhere, everyone calling it the highlight of the night. Just another day in the life of the legendary frontman.

Steve, as usual, showed up to the afterparty with his hairy tits out to do some brief and semi-chaotic interviews while you dutifully shuffled along behind him with the rest of the assistants and publicists. Except when they were dismissed for the evening, their jobs done, you found yourself being dragged from the crowd, pushed up against a wall with his mouth covering yours.

“Thought I’d never get my hands on you,” he’d groaned, sounding practically feral in your ear. “Can’t wait to get this dress off you…maybe I should just tear it in half, huh?”

He grinned into your throat as he kissed his way down your neck and then back up to your lips, his teeth nipping lightly at your skin as he went. His mouth slid all and fast and rough against yours, like he was trying to mess up your lipstick.

You’d joked to him once that it was “fuck-proof” and he’d apparently taken that as a challenge.

That was how Eddie found the two of you when he grew bored of the party—hidden away in the far corner, your fingers all twisted up in Steve’s messy hair, his hands rucking up your skirt as he palmed your ass only to grip your waist and spin you around when he saw Eddie was watching.

The sight of him in his Tom Ford suit, a slimmer and sleeker cut than Steve’s slouchy seventies get-up, made your chest swell and your heart pound as he strode forward to cage you in between he and Steve’s bodies.

“She’s been working so hard all night,” Steve tutted as he took your earlobe between his teeth and raked them across the soft flesh. “I’d say she deserves a break, wouldn’t you?”

“Definitely,” Eddie groaned, his hand now fully beneath your dress, his fingers expertly dancing across the crease of your thigh until they found the warmth and wetness he sought.

You couldn’t help but gasp as Steve’s hands snaked around to press against your stomach, feeling how it quivered under his splayed palms as he gave a short thrust of his hips. Eddie’s nose brushed your cheek, his face getting as close to yours as he could without it actually touching it, your breaths mixing as his lips hovered in the space a kiss would occupy.

Legs like jelly nearly gave out beneath you, body held up only by Steve’s grasp as Eddie’s fingers slipped inside of you, fitting there like it was the only place they were ever meant to be.

Music that boomed over the speakers and the sounds of the crowd thankfully drowned out the moan you released from deep in your chest, your hands coming up to clutch at the lapels of Eddie’s suit and knocking diamond brooch pinned there to the floor. His lips were at your ear now, more shivers still rippling down your spine.

“Careful with the merchandise, sweetheart” he whispered, a coy smile curling across his lips. He leaned in closer, his cock now pressing insistently into your hip while Steve’s own was digging harder into the plushness of your ass.

“Yes, s-sir,” you whimpered and instantly let your hands fall to your sides.

“You better have them pull the car around, Stevie,” Eddie grunted, his face etched with a need that matched your own, his fingers reaching deeper inside of you, curling up to find that spot that had your knees buckling while his thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit.

“How’s that sound, honey?” Steve asked, his deep voice all warm and husky in your other ear. “That what you want? Are you ready for us?”

“God, yes—” you answered through your fog, lost in the sensations of their distinctive touch.

“Perfect.” Eddie smirked. “Time to take you to Paris, sweetheart.”

#if you think it looks longer now no it doesn't #that's what he said #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steddie x you #steddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things

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taylorswiftstyle · 8 months

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MTV Video Music Awards | September 12, 2023

Versace custom gown (pictured similar)

As is her way, Taylor can only be consistently expected to do one thing: subvert expectations. Swiftly (some might say) bypassing an opportunity to plug any of the three albums she’s either released, or is on the precipice of releasing, she went straight to a very reputation-coded Versace gown. The likes of famed supermodel lore or legendary Liz Hurley status. It’s sexy, it’s slinky, it’s very distinctively signature Versace - using Medusa-embossed buttons in a pseudo snap closure style instead of the more overt safety pin (this detail continues on the strappy open criss-cross back all the way down the back to the end of her train, which is worth a look on its own).

I personally love a classic Versace look such as these. They’ve been done, and done a lot. But I can’t fight a classic sexy siren gown like this. The decision to forego Taylor’s signature red lip, I think, is a smart one that prevents the look from going too overboard. In my opinion, the styling choices were either pile on the jewels or pile on the crimson lip. And Taylor/her team went for the former - something that’s atypical of her style. The mussed hair with the trailing pieces left out of their updo feel “roll out of bed” intimate and sensual and feels akin to the curly bangs from the reputation photoshoot. But I can’t help but think an uber sleek blowout could have been great here.

If indeed a nod to reputation, I’ve always seen that album as one of two diametrically opposed forces: the external perceptions of who you are vs the internal realizations of the life you’re quietly building. To use a dress with so many asymmetrical details (the bodice, the straps, and even in the movement of the button detailing literally splicing her in half) as an embodiment of that would be quite appropriate. It’s also a smart use of a brand’s signature design details to (possibly) use for your own means.

Not to mention this is precisely the kind of dress at least I would envision buying so someone else could take it off.

Worn with: Anita Ko + Maria Tash + VCA + David Webb + Ita + vintage jewelry, Foundrae + Jacquie Aiche + vintage bracelets, and Jimmy Choo sandals

#taylor swift #award #dress #versace #september 2023 #mtv vma

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l0vegl0wsinthedark · 2 months

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Reminiscing

"Okay, this one."

Lily's irate frustration was a nearly tangible crackle in the perfumed air of the boutique. Draco glanced up over the rim of his spectacles.

"Absolutely not," he said calmly.

Lily's fists balled up in the skirt of the slinky, forest green dress she wore. Thousands of shimmery little beads were sewn into the light, clingy fabric. The slit ran all the way up to mid-thigh and the halterneck straps were beaded strings.

"Why." Lily's question sounded from between grit teeth.

"Turn around," Draco said flatly.

A moment of hesitation, and then Lily spun around to reveal her back, exposed from neck to tail bone.

"Absolutely not," repeated Draco, looking back down into his phone, typing out an email with one forefinger, painstakingly slow.

"It's a dress. You want me to buy a dress. This is a dress."

"I want you to be respectably dressed for your seventeenth birthday party," Draco replied without looking up. "You're coming of age, yes, but you will do so whilst dressed as you ought to be."

"As I ought to be," Lily repeated scornfully.

"As a Potter-Malfoy ought to be."

"Why can't a Potter-Malfoy wear something like this?"

"We don't go out in public half-naked."

"This is a floor length gown."

"The whole length of your left leg is on display, as is the entirety of your back." Draco glanced up once more. "Your whole back. You're practically naked."

Lily"s clenched jaw shifted as she gnashed her teeth some more. With forced calm, she said, "Papa, I do not want to be wearing some sort of Victorian ballgown for my seventeenth birthday party."

"More's the pity. But no, definitely not this one either."

"I can wear a jacket over it." Lily raised one eyebrow when Draco looked up again. "I want a leather jacket."

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

"Dad said I could get one."

"Your dad is an idiot."

"I want one like his."

"Absolutely not. He's a lunatic with a flying motorcycle. You don't want everything he has, trust me."

"It's just a bloody leather jacket, Papa, please!" Lily actually stomped one booted foot, her voice rising shrilly.

"I'm used to strops, darling, I invented them," Draco said, completely unbothered. "Besides, what would your grandmother say. She would faint."

"She told me to get the jacket in black." When Draco looked up in genuine surprise, Lily went on, "She said black would go best with her opal earrings that she's having reset in silver for my birthday present."

Draco stared at her over his spectacles as she stood glaring back at him, hands on her hips.

Then the bell above the door tinkled merrily, and Harry's voice filled the silence of the stylish little boutique as he exchanged cheerful pleasantries with the owner.

Reaching breaking point, Lily shrieked, "DAD!"

"I will not tolerate that sort of screaming in a public--," Draco started.

"Green, eh?" Harry said, walking into the private area Draco had reserved for the afternoon, his own boots loud on the wooden flooring.

"Because I have your eyes," Lily said in her most honeyed voice. "Grandma's eyes."

"Good choice, Lils," Harry said affectionately, sitting down on the plush sofa next to Draco before carefully picking through the collection of truffles set out in little crystal bowls.

"You haven't looked at the dress very closely," Draco said, voice tight.

"Oh?" Harry popped a hazelnut truffle into his mouth, straightened his glasses a bit, and leaned back, crossing ankle over knee. "Let me do that, then." A pause, and then, "She looks great!"

Draco twirled one forefinger through the air, motioning for Lily to spin. "She's half-naked."

"It's the trend now or something," Harry said, shrugging and scratching carelessly through his beard.

"I want to wear it with a leather jacket, Dad," Lily said hastily. "A black leather jacket. One like yours."

Harry grinned, roughing up his hair as was his wont. "Like Sirius'. Yeah, why not? Let's get you one."

"Harry."

Draco's lips were very thin as he pulled off his glasses and turned the full force of his displeasure onto Harry.

"Don't," said Harry. "We said she could pick her own outfit."

"The Minister's going to be at the party," Draco said tightly.

"Doubt he cares, honestly," Harry said, eating more chocolate. "Besides, it's Lily's day."

"I don't like to be ganged up against," Draco said, teeth gleaming white on a forced, very dangerous smile.

"Babe, we're not ganging up--," Harry started.

"Where is James?" Draco said suddenly, raising his voice over Harry's.

"My ears are burning," James drawled, sauntering in. Draco turned in his seat to look at him, his mouth slightly open.

James' hair was a bright, lemon yellow where it stood in a carefully styled, vertical mass on his head. The sides had been shaved down close to the scalp and dyed green.

Draco could only splutter in apoplectic dismay at the sight.

"What are you supposed to look like?!" he finally managed to ask.

James shrugged, scratching behind one pierced ear. "Dad thinks it looks cool."

Draco whirled around in his seat, now glaring violently at Harry. "He was supposed to get a haircut that's also suitable for school."

"He's still on summer break," Harry said.

"His head looks like a bloody sunflower!" Draco said. "Harry, you had one job--"

But Lily was now cackling loudly at James, who in turn stood grinning proudly, hands in his pockets, fourteen years old and sincerely unbothered about a single opinion that wasn't his own. Harry couldn't help grinning, too, but he quickly moved closer to Draco and took one of his hands with both his own.

"Babe, we've talked about this," he murmured gently. "This is one of those times you need to let go. Remember how we talked about letting go?"

"She's seventeen, and he looks someone cracked an egg on his head," Draco seethed.

Harry leaned forward and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

"How about lunch at the Ritz?" he asked gently.

"And then we buy me a black leather jacket," Lily said, hitching up the skirt of her dress and stomping loudly back to the changing room.

"Life was easier when I was seventeen," Draco muttered darkly, glaring at where their son was inspecting a rack of dinner jakcets.

Harry grinned again. "Yeah. A war, a megalomaniac. I really miss those days."

#sometimes i like to think draco would be THAT parent #he's just too posh and too proper 💁🏻‍♀️#my writing #dads drarry and their kids

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sunflowerwizard · 28 days

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Novel adaptations of the first two Baldur's Gate games exist and while they're a fascinating type of terrible, they do follow the theme of game novelizations making the most generic man possible the main character.

To adapt to changing times, I propose the adaptation of Baldur's Gate 3 is written in that "A Noun of Noun and Nouns" erotic romantasy style.

Contractual obligations include:

At least seventeen mentions of the heroine's smallness or otherwise mousiness.

She also has to be either a brunette or redhead (if you want to get spicy)

One gratuitous sex scene every other chapter (At least two include bathing in some capacity. One must include some form of tepid BDSM)

There will be an obligatory relationship tease with a sweet guy even though we all know its gonna be the brooding bad boy, ffs when is it not gonna be the brooding bad boy

A villain will require the protagonist to attend his ball and gift her a sexy slinky gown which she will wear with a dagger strapped to her thigh

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #twilitalks #man if i was smart I would've written this and made a cover as an April fool's joke #now its just A Bit #nsft text

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theseimmortalcoils · 1 year

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Midnight Purple velvet embellished gown. Source unknown.

#purple velvet #aubergine velvet #slinky velvet #embellished gown #gothic style #haute gothic

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cressida-jayoungr · 3 months

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One Dress a Day Challenge

February: Coeli's Monochrome Picks

I'm No Angel / Mae West as Tira

Coeli's comment: "Wowza!"

The pre-code era strikes again, with Travis Banton as the designer. The slinky, low-cut gown with spiderweb wrap in the bottom photo looks positively demure next to the costume she's almost wearing in the other photos. In Tira's defense, she is a circus sideshow performer. However, it's not too hard to see why this movie was cited as one of the factors leading to the implementation of the Hays Code.

Classic lines:

"Oh, Beulah, peel me a grape!"

"Well, it's not the men in your life that counts, it's the life in your men."

"When I'm good I'm very good. But when I'm bad I'm better."

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princessbrunette · 2 months

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Just thought about Spiderman!JJ affected by the Venom suit feeling the urge to visit shy!reader in the middle of the night 🤭

the venom suit bringing out mean!jj??? i’m hooked.

౨ৎ🕷️ ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

there’s something different about him when he arrives at your window in the pouring rain, the darkness of your apartment doing little to illuminate the figure you recognised as him sprawled on your fire escape. you’re quick to yank him inside, not even caring when your thin little silk night gown gets splattered with rain drops.

“are you okay?” you breathe, your hands on his strong arms as you attempt to eye him over the best you can in the dark of your living room.

“oh, better than ever, sweetcheeks.” you can hear the smile in his voice before he yanks his mask off, fluffy head of blonde hair popping out into shape almost comically. he didn’t seem injured, minus the slightly bloody cut on the corner of his mouth. he’s still grinning, and as your eyes adjust on his glinting canines you catch the glimmer of dark red blood staining his gums, evident he’d been in some kind of tussle.

“did you get into some kind of trouble tonight?” your voice is quieter, concerned and you gently lift your quivering palm to cup his cheek, wanting to turn his face to get a better look at him from the light of the window. his face is cold, and where he’d usually lean slightly into your touch— he doesn’t move, just continuing to stare you down with an expression you hadn’t seen him wear before. hungry, slinky, smirky. you remove his hand on instinct for some reason, and take a step back. “jay you’re being weird.”

“am i?” he asks, beginning to walk you backwards. “‘cus i told you already that i’m feelin’ great, princess. what, you’re not digging the new suit? i’m hurt. thought you of all people would be the first to notice.” your back hits the wall, and he closes in on you— lips curled up fully once he tongues at the cut on the corner of his mouth. his hand leans against the wall beside your head, and you’re trapped. “y’know… seein’ as it’s totally clear how bad you want me to give it to you good. think i didn’t notice? s’cute, like actually.”

your lip quivers at the humiliation, eyes filling with tears as they flicker between his. it’s then, you drop your gaze to his suit and finally notice the lack of colour. where a vibrant red and navy blue would usually illuminate against him, there was simply black in its place. your brows knit together.

“you’re… not you. somethings happened. you’re different — you’re worse.” you try to be brave, but the sentiment seems to irritate him, his hand shooting out to grip your jaw.

“ouch. s’not very nice of you, mama.” he tilts his head in faux sympathy. you’re frozen, staring up at him — half in fear and half in shameful arousal. as if sensing this, he chuckles — warm breath wafting over your lips with how close he was. if jj was finally going to kiss you, you wasn’t sure if you wanted it to be like this.

as if there had been some kind of divine intervention, there was a crash — sounding like it came from a few blocks away, followed by yelling and sirens. his pupils dilate further in curiosity and he turns his head a little, spidey senses honing in on the source. finally, he pushes off the wall— eyeing you down once more.

“yeah, uh— gonna have to cut this short.” he strolls to the window tugging his mask back on, slinging a leg out and sitting on the window sill before turning his head to face you. from this spot of your dark apartment, his silhouette was illuminated by the lights of the city behind him. “should really start lockin’ your window, cupcake. might let in unwanted spiders.”

with that, he swings off into the city— leaving you wondering who or what that was.

౨ৎ🕷️ ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

#jj maybank prompt #spiderman!jj

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marvelobsessed134 · 2 months

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Love Me Tender Part One: the meeting

Series masterlist

Pairings: 60s!rockstar!bucky x innocent!fem!reader

Warnings: nervous reader, charming Bucky, societal expectations of the time period, men being men ig idk, mentions of drugs, hint of WandaNat/time period homophobia (sorry)

It was around 9 o’clock when the party was in full swing. You sat in the large Palm Springs mansion living room around starlets and musicians alike. You didn’t know why your father dragged you here but you have a pretty good idea. He’s been trying to find you a husband for weeks now ever since you turned 18. He said that as soon as a woman is a legal adult she must find a husband. Which you don’t really mind you just hope this guy-whoever he may be-is nice.

You spotted Natasha Romanoff across the room in all glamour. The redheads perfectly curled hair, her black slinky dress, red lips and nails. She was talking to Wanda Maximoff. The two of them seemed pretty close, almost too close but no one said anything.

You’re wearing a floor length cream colored gown with your hair in a beehive hairstyle. You’ve been obsessed with those fashion magazines that show the latest trends.

Your makeup perfect, with thick eyeliner, pale pink lips, little rosy cheeks. It was no doubt the men there were staring at you. You are fresh meat.

Looking down at your feet, you saw a shadow loom over you. You looked up to see a rather handsome man, steal blue eyes, dark hair. He could only be the one and only Bucky Barnes. Of course you know him, everyone knows him. you have a bunch of his records in your collection at home.

“Um…hi?” You asked nervously realizing how much bigger he was than you.

“Hi, darlin’. Noticed you sitting over here alone what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asked. He had a bit of a southern drawl considering the fact he’s from somewhere in the south.

You blushed, “Um yeah. I’ve been dragged here by my father he’s been trying to get my hitched ever since my 18th birthday.”

“Oh? You just turned 18?”

“Y-yeah.” You chuckled nervously.

“Well you’re mighty beautiful for a young lady like you. I’d outta take you out for dinner.”

“Really? But I’m just kind of boring I don’t want to bore you…” you looked down shyly again.

The rockstar put his fingers under your chin and made you look back up at him, the action giving you butterflies. “Baby you are anything but boring and I’ve barely met you.” Just then your father came up behind him.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my Y/n.” He said.

Bucky turned to your father, “Mr. L/n wow what a pleasure to be in your presence.”

“I could say the same to you, Mr. Barnes. Me and my daughter are big fans of ya.”

The two men chatted for a bit before Bucky brought up the fact he wanted to take you on a date. “That would be nice wouldn’t it Y/n?” Your father said. You smiled and nodded with a blush.

“Y/n. What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” The brunette commented making you blush even more.

“Here’s our house number go ahead and give us a call. Me and Y/n better get out of here before the drugs come out.”

“Yes, I will definitely call you. Thank you Mr. L/n.” He turned to you, “goodnight, Y/n.” And he disappeared into the crowd.

You went home that daydreaming about the rockstar, and having some very impure thoughts about him.

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel au #60s #60s au #60s aesthetic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #innocent!reader #elvis presley #elvis and priscilla #priscilla presley #Lana Del Rey

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boxofbonesfic · 10 months

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ransom + “You twitch in your sleep. It’s honestly one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” from the sleepy prompts list 🥰✨ dark or not ur choice

Title: Sleaze

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: Just a bunch of implications really, Implied Infidelity, Mentions of drunkenness, Ransom being a creep

A/N: i wrote this in twenty minuted hiding my phone under my desk, please excuse any typos 🥲

Your mouth feels dry and cottony, the taste of wine still bitter on your tongue. You shift without opening your eyes, your borrowed gown bunching uncomfortably beneath your hips as you do.

The night returns to you in alcohol soaked flashes; answering your childhood friend’s last minute summons with forced enthusiasm—after all, Louise only seemed to remember you existed when her flakey friends left her high and dry.

“What are you doing right now?!”

This time it was her engagement party, an extravagant affair planned by Louise’s overbearing mother, and her equally overbearing soon-to-be mother-in-law. You had already been in for the night, settled onto your couch with a glass of wine when your phone had gone off.

Louise had begged you to come—her maid of honor and two bridesmaids had both cancelled last minute, leaving her down one scheduled speech and gracious toast. And you’d gone, despite the ugly bitter feeling at not having made it into the bridal party yourself—and really, you’d understood the decision, considering your relationship had devolved into getting coffee once every few months.

You had thrown together a speech on your way over, practicing the padded list of platitudes in the rearview, about the “best friend” who was really just more of an extended acquaintance. She had a dress for you to wear, of course, striking down your department store cocktail dress with the same thinly veiled mixture of pity and disapproval that had caused the distance in the first place. You shrugged it off the way you’d been doing for over a decade—you couldn’t expect someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth to understand the taste of cardboard.

Your head is pounding, and you lift a hand to it, pressing your fingers to your temples. You’d drunk far too much, unsuccessfully drowning the feelings in a sea of red wine and bubbly to chase away the bitterness. How could you not be? You were staring down your third year at the Times, with no articles of your own and too much debt. Meanwhile, you doubted the majority of Louise’s guests—Louise included—had ever actually needed to work.

And then there was her fiancé… You shudder, lifting yourself from the plush pillows beneath you with a groan. You suppose to Louise’s credit, she had a type and stuck to it fairly religiously—assholes. And Ransom Drysdsle didn’t seem to be any different.

You shudder, your disgust re-surfacing at the thought of him. The crafty, shit eating grin on his too-handsome face as he’d brushed up against you for the fiftieth time, the palm of his hand slipping brazenly against your ass through the dress with an exaggerated “Oops”.

Sleazeball.

You groan again as you stand up, the slinky hem of your evening dress pooling at your feet. The heels and purse you’d worn—also courtesy of Louise’s closet—are in a heap at the foot of the bed. The room itself is as unfamiliar as the rest of the estate and boasts the same sort of heedless opulence that you’d noted in the rest of Louise’s fiancé’s sprawling manor; expensive original art, furniture that you suspected was both older and more expensive than anything in your meager apartment.

Through the tall windows the sky is dark, pinks and oranges are just beginning to eat away at the dark edges.

Why am I still here?

Vaguely you can remember being led up the grand staircase as the world shifted with every step, and a voice like smooth honey—

“You sleep it off in here, Sweetness.”

You debate whether or not to take the shoes and purse, considering your own are in the trunk of your car. Which is, of course, valet parked somewhere on the massive property. After a moment of hesitation, you decide to leave them—how far could the car even be?

You remake the bed to the best of your ability before heading for the the intimidatingly large door. You reach for the brassy handle, but to your surprise, it turns without you touching it. You gasp, stepping out of the way as it swings open. Ransom is on the other side, so close you can hardly believe there was a door between you only seconds before.

“Oh—well look at you. Didn’t think you’d be up so early.” You can feel the weight of his gaze as it travels down the line of your exposed throat and shoulders. “You drank like a fish, Sweetness.”

Louise’s fiancé is draped across the doorway like a sleazily suited curtain, his blond hair swept back from his handsome face. He’s still dressed in his party clothes, his expensive suit jacket slung over one shoulder and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Embarrassment thins the smile you force yourself to return.

“I—yeah,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck. “Sorry about that.”

“What? No, don’t be,” Ransom shakes his head with a little laugh. The cruel curve of his lips makes it seem mocking, even if it isn’t directed at you. “By the time Lou’s friends are through, the staff is usually pulling heads out of toilets halfway through the night.” You grimace at the mention of Louise’s other friends, the ones who’s absent places you’d been called in to fill.

Ransom doesn’t move, remaining planted in the doorway like an annoying weed. For a moment, you stare at one another, until you clear your throat.

“Well, I guess I’d better—”

“How’d you like my room?” He asks suddenly, cutting you off. “Bed’s pretty comfortable, I think.” It’s something about the way he cocks his head, his lopsided smile spreading once again across his face, that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. “Well, old room.”

“I, um. It was fine.” You say haltingly. “Comfortable. I’d like to—”

“You know, you’re nicer than Lou’s other friends,” Ransom says slowly, sliding one foot over the threshold and then the other. “I like a nice girl.”

“I should leave.” You say it plainly this time, but he continues to ignore it, like you hadn’t spoken at all. The tightness in your chest grows painful as he kicks the door shut behind him. You’re confused as he begins to work at the pearl buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly as he speaks.

“You twitch in your sleep, you know.” He replies as he lays his jacket over the back of a chair. The diamond cufflinks at his wrists join his blazer as you stare at him in abject horror. “It’s honestly one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

#bones drabble #ransom drysdale drabble #ranso drysdale x reader #ranso drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale imagine #darkfic #dark AU #cevans #cevans fandom #cevans fic #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction

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wttcsms · 12 days

Text

repeat offender, hiromi higuruma.

pairing hiromi higuruma x f!reader word count 1.9k synopsis vignettes of hiromi higuruma's life, featuring his inevitable early-onset mid-life crisis, his disillusionment with the justice system, and how he can't seem to shake you off. content contains law partner's daughter!reader, no curses au, corporate/big law lawyer!hiromi, bratty, always trying to get a reaction out of him reader x just trying to survive the day hiromi, slight age gap (hiromi is 26, reader is 20), eventual smut in later parts, sfw but suggestiveauthor's notes something a bit different; just wanted to test out diff narrative formats lol (and also, this was the closest thing in my gdocs to being finished & i feel guilty for not giving y'all new content)

all the wrong dialogue options were chosen here

Despite the ceiling clearance being so high that it’s enough to make a man of his stature feel small and the fact that despite all the warm bodies in this banquet hall right now, it would still be more of a challenge to bump into someone rather than avoiding them; despite the fact that the air conditioning system must be working overtime since he hasn’t felt the need to shrug off his tuxedo jacket once, despite the fact that he’s free to leave at any time he wants since he’s already gone through the obligatory introductions and the empty pleasantries—

—despite it all, Hiromi Higuruma feels trapped. The walls are slowly closing in on him, and someone from across the massive room is laughing a bit too loudly, and the ceiling, with its intricate crown molding, feels like it’s going to collapse onto him at any second.

That’s the problem when you decide to be someone you’re not. He’s constantly on his toes, always having to look behind him, always trying to make sure his mask isn’t going to slip. Fresh out of law school. Top marks, top of his class, actually. As expected, as always.

Hiromi is used to setting the curve, so it doesn’t take him long to learn how these circles operate. Laugh at the right jokes, order the right drink, find the right people to praise, the right suit to wear — he’s good at figuring out the right answers to everything.

“The party’s never going to end, so if you feel like leaving, you might as well just go now.”

Hiromi turns to face the source of that sentence, only to have to glance downwards, taking in the sight of you. Glossy lips, long lashes, slinky gold gown clinging to the curves of your body. He swallows. Hard.

You smile. Sweetly.

“Before you go, though, you mind getting me a drink from the bar?” You point to the bar that’s across the room, the area Hiromi just left, one old-fashioned in his hand.

The first wrong thing Hiromi says is, “It’s an open bar.”

Your shining smile barely falters, but he catches the subtle curve of a frown almost taking shape.

“Do you really think I could fight off that crowd?” You give him a faux pout, one that only emphasizes the pretty shape of your lips.

Looking like that, he thinks you wouldn’t need to fight the crowd to get the bartender’s attention. Everyone would probably be clamoring for yours, actually. He doesn’t tell you this, though. Instead, he says, “Like you said, I might as well just go now.”

Boo. This stranger is no fun. What a waste of good looks, you think to yourself. Taking in the way his body fills out his suit, the tall bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his features — maybe it’s for the best that he’s no fun. You’re not sure how you would be able to keep your cool if he actually was interesting.

“Don’t just paraphrase. I remember saying that after telling you you should do that if you feel like leaving.”

He wonders what you’re doing here, at one of the biggest charity galas sponsored by the big law firm he’s going to be joining shortly after his graduation. There’s no way you’re a law student; only a select few final year students were invited in the first place. He can’t fathom you being someone’s plus-one; looking like that, he certainly wouldn’t be able to let you out of his grasp.

He doesn’t ask you anything, though. He doesn’t compliment you, or say anything that’s on his mind. Instead, he hands his half-empty glass to one of the catering employees walking by that’s collecting dirty glasses, and he tells you, “I’ll be heading out now. Good luck with the bar.”

It certainly wasn’t the right thing to say, but being a genius comes with some pressure. He figures he’s allowed to give out a few incorrect answers every once in a while.

apex predator

The click-clack of your four-inch heels making impact against the tiled floors of your father’s law firm serves as a signal to everyone that they need to seek immediate shelter (read: cower in the nearest coworker’s office) and try not to make direct eye contact with you.

When the boss’s daughter comes to visit, everyone’s on edge.

Everyone except the new hire.

Hiromi Higuruma is by no means slow on the uptake, but he’s clocking in the most billable hours out of everyone. Very rarely does he get a chance to take a break, and he doesn’t plan on wasting what few precious minutes of a break he can get on hiding from some brat whose single defining characteristic is sharing the same last name that’s plastered on this skyscraper of a building.

When he passes you by in the hallway, you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and a familiar slope of a nose bridge you’ve seen before. You almost falter in your footsteps — almost.

bucket list idea: fuck in an elevator

There’s something intimate about being in the same elevator as someone else.

When there’s a handful of people, it’s casual. Simple. Someone who forgot deodorant, someone who’s running late for work, someone who just burnt their tongue trying to drink their coffee too fast. All of it is mundane.

Being in an elevator where it’s just you and him — you haven’t decided yet if it’s a gift or a punishment.

“My father loves the work you’ve been doing,” You’re the first one to break the silence. You can only hope that he’ll be the first one to break the distance between you two: a respectful four feet apart.

Hiromi clears his throat, straightens his tie. He’s staring straight ahead, right at the shiny silver of the stainless steel doors. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not the one who said anything about your work.”

The corners of his mouth almost turn up at that. He fights the urge to smile.

“Then thanks for the honesty.”

“Do you like that?” You ask him.

“Like what?”

“Honesty?” You ask it innocently enough, but when you give him those eyes, and make your lips form that pout, everything comes out sounding sultry. He’s convinced you could be reading his most recent M&A deal out loud to him and make it sound like you’re reading an erotic romance.

“Well, I’m a lawyer.” He finds that he has to bite back his smile when he’s around you. He stares at the slowly changing numbers on the screen. The two of you entered from the parking garage, and the elevator’s making its steady ascent to the thirtieth floor.

“So that’s a no.” You muse.

Hiromi makes no comment.

whatever pays the bills, i guess

Hiromi Higuruma, unlike every other undergrad trying to get into law school, does not take… creative liberties when it comes to his personal statement on why he wants to become a lawyer. Potential medical school students lie and say they want to “save lives” because “living with six-figure student loan debt for the first decade out of school and then making crazy bank afterwards seems like a good trade-off” just doesn’t sound very awe-inspiring, does it?

In another life, he thinks he’s probably a defense attorney. Representing the Little Guy. Keeping alive his desire to uphold the principles of justice and that the wrongfully accused receive fair representation. Even with the odds stacked against his client, he’s certain that he’s good enough to win their case.

However, the world is unfair. Doing the good thing rarely pays off. Being a good person doesn’t get you very far, either. One of his former classmates was such a bright, kind girl. Passionate statement of purpose, too. She applied to all the same law programs as Hiromi and got accepted to exactly zero of them.

Hiromi got into every single one, and his statement of purpose was honest, straight to the point, and damn-near clinically cold.

I need a competitive environment that takes pride in its intellectual rigor, but I have no desire to pursue medical school just to spend a decade in college and residency. Law school seems most appropriate for my needs.

who hired the intern?

Hiromi doesn’t know what you do around the firm, just that you’re constantly here.

Even when you’re not physically present, he still finds traces of you lingering everywhere. The scent of your perfume that sticks to the elevator’s walls, your now-empty medium sized iced matcha latte in the trashcan of the breakroom, whispers of your names when his colleagues are in the mood to gossip, the click-clack of your heels that he can hear from inside his office even though his door is closed.

He can’t tell if you’re just inescapable or if he’s constantly subconsciously seeking you out. He doesn’t want to know the answer.

What he does want to know the answer to is why you’re sitting on top of his desk at seven in the morning, your medium sized iced matcha latte in all its green glory (this is the first time he’s seen it full and not as an empty plastic cup in the trash). You’re wearing a fitted white button down with a gray wool skirt that will have the HR manager doing a wide-eyed double-take when you walk past her. Your legs are crossed, and Hiromi scolds himself for noticing.

He focuses on your face instead, upset to see that you’re still doing that unfair move of yours — that pout, those eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” Hiromi manages to get the words unstuck from his throat. He’s not even sure how you got the keys to his office, and then he remembers who your father is.

You smile brightly.

“My dad says I need some ‘resume-boosting’ activities, and how convenient is it that the firm is looking for an off-cycle intern?”

How convenient, indeed.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting on top of my desk.” During your chirpy exclamation, Hiromi manages to pull himself together. He’s getting a few steps closer to you. He’s not going to sit behind his desk, not yet, but his approach only serves to bring you two into closer proximity. If you stretch your legs, the pointy tips of your stilettos will brush against the fabric of his trousers.

“Well, every intern at the firm is apparently assigned a lawyer to work under. Y’know, to be a mentor.”

He can’t decide if he likes or detests where this is going.

“And,” you continue. “Dad only wants the best for me. It’d be, like, kind of suspicious to be working directly alongside my father, though.” Yes, Hiromi muses. Because getting a law internship at one of the most prestigious firms during your undergrad is certainly not suspicious at all. “So, the next best thing would be the so-called prodigal lawyer that everyone can’t stop praising. How convenient is it that you’re able to watch over an intern for the semester?”

“Very convenient.” Hiromi raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get off my desk now? I can’t imagine you’ll be able to learn much if your back is going to be facing me when I’m sitting at my desk.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” You hop off the desk, gently tugging your skirt down in place. He keeps his eyes focused on your face the whole time.

#hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #one shot #drabble #fluff #imagine #jjk headcanons #hiromi higuruma x you

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Pure Academia

Pairing: Older Professor!Eddie x Older Reader

Summary: You and Eddie get to have a little alone time in his office.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Not really a warning, but Eddie is 56 and reader is in their 30's, do with that what you will. Soft dom stuff if you squint, a little drinking. (18+ NSFW)

A/N: Hey besties, this is another one for @newlips milestone of love. I promise it's the last one, I just had a stroke of luck happen these past few days and was able to get these out. I rolled a 15 on @word-wytch list and got Professor!Eddie! There's like a lot of hands in mouths in this, I'm obviously going through something. Have fun out there kids!

“You get dinner without me?”

He can see you sitting with your legs crossed, perched on the edge of his desk in the shadow of his dim office. He was sure he’d left the lights on when he left.

“Why are you hiding in the dark?” When he pulls the door closed behind him, he makes sure to click the lock. Goes to flip the light switch and you let out an ‘ah!’, clicking your tongue at him.

“Did that on purpose. I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Oh we are?”

“Mhm.” The ambient light from outside casts through the blinds and over you. He can make out your outstretched arm, beckoning finger curling towards him. He smiles at you but doesn’t move forward, just takes his jacket off and hangs it on the hook behind the door.

“What are we celebrating?”

“I just filed my paperwork for graduation.”

He knows this, saw the email you CC’d him on before he left earlier.

“Oh did you now?”

You drop your hand and he takes a few steps forward, notices the open bottle of wine beside you, your shoes on the floor. His eyes trail up your bare feet swinging a little over the side of the desk, calves flexing with the movement.

“Is that a new dress?” He’s got his hands in his pockets so you don’t see him clenching his fists. So you don’t see how quickly he’s falling for this little display.

“Bought it this morning.” You sound so proud, and you should be. 7 years of school finally done, masters degree in your clutches. He thinks you deserve all the things you want actually, damn the price.

Takes those final few steps, reaches out to run a finger over your bare knee. You circle his wrist and huff through your nose, playing with the leather banded watch there.

“It looks good. Is this what you’re gonna wear under your gown?”

“Nope. This one’s just for you.” You look up at him through your lashes, eyes heavy and shining. You’re not drunk but you’ve obviously started the party without him.

Your hand trails up his arm from his wrist, fingertips tracing over all the ink there. Stopping at the rolled cuff of his button up you slide your fingers under to gently grip at his elbow. “I saw it and thought of you.” Rubbing your fingers softly over his skin, your other hand moves to slide the hem up your thigh a little more, the black silk cool against you.

It’s a slinky little thing, just long enough to cover your ass, the back wide open and dipping low. It clings to your shoulders with thin straps and drapes down low in the front to show off your deep cleavage. His eyes have been roaming all over you since he walked in, taking in your body under the cling of the silk. He dances his fingers up your thigh to clutch at the soft skin there. Watches your eyelashes flutter.

“You think about me when you buy pretty things?” Voice deep and hushed he’s moved fully into your space now, breath ghosting over your cheek. You uncross your legs so you can scoot closer and cage his hips in with your knees. He keeps a grip on your thigh and you wish he’d just grab you up to him already.

“Always.”

“Just me?”

“Only you.” The smirk on your face has him blushing while you move to unbutton his shirt, your fingers making him giddy and he feels like he’s 20 again and fumbling around in the dark for the first time.

Only you.

He pulls his hands from your body, only to still yours at his buttons.

“What?” You look a little confused, tilt your head at him and continue smirking.

He pauses to smile back at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, taking a moment to just hold your hands in his.

You can feel his heartbeat under his shirt, can feel it speed up a little when he smiles down at you and he’s just so handsome. You’ve seen photos of him in his 20’s and while you know you would have still fallen for him then, it can’t compare to now. The low light catches the silver shot through his dark brown hair, curls pulled back loose behind him. He’s covered in tattoos, though all placed to be hidden under a collar and cuffs.

‘Such is the life of an English professor.’

The rings on his hands are more subtle now, more expensive, where they sit warm on yours. He’s a lot more put together, more presentable. Any time you’ve said that he pulls a face, crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out at you.

‘Only at work, Ed.’

The time you two spend alone outside of his office is sacred, no peerage around to stare and ask questions. No students knocking his office door down with questions that have answers in the syllabus.

He’s relaxed and goofy; comfortable and engaged.

Most importantly unbuttoned, which you set to work at again while his eyes roam your face. You can feel a blush starting to form at the crux of your chest. It blossoms up and over your neck, behind your ears. It isn’t just the wine making your neck hot, mostly it’s his intense stare keeping track of your movements. His hands fall and slide up to your hips, inching the already short slip further up. His thumbs nearly brush each other, hands splayed so wide across the tops of your thighs and when he swipes them up under the hem, he lets out a huff. Glances down and back up at you. “No underwear?”

You shake your head and grin, cheeks rosy and eyes glittering. “Told you I had a surprise.”

Untucking his shirt to finally pull it off and throw it on the chair behind him, immediately trying to work your hands up inside his undershirt to touch his stomach.

He’s all soft skin and softer belly, a thing he admonishes you for liking so much. You make it a point every time he rolls his eyes, to show him just how much it means to you. Tracing all his tattoos across his chest down to his hips, fingertips light and lips heavier, especially around the big scars that litter his body. He’s never fully explained, doesn’t need to for you to see how much they bother him so it’s no problem, your pleasure in fact, to remind him just how handsome he is.

With your hands busy trailing hot across his chest he takes his opportunity to pull your hem up fully and hold the bunched fabric against your hip in his left hand. His right glides up between your thighs and he runs his index finger lightly up the middle of you. It makes you shiver, eyes falling shut for a moment. He does it again, this time slipping three fingers in to flutter through your folds and up and over your clit. Your nails dig in lightly at his pecks and he’s in love with the little noises you’re making.

He keeps up the movement, gentle and light and repetitive until you’ve dropped your forehead on his chest, breath hot and damp against the cotton of his shirt. You can feel the laugh rumble out of him but you’re too busy watching his fingers move deftly between your legs to say anything.

“You watchin’ me?” He leans his head down, whispers it into your hair and digs his left hand in a little tighter to your hip.

“Yes.” You breath out, dropping your hands to grip at his belt to try and pull him closer. He won’t budge but he does bump your knee with his thigh, suggesting you open your legs wider. His fingers keep their light pace but only over your clit, the three fingers strumming over and over and you’d like to make a joke about not being one of his hollow bodies but it dies on your tongue when he tips your chin up to look at him.

Thumb running over your bottom lip, he pulls at it and leans in for a soft kiss. You let out a moan and he swallows it, takes the opportunity to sink two fingers into you and you buckle. His hand moves from your chin to your jaw to hold you in place while he curls his fingers upwards and there it is. He watches your eyes roll back, sees the shudder that rolls through your shoulders.

You want to drop your head back and whine but he’s got a grip on you, gives your head a little shake.

“Hey, look at me.”

You bring your attention back to his face. His words are soft, tone quiet but the pressure from his hand keeps you still. Forces you to stare at him. He keeps eye contact and pulls your face closer so your lips ghost over each other, breath spilling between you two while he speeds up his movements. The slick sound of his fingers working you open fill the quiet of his office, your whimpers swallowed up by his mouth hovering.

“You look beautiful baby.” He murmurs, slowing down his hand to drag his fingertips along that sensitive spot deep in your cunt, grinds the heel of his palm up against your clit. Your breath hitches in your chest with his movements but you smile, a quiet ‘thank you’ whispered up at him.

His hand wanders from your jaw to hold the back of your neck and pin you in place, keeping you as still as he can when he moves his fingers faster. He can feel you clenching around him, can hear how close you’re getting. Between the near constant whine coming out of you and the grip you have on his belt he knows to pull back his hand. It takes a second for you to register, devastated, that he’s stopped.

“Ed?”

“You think I’m just going to finger you on my desk like we’re freshmen?”

God, you were so close, he can see it in the glazed over confusion in your eyes.

“I don’t care it felt good.” A quiver of your bottom lip, impatience laced in your words.

“Oh I know baby, I’m sorry.” He coos at you. Runs the middle finger of his right hand, the one soaked in you, across your bottom lip. He wants to pinch the plushness between his fingers and pull it down, watch it pop back into place. Ed loves your mouth, all of it, but especially your lips. Soft and warm and pink-

Your tongue snakes out and wraps around his finger, drawing it in. The soft velvet of your mouth reminds him of where those fingers were a moment ago and he pushes his ring finger in too. You moan around his hand and while he’s distracted you finally get his belt undone, whipping it out of the loops and sending it clattering beside you.

The hand on your neck tightens, “Do you taste good? Hm?” There’s a breathlessness to him now watching you suck on his fingers. “Gonna let me have a taste?”

He pulls his hand away with a wet pop from your lips. Where you think he’ll come in for a kiss he instead drops down to his knees, both hands kneading at the sensitive inside of your thighs. A last glance upward before he dives in to run the full flat of his tongue up your sex and over your clit. A gasp and a throaty laugh escape you and you thread a hand into his hair, pulling out the tie to let his curls loose. They’re soft where they fall against your legs and Ed shakes his head against you. The light dusting of stubble on his jaw scratches, a burn that you relish, and the contrast of it and his firm tongue put you right back on the precipice.

“Ed-Eddie oh my god I missed you today.” You’re talking, trying to keep your focus so this isn’t all over too soon. You can feel him smile before he changes it up, licking up to suck on your clit. “Oh fuck-k me.”

“Plan on it.” He mumbles against your skin. You have to lean back on your free hand so you don’t topple over off the desk. From this new angle you can watch him over your chest, his dark eyes flicking up to you when you shift back. One of his big hands slides up your dress and yanks down on the fabric. He only breaks the suction on you to tell you to move the straps of the dress.

“Don’t want to rip this.”

Shimmying the top down to bunch at your waist, his hand finds your skin again, rough pads of his fingers skate over your nipple and you jump slightly. When he pinches one your head rolls back and you finally get to let out that whine. He takes that as a cue and brings his fingers back, circling your entrance to tease before dipping back in.

That’s all it takes, one little brush upwards. Your hand in his hair tightens and pulls and his eyes roll back in his head. His senses full of you when your thighs squeeze around his ears and you gush on his fingers, taste as sweet as ever.

He lets off of you sensitive bud with a pop, a shiver going up your spine when he keeps pumping his fingers in and out.

“Eddie, I th-thought we-we weren’t fresh-man.” You stutter at him, overstimulated, hand coming from behind you to wind between your legs, grabbing his wrist in a weak attempt to stop him.

“No, but you just feel so god damn good.” His voice is husky and he punctuates his statement with a final deep flutter of his fingers. Pulls them out and wiggles them in your face.

“Open.”

You’re breathing heavy, hand still wrapped in his hair. You stare hard at him before opening your mouth again, eyelids drooping when he places three fingers on your tongue.

“Close.”

He doesn’t need to tell you to suck.

You thought he was done with you but his tongue is wicked when he licks at your cunt again, tip dipping in to taste. The groan vibrates out of him and you clench down. Thighs tight around his head, teeth digging into his knuckles.

A few more broad tongued laps at you and he stands up, keeps his fingers in your mouth. Your hand drops from his head; wild eyes follow his movements where he leans over to grab the wine bottle. He takes a swig, eyes never leaving yours. He moves his fingers in your mouth and raises an eyebrow.

Keep sucking.

You do and he takes another sip. Pulls the bottle down to squint at it in the dark, to mutter.

“Need my fucking glasses…this my Sullivan Merlot?”

You shake your head and mumble around his hand ‘no I bought it this morning.’ Ed nods like he understood you.

“Well it pairs well with you, don’t you think?”

A nod from you, a chuckle from him. One last sip and he sets the bottle down and removes his fingers suddenly.

“Oh…”

“Hold on babe.” He undoes his pants and pushes them down with his underwear just past his hips. Your breathing has picked up again at the sight of him, the tattoos on his thighs just peeking out over the band of his boxers. Cock heavy and flushed, he uses the hand covered in your spit to squeeze at the fat head before sliding back down, languidly giving himself a few strokes.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” He grins at you watching him stroke himself. Knows he’s got you right where he wants you. “Baby?”

“Yea.” Your eyes snap up to his. Soft hands grab for him and he lets you take over, a low groan when you wrap around his length. Your other hand grips his balls and the groan gets louder, longer.

“Good girl.”

You love watching him break down like this. When he has to lean forward into you, hands braced on either side of your hips while you move your hand up and down. The subtle rocking of his hips. You try to lean your head down to spit on his cock but a firm ‘no’ makes you look back up at him.

“C’mere.” Big hands pull you towards the edge, almost off the desk and he uses one to move your own hands off of him. With nothing to grab, they fall on his shoulders and wind up in his locks again to tug.

“Keep doing that.”

Another pull and he slides the fat head of his cock against your folds and over your abused clit. It makes you gasp and he does it again a few times to feel your legs shake and jump around him. He taps your knee and you wrap your thighs around him.

He sinks in like he’s never left, you both sigh like it’s been years. Fingers flex at his scalp and his eyes roll back again, snaps his hips back to slam into you. It punches out a cry and he knows he’s hitting you deep, feels how quick you squeeze down on him.

“Jesus you feel amazing.”

“Ed please move.” Your heels dig into his lower back and a hand moves down his front, splaying flat against his stomach. He rolls his hips again and watches your mouth fall open on a silent whimper.

“Like that?”

You nod, hand scrambling to ruck the hem of his shirt up. Hot palm against his hot skin where it runs up and over the edge of one of the old scars.

One last snap of his hips before he brings his right hand up to stuff fingers back on your tongue. Your laugh turns into a moan turns into something garbled around his hand when he starts fucking into you. Holding you in place with a hand planted behind you and the one gripping your jaw, he looses himself in you for a while.

You pull at his hair when you feel yourself getting close again, another orgasm waiting to burn through you but it doesn’t slow him down. Mumbled string of his name in your already full mouth you go stiff for a moment and then loose, a long cry pitching high and whiny and he pulls you closer. He’s relentless, his cock hitting deep on every stroke and he starts to feel the building of his own release.

Drops his head into the crook of your neck and kisses wherever he can reach. When he feels your jaw unclench he moves his hand to cradle your head, moves up your neck and to your swollen lips. You pull at him again, strands still wound around your fist, and he kisses you hard. Slips his tongue between your teeth and you taste like merlot and your own spend and he can hear himself desperately whimpering. He barely registers it, the stutter of his movements before it sneaks up on him.

Your nails drag across his skin and his scar, the tugging on the back of his head and he’s undone. Eyes squeezing shut, a muttered ‘fuck fuck fuck’ punctuating the rock of his hips where he comes deep in you, can feel you pulling him in tighter with your legs.

When the ringing of his ears starts to fade he feels your hands warm against his face, your lips dotting kisses.

“I love you Ed.” Whispered against the bridge of his nose. “You’re so good to me.” Against the lines around his eyes. “Thank you thank you thank you.” Against the underside of his jaw, up against the slowing pulse point.

He’s trying to catch his breath and stay close to you. Fully enjoying the soft doting of you while he comes back down to earth.

He notices his knees first, the ache creeping the same way his back probably will soon. There’s a reason you two are always in a bed when you do this.

“Hey, come back here with me.” He pulls out of you, hissing slightly, and leans back to fall into the plush visitor chair behind him. Waves a hand at you to follow. When you stand you let the dress fall off your hips and Eddie halfheartedly wolf whistles.

“You know, if I wasn’t such a fucking old man I’d say that’d set me up for round two.” It’s self depreciating, his own ageism against himself.

“You need like two hours and you’re ready to go again. No big deal.” You wave him off and climb into his lap, legs draped over the arm of the chair and tucked up under his chin.

“Two hours and a blue pill.”

“Oh you mean your aleve?”

He swats at your exposed tit and you yelp. Call him a dick and he just sticks his tongue out at you. A few minutes of bickering and you shut him up with a kiss.

“Now’s the time to ask for a really nice graduation present.” He thinks he’s funny. You don’t know it but he’s got your copy of the key to his brownstone in his desk. Got a nice little box and everything. Put his own masters degree to good use and wrote you a good long letter about moving in and on with him.

You fiddle with the watch on the arm that's wrapped around you. Cheeky, you ask, “Can I get a matching Breitling?”

“You know Steve got me that for my 50th, right?”

“Okay, can Steve get me a matching one?”

Eddie laughs and pulls you close again, your nose nestled against his throat.

"I'll ask him."

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson #newlipsmilestoneoflove #My Work #My Fic #Professor Munson

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