#the purple shirt of deliciousness

[timedhoney]

Giving wonwoo hickeys would change my life. Straddling that tiny waist, leaning down as you bury your face into his warm neck. You watch as he squirms against you when your eyelashes brush along his blushed skin.

“Hi,” you murmur smoothly into his ear, just to feel his breath hitch in that gorgeous chest of his.

"Hi," he responds and you selfishly have to kiss those plump lips before you get back to the task at hand. Ok, maybe you have to slide in a little tongue too. You're not perfect. You love feeling how he reacts beneath you, love to feel how those large hands grip deeply into your thighs when you suck his bottom lip into your mouth. You know it drives him wild, and you wiggle your hips in satisfaction against the tent growing in his jeans.

God, what a man. How he manages to make an outfit with no more than a white shirt and pants have you to the point of drooling all over him, you have no idea. But when he walked into the door of your apartment, you immediately had to shove him onto your couch, pull his zipper halfway down, and then throw your legs over his. He looks picturesque in the way you've strewn him about, hair ruffled and jeans sliding down just enough to show a hit of muscle that makes you feel unholy things.

All that can wait though, because the spot just behind his ear is calling to you. You press your mouth there first before losing control and taking the tiniest nip just to watch the color flood up from his chest to his cheeks. What a beautiful gradient.

"You make it too easy, you know?" You say, smiling down at him as he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, still flushed that cherry red. "One little bite and your'e going to act like this?" He nods shockingly fast, tipping his glasses down his nose with the action. You press them back up with your own nose, winking as you turn back to where you were. No distractions this time.

The noises that leave him always make it worth it. You take no prisoners when you pull at his skin, leaving obscene pops in your wake. You alternate between bites and licks, sucking and nipping. Only once you find the spot that creates the most delicious moan do you stop journeying, pressing your hips tightly into his. Feeling the heat start to radiate further off of him. Tasting the salt off his skin. Letting him writhe against you as you smile into the bite.

You look beneath you to admire your work.

"You're so lucky that I make pretty hickeys," you tell him smugly. And it's true, but maybe it's just that everything suits him. Beautiful blooms in varying shades of red and purple litter the left side of his neck. He groans as he slaps a hand over it.

"Ugh, did you have to go asymmetrical? It's going to be impossible to cover the one behind my ear with a turtleneck...." You laugh as you finally finish pulling down his zipper.

"I know you can't be mad when I just heard how you were behaving." He flips you onto your back on the couch and lifts up your shirt, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

"Mine are going to be prettier than yours," is his only reply as he leans down to leave open mouthed kisses to your tits before he begins rival your bruises with his own.

"I love when you get competitive," you sigh dreamily.

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #still thinking about him saying send me your account number LIKEEEEEE

[vivwritesfics]

Taking Control

(But not really)

Max is a dominant guy, both on and off the track. Sometimes he likes to let Y/N have control. Or, at least, the illusion of control.

Warnings: smut, pwp, bj, sub/dom dynamics, p in v stuff, dominant max

Max's hands sat on her hips, his lips on hers. Y/Ns eyes were shut as she kissed him, her hands on his face, holding him close.

"Wow," she gasped as Max moved his lips down to her neck. His grip on her hips became tighter, bruising. And Y/N was loving every second of it.

She ground her hips against his and Max let out a groan, music to her ears. "Are you going to do all of the work tonight, baby?" He asked, stopping his attack on her neck long enough to look up at her.

Y/N nodded quickly as she went back to kissing Max, sticking her tongue down his throat. It was long before Max had all of the control, his tongue in her mouth as Y/N bit softly. Not a proper bite, not one that would cause any pain.

As Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, Max made quick work of taking of her shirt, leaving her in just her bra.

It was one Max had bought her for a joke for their year long anniversary. A Red Bull bra, with the proper shade of blue and the logos in any available space. "Wow," Max echoed as he stated at it. He loved it and not just because it was hilarious.

"Are we gonna stay on the couch or should we take this to the bedroom?"

"Bedroom, definitely," Max answered as he stood up with Y/N still on his lap. She let out a squeal and hastily wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Max carried her with ease. He was an athlete, after all. Carrying Y/N to the bedroom was no problem for him. He kicked open the door and carried Y/N in.

Rather ungracefully, Max dropped Y/N onto the bed. He crawled on top of her, attaching his lips to hers once again.

"Uh uh," said Y/N as she pulled away from him. "I thought I was doing all of the work tonight."

Grinning, Max lifted himself away from Y/N. He laid down on the bed and placed his hands behind his head, grinning as Y/N climbed on top of him.

She worked to pull off his Red Bull shirt. Always the Red Bull shirt. She let out a giggle as she kissed her way down his chest, leaving dark, purple marks as she went.

Max let out a series of moans as Y/N worked on his belt. Music to her ears, she thought, pulling off his trousers.

Left in nothing but his boxers, Max sat up and wrapped his arms around Y/N and pulled her close.

Her hands on his face she went back to kissing him, feeling him grow hard beneath her. Y/N ground her hips against his, eyes shut as she whined. "I need you," she whispered against his lips.

Before Y/N could pull away to get the rest of their clothes off, Max whispered something in her ear, his lips hot against her ear.

Grinning, Y/N turned herself around. She slid off the bed and pulled off Maxs boxers, letting hid cock spring free.

Y/N knealed at the end of the bed as Max shuffled down. She placed her hands against his hips, holding him still as she kissed the tip, touch light a teasing.

Max smirked when he felt her solid grip on his pelvis. If Y/N thought she had control, she wouldn't for long. It was simply an illusion.

His hand settled on her head, fingers knotting through her hair as she wrapped her lips around him and sucked. Y/N set the pace but Max controlled, dictating whether she wabt faster or slower. "That's it, baby," he said through a shaky breath, eyes closed as he bucked his hips. Y/N gagged around him, her throat constricting deliciously.

Before he could get to close to finishing, Max pulled her away. "Get undressed the rest of the way," he demanded.

Standing, Y/N pulled off her underwear. She stepped out of it and crawled her way up to Max as he curled his finger.

Y/N had no control and she didn't even realise it.

His hands were on his hips as she sank down onto him, eyes shut and head thrown back. Y/N had to sit there for a moment, appreciate how he felt inside of her.

"Wow," she said as she looked down at him beneath her, her hands on his chest.

Y/N began moving, slowly at first. As much as she thought it was all her, dictating the movements and the pace, it was Max with his hands holding her hips.

His grip was bruising as he moved her. "That's it, Schat. So good for me," he grunted, his hips beginning to move beneath her.

"Nah ah, Max," she grinned as she stopped moving. "It's all me, remember?"

A cocky attitude. Max hadn't expected that. He smiled at her as he lifted his hips and moved, properly moved, fucking up into her. Y/N threw her head back as she moaned, feeling every inch of him.

"Oh my god, Max," she moaned, leaning forward, pressing her face against his shoulder.

Max moaned as she bit down, licking and sucking at the skin on his shoulder. The movements of his hips had suddenly slowed, becoming sloppy as he got close. "oh mijn schatje, oh mijn liefste," he whispered against her as he came close.

Y/N let out one last cry, slumping against him as she came.

Max took only a few seconds more, his thrusts suddenly gentle. He let out a series of grunts, picking up the pace of his thrusts as he came.

They laid there for just a moment as Max slipped out. He held her for a moment, kissing her hair as he ran his hand up and down her back. "Let's get you cleaned up, Schat," he said and sat up, Y/N still in his arms.

"You never let me have control, did you?" Shd asked as Max walked with her to the bathroom.

He shook his, a shit-eating grin on his face. "No, mijn liefste, no you didn't."

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader smut #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula one smut #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formuma 1 smut #mv1 #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #mv1 smut

[sleepymarimo]

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜.

summary: lazy. morning. sex. pairing: zoro x afab!reader cw: mdni, established relationship, creampie, cockwarming an: wrote this after a concert, while hella drunk. might have to proofread 🫡 i am putty in this man's hands wc: ~1.5k

the observation deck is quiet, almost still except for the occasional sway from the crashing of waves against the hull of the ship. it’s the only place where the two of you got a slice of privacy, so for now, the wooden floors would do.

zoro lays out on his back, one of his arms resting behind his head while the other curled around your sleeping form. your back was pressed to his side, the muscle of his bicep acting as the perfect pillow for you to rest on.

the sun had yet to rise, the sky painted in hues of purple and blue. in time, daybreak would be upon you. for now you eagerly relished in the warmth zoro had to offer you.

the swordsman’s steady inhales are interrupted by a hitched breath, followed by a tired groan. he tugs you closer, a rasped exhale rattling in his chest as he did so.

his tongue swipes across his lower lip before he swallows and lets out a sigh.

slowly, he turns over. you can feel his weight roll over onto your back and you let out a small whine in protest. it doesn't take much to pin you to the wooden floor. he’s all consuming and captivating. even when he’s drowsy and half asleep, he somehow manages to remind you that he’s capable of decimating entire empires.

the next thing you register is the feel of his teeth against the nape of your neck. with a subtle undulation of his hips against your ass, you can tell what he’s in the mood for.

a shiver runs down your spine, your back arching slightly. “zo’…” you whimper, eyelids still heavy with tiredness. “thought you were gonna train.”

he grumbles a curse against your flesh, his hips slowly grinding against the curve of your rear. his breaths are heavy, the scent of sake lingering from the night before. while he loves how adamant you are on making sure he stayed sharp and disciplined, he finds that your words do little to change his mind.

“s’just a warm up.” his tongue licks at the sensitive flesh of your neck, his lips sucking light marks into your skin. he emphasizes his point by grinding against you a little harder, his already hard cock rubbing against your ass with a delicious friction.

he knows you won’t deny him. it’s not like he’d ever deny you, either.

your twitching muscles and hushed gasps only spur him on. he slides a hand under your shirt, groping at your tits before rolling a hardening nipple between his fingers.

the action has your back arching, pressing your ass to his clothed cock in a desperate attempt to find reprieve.

with a kiss to your shoulder, he lifts himself off of your vulnerable form and kneels behind you.

his calloused hands gently tug down your pajamas and panties, tossing them to some random corner of the room. your shirt is next, peeled off of your practically pliant form and leaving you bare before him. he takes a moment to rub his palms up and down your thighs, squeezing and kneading at the softness.

all he needs to do is feel.

one of his hands guides your leg outward, hiking it up into a nice ninety degree angle which opens you up for him perfectly. your other leg remains straightened out, flat against the wooden floor. he slides his hand upwards, grazing the skin of your inner thigh and letting out a satisfied grunt once his fingers make contact with your soaked cunt.

he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers, just enough to let his cock loose. a few solid strokes to relieve the tension is all he needs, before he guides the head of his arousal right to your entrance. his hand guides his cock up and down your slit, coating it in your wetness before rolling his hips forward.

he shudders, he always does, when he enters you.

it’s like his body isn’t used to experiencing such pleasure. he’ll never fully get used to it. he’ll never get used to feeling so damn good.

the moan you let out might as well have been a sigh. it’s so light, nearly breathless, and your head spins.

he buries his head into your back, suppressing a guttural growl. his hair feels soft against your skin, both of you coated in a light sheen of sweat.

“fuuuuuuck.” he gives a few lazy strokes, his cock twitching at the warmth of your cunt. it hugs him in a velvety embrace, soft and spongy walls seeming to pull him deeper and deeper. “i swear this pussy was made f’me.”

beneath him, you mewl. your eyes screw shut, his hips rocking into yours with purpose and passion. he puts his whole weight behind his thrusts, the floor creaking with every movement. it's almost overwhelming.

his face buries into the crook of your neck, where he kisses and licks and nips at your flesh like a beast in heat.

cheek pressed to the floor, you can’t focus on anything other than the feel of his cock splitting you open. you’d beg him over and over again to wreck you. he'd do it without hesitation.

for a few moments, the room fills with echoes of soft, wet slaps, sharp gasps and restrained groans. it's an exchange that goes beyond words. daybreak brings with it a surge of emotion, beams of sunlight exposing the emotions usually tucked away in the shadows.

his breath hitches, jaw going slack as pleasure begins to claw its way up to his chest. “play with yourself, doll.” he growls, burying his face into your hair. he breathes in the scent of your sweat and natural fragrance, wanting each and every one of his senses to be attuned to you.

wordlessly, you obey. using almost all your might, you push back against him just enough to wedge a hand down to your puffy clit. your knuckles graze uncomfortably against the rough floor, but that doesn’t stop you from rubbing small, fast circles against your sensitive bud.

a lazy smirk makes it’s way onto his face when he feels you start to tighten around his thick cock. it feels so damn good, his hips picking up their pace. his heart is pounding in anticipation, knowing that he’d spill the sloppiest load of cum right into your aching pussy.

it's all for him.

just for him.

the groan he lets out against the back of your head is shaky, the rough timbre of it reverberating down his chest. he lowers his head a fraction, until his lips just barely grazed your ear. “y’gonna take it all?”

your mouth falls open, a whirlwind of pleasure blooming in your navel and spreading to every inch of your body. “uh huh!” you pant, brows furrowing as you maintained a steady pace on your clit. “all of it, zo’!”

he grunts in satisfaction, one of his hands gripping onto your hip to keep you in place while he continued to plow into you. "atta girl." his breaths become heavy and ragged, spine curling in a way that allowed his hips to hammer into yours at a deeper angle. "fuckin' take it, babe."

you burst, the coil finally snapping.

a deep moan tears it’s way out of your throat, your cheeks burning with satisfaction and an immeasurable amount of lust towards the demon above you.

your walls flutter and squeeze his cock, each nerve in your body overwhelmed and alight with pleasure. the scent of steel and sake fill your senses, along with the smell of sex. everything is hot and raw, desire presenting itself in its most primitive form.

he follows suit, his whole body seeming to vibrate in total bliss. his cum gets pumped into your womb, cock dragging against your pulsating walls with great fervor. his teeth find purchase on the skin of your shoulder, canines digging into the soft flesh to keep you from squirming.

his thrusts start to even out, his tempo slowing as he rides out his orgasm. his cum coats the inner walls of your cunt, once again claiming you as his and his alone. being dominated by him never failed to make your stomach flip.

he relaxes against you, a low groan tumbling past his chapped lips. not bothering to hold himself above you, he allows his body to rest against yours. his strong chest presses into your back, his breaths heavy against your skin.

a smile graces your features, the full weight of his body serving well to secure you to the present moment. once your wits come crawling back into your head, you let out a sigh and shrug your shoulders.

“okay, zo’, you should get to it.” you hum, chest swirling with delight.

when you try to sit up, you find that you’re anchored to the floor. your brows furrow and your eyes hesitantly open, the rising sun pouring light into the observation room.

“zo’?” you call again, tone a bit more serious. “zoro?”

above you, cock still stuffed into your cunt, the swordsman’s back rises and falls in a steady rhythm. his muscles are pliant, buzzing with lingering bits of ecstasy.

the sound of his soft snores ring in your ears and you huff slightly as you attempt to get his weight off of you.

deciding that it was futile, you simply succumb to him as you always do. his strong heartbeat against your back acted as a grounding force, each thump lulling you further and further into a deep slumber.

in his sleep, he nuzzles his face into the smooth skin of your back and, ever so slightly, the corner of his lips quirk up into a lazy smile.

fuck. he loved mornings with you.

@eelnoiz this is the blurb turned fic i was talkin' about!!

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece smut

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

folie à deux

or: the toxic ex boyfriend Ghost AU

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader 

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || Toxic masculinity || Possessive & obsessive behaviour || Slut shaming || Groping || Gaslighting || Implied & referenced cheating || Mildly dubious consent

w/c: 5.7k (Read on AO3)

a/n: this was supposed to be like 5 paragraphs, so PLEASE if y'all hate it i dont want to know

It starts with a knock on your front door when you’re only half expecting to see Simon Riley.

He even knocks with a sense of entitlement, and it enrages you.  Three hard raps, and that’s it.  He won’t knock again.  If you don’t open the door, he’ll kick it down to get to you—those were rules you’d learnt the hard way.  

You mentally reinforce your motivation when you fling the door open: You’re scared he’ll break your door down, again, and this time, when they try to evict you, Simon won’t be around to terrify them into letting you stay.

How on earth you’d ever found the prick attractive is beyond you in that minute.  Except, no sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it.  Of course you had—and still—found him attractive.  That had never been the problem.  

He wore his military career on his face, much easier to see than the chest candy he bragged about but no less attractive to you–scars and burns, healing and the not-quite healed bruises plain to see on his face, a cacophony of yellows and purples.  A nose that had spent more time broken than not, its slight curve most likely a combination of never having been set by a professional nor the opportunity to heal without being broken again.  A thin scar dissected his lip, went all the way up the side of his face to his brow, almost like someone had taken a knife to him, carved him up like a piece of meat.  You’d never asked, and it’s not like he’d ever volunteered the information.  

It just sat there along with the three thousand other things he’d deposited in the chasm that stretched between the two of you. 

“You…Jesus,” he breathes, and slams the door shut behind him, making you wince.  “Where are you off to, then?”

“N’ wearin’ that?” He prompts again when you don’t answer, motions to your body with his chin.  

You roll your eyes when he pulls you into him and plants a hard kiss on your mouth, ignoring your squirming.  “Fuckin’ about to spill out, little dove.” 

“Spill?  Simon, I’m sewn into this dress.”  You pluck at his shirt that has deliciously little give where it sits on his hard chest, leaving your palm there as a little treat for yourself.  “You would know.  You capable of wearing shirts your own size, or does the SAS make it mandatory to have your tits straining against them?”

When he doesn’t respond, you push away from him, and step back, crossing your arms against your chest, definitely not pushing your tits up slightly, and he mirrors your movement.  He’s leaning against the wall by the front door now, blocking your exit, and you can only roll your eyes at the foreseeable display of machismo.  

“Your stuff’s in the front room.  Grab it and go, I have to finish getting dressed.  I have plans.” 

“With a pimp?”

Back when you were blissfully ignorant of Simon’s penchant for keeping you destabilised at all times, unconditionally wanting the last word, his crass words would have made you sputter and struggle to respond.  Oh but you know him so much better now.

Now, the blatant transparency in his delivery just makes you laugh.  

You interrupt his next words with a wave of your hand and turn to retreat to your room.  “Get your shit and leave, baby.”  

You hear his harsh exhale at the dismissal, and once upon a time, the repercussions of dismissing Simon in the middle of a conversation would have excited you.  You used to do it to get a rise out of him, instigate him into chasing you around, fucking you silly when he caught you.  Now, you just do it because you can. 

“No need to be a bitch.  I’ll be on my way in a second, just wanted to check on you, little dove.”

Your laugh is breathy, and you have to pull your mascara wand away from your eyes so you don’t end up stabbing yourself with it.  “‘No need to be a bitch’ says the man currently being a bitch about me not telling him my plans.”  Your laugh is mocking when you turn back to the mirror.  “You ever tire of this routine, Simon?  Because it’s tiring to me.”

Your words only make Simon’s eyes soften, and he looks at you almost indulgently, patronisingly, as though you were a child throwing a tantrum to get an adult’s attention.  “Could never tire of you, little dove.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but he only snorts in response.  

It’s all a game to him, you know that.  He makes it very clear how much amusement he derives from watching you fumble and fall, how much he gets off on the stress he gives you.

And yet, you’re drawn to him, every single time.  Every single time, you play mental gymnastics to find a reason to write off his bad behaviour because, well, it’s Simon.  He’s…like no one else you’ve ever known.  

Your choices have always been limited between a cruel, mercurial god and inane, paltry men.  

Except today.  Today you hold your response back, try not to rise to the obvious challenge.

“Come on then, I’ll drive ya.”

“Are you insane?” you screech.  “You’re not driving me to my date, you’re not driving me anywhere, what the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?”

A glimpse of his Adonis belt as he stretches his arms above his shoulders and cranes his neck from side to side briefly grabs your attention. 

“Don’t be difficult, little dove,” he gently scolds you, and your eyes snap back to his—yours wide with incredulity, his calm and collected in that beautiful, honey brown.  “What were y’gonna do, take the Tube with y’tits out like that?  If the prick ain’t pickin’ you up, I’ll take ya to him.”  He jerks his chin in your vanity’s direction and plops himself on your bed to watch.  “Come on, love, finish yer preenin’ then.”

“Preening,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to the mirror.  “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

It’s only when you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears do you catch his eye just as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, and you squeal.  “Simon!  The fuck are yo—don’t smoke in my bedroom!”

“Our bedroom—”

“What?!”

“—’n ya didn’t care before.  Y’wanna share, ‘s that it, little dove?”

“Oh my god.”  You turn around slowly, your hands against your lips, joined together as though in prayer.  “Simon.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“You don’t live here anymore.  This isn’t your flat, it’s mine.  This isn’t your bedroom, it’s mine.”

Simon just continues to smoke as though he hadn’t heard you, dark eyes taking the slow, leisurely route back to meet yours. “Y’look good, baby.”  His voice is hoarse, the words slow and deliberate and raspy, and…you can’t deny it.  The pull he’s always exerted on you, the undeniably ruinous sirens call—you burn hotter and brighter than accretion, you’re a helpless sailor caught up in his thrall 

“Simon” 

“Did’ya always look so good?”  The way he looks at you as though in a trance…you know he’s not listening, seeming to just be thinking out loud.  When he stands up, you take an automatic step back, then cringe when the vanity hits the back of your legs.  Nowhere to go to escape his looming presence.  “No…not like this. Somethin’s changed.”  He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around so you’re both facing the mirror.  

The back of your neck feels particularly warm as he pushes his entire front to your back, and you can feel him there, hard and insistent against your lower back.  When eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle for him to solve.  “Nothing’s changed,” you whisper.  “You’re still a dick.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, then lifts your face up with one hand around your neck, and brings his cigarette around to your lips with the other. 

Your instinctive inhale makes him shift against you slightly, and your eye twitches from how good he feels pressed up against you like this.  How he smells to you—that familiar mix of aniseed and icy menthol, fingers eking that potent hit of nicotine straight into you from where his fingers dig into your skin.  “Definitely somethin’ different.”  He pulls one strap of your dress down, and you exhale as he places one warm, lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder.  “‘S good.  Whatever’s different is good, little dove.”

“We can’t—,” you whisper, and his eyes glint at you with interest and arrogance through the mirror.  “We can’t do this.”  

“You’re so pretty all dressed up like this.  Always were so pretty.  So soft, and—” he inhales deeply at the spot just under your ear “—always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“You can’t,” you moan in response, but press yourself closer to him, anyway.

“But I can,” he responds gruffly.  “‘Nythin’ I like, little dove.  And I know y’like it too.”

“Fuck, just—”  He interrupts you by giving you another hit, and this time you turn around in his arms to exhale in his face.  He doesn’t even flinch.  “What are you playing at, Simon?  What do you want from me this time?”

Simon continues to look at your mouth as you speak, and almost as if on auto-pilot, slips his thumb into your mouth.  You want to bite him for his audacity, you almost kick him in the shin, almost almost almost…  But what you really end up doing is accepting it, licking the pad of his thumb and letting him push it into your mouth.  

Your initials on the space between the base of his thumb and index finger catch your eye—it’s a new tattoo, and you know this entire game is a ruse to draw your attention to it—but you don’t react.  You may be stupid horny for him, but you’re not stupid.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he praises, and it brightens you up on the inside, sparks hot and bright under your spine.  “Tell me, love…still me you think about when you touch your pussy?”

Your harsh exhale and slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication you give of having heard him at all.  In response, his thumb moves slightly deeper, sitting heavy on your tongue, and you let him.  

Your stubborn silence makes him chuckle, and he stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray you (still) keep on your vanity, pushing your dress up over your ass so he can grab your cheeks possessively.  The movement is so quick, so fluid that your protest turns to ash on your tongue when he finds bare skin and squeezes hard.

“Forgot somethin, did ya?”    

“No.”

“No?”  His hands grip you tighter and pull you harshly into him.  The angle makes you grind into his cock, and you know that he’s not even half as unaffected as he pretends.  “Gonna put out on the first date, then, like a slut?  Don’t remember you givin’ me any the first time I—”

“It’s not my first date with him.”

Simon pulls back to look into your eyes, and you’re graced by the first genuine smile on his face all evening—the most brilliant of Rayleigh scatterings put to shame.    “It is your first date, love.”

The blunt, matter-of-factness in his words gives you pause, your mind still coming to terms with what he’s just said, your heart starting to race at the barely concealed confidence about your whereabouts.  “How do you—what are you saying to me right now?”

“Truth, little dove.  Like I promised.”

The casual, off hand remark to one of the most devastating conversations in your life gives you whiplash and you have to physically shake your head to get rid of the feeling of something crawling up the back of your neck.  You put your hands firmly on his chest and push him away, and he steps back easily.  

“Are you…Simon.  Are you having me followed?” 

“Don’t need to.  I know you, little dove.”  He takes another step back from you and cocks his head at your dazed expression.  “Put some knickers on.  The white ones, y’know ‘em.”  When you don’t move, he motions towards your underwear drawer with an expectant expression—as though you’re frozen because you’ve forgotten where they are rather than because you’ve just learnt that your ex boyfriend’s stalking you.

When he crosses his arms, you’re jolted to action.  In a daze, you pick up the first pair your hands grab and pull them on.  He thrusts your purse at you, and leads you out your front door with his hand clasped tight around yours.   

You wish you could say that your ex boyfriend driving you to a date with another man is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, but that’s not realistic for a life lived around Simon Riley. 

***

The drive is silent, but one big hand remains on your inner thigh.  His fingers are so long that they almost touch the seat on either side of your leg.  It feels invasive but it’s also familiar, so you don’t say anything.  Classic— he never had to try hard to get what he wanted from you.

When he asks you for a smoke, you light one up for him and stick it into the corner of his waiting mouth, and he kisses your fingertips as they retreat.  You still don’t say anything.  Instead, your eyes stay determinedly on your initials tattooed on his skin, his warm hand almost a brand on your thigh, and you think about your life with him in the .

The implication that things were normal in the before is wildly misleading, and a genuine disservice to the shit he’d put you through.   

Once upon a time, you’d been delusional about your place in Simon’s world; now it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  He threw special forces and taskforce and lads need me in your face every opportunity he’d gotten, and worse. Simon Riley was not a man who did or could be convinced to do something he didn’t want to—and you’d hardly ever asked for any explanations from him but still, the excuses were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at you at Mach speed.

You’d bargained with yourself for weeks—oscillating between wanting to proactively end the relationship yourself or allowing its inevitable heat death.  He was one of a kind.  No one had ever made you feel like he had.  No one had fucked you like he had.

No one had fucked you over like he had either, but on good days, you show yourself some grace and let that thought slide.

***

You find yourself falling into old bad habits easily—you wait inside the car until he’s on your side, opening your door for you and practically lifting you out of his car.  

The warmth of his hands seeps through the material of your dress, through the skin on your hips, superheating the bones underneath.  He squeezes the flesh there appreciatively, and though his expression remains hidden to you, you can safely guess the smirking just by the creased skin by his eyes.  

“I never want to see you again.”

The words make Simon pause.  He considers you for a second, the smirk never dropping.  “Go’n, give us a kiss, then, if this is the last time.” 

“I would never,” you insist, finger poking at his hard chest, and he retreats from you, puts his hands up in mock-surrender.   “You’re a manipulative bastard, Simon,” you hiss at him.  “And I’m going on this date.”  With your piece said, you walk away from him.

“Never stopped ya, little dove,” he calls out, a hint of an aggravating laugh in his words.    

 You flip him off without even turning around.  “Drop dead, Simon.”

To your great disappointment, your words don’t inspire the heavens to smite him where he stands immediately, and when you quickly shoot one last look back at him over your shoulder, he stands against his car, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Asshole.

It wasn’t even that Simon was a bad boyfriend to you—though he was certainly the fucking worst—it was the fact that a) he was a bad person and b) you’d become a bad person by osmosis.

Case in point: you wanted to leave your date mid-meal, battling the intrusive thought of just putting your drink down and walking out the front door, but you couldn’t even say why.  Your date had kindly acquiesced when you’d insisted on the worst table on the floor.  The one overlooking the car park.  The window overlooking the only car parked there—the massive black one, with illegally tinted windows and a suspiciously missing owner.

At least the bar was nice.  Great ambience, dim lighting and pretty interiors, it should have been the perfect first date.  Your date himself was fine too—nice enough with a sweet smile he flashed at you, politely having taken to talking at you when you’d made it clear with your apathy that talking with you wasn’t going to happen.  

After just two drinks, you start to have flashbacks—even an hour spent in Simon’s company clearly manifesting as literal madness—which was disconcerting by itself, but the uncharacteristic subject matter has you really worried.  Every time you blink, you see Simon’s face…or his cock…and when your date asks if you’d like to share dessert, you answer, “Simon…” before hearing yourself, and feeling the heat of shame dance on your cheeks.  Your date just looks confused.

A quick glance outside the window shows the empty car park and…nothing else.  No car.

Had he fuckin’ left?

The thought incenses you, and the irrational nature of the anger makes you feel even more shame.  Why should you care?  When had he ever done what you’d expected of him?  And when had he ever been there for you when you’d needed it.

Fuck it, you think.    

Maybe you were finally free of Simon and his toxic, shameless, unbreakable hold on your life.  Maybe it was time to move on.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile when, in what feels like divine approval of your plan, your date offers to take you home.

***

There are cracks in your ceiling that you’d never noticed before.

You resist the urge to wince, then try to moan but give up when it gets stuck in your throat, and your date misinterprets your sigh of boredom and discomfort as one of pleasure, choosing to go down on you with more enthusiasm than before.  Things could not be worse for you—the man between your legs is clearly in need of a compass and a map and trying so hard that you feel guilty about the whole thing—but you’re determined to tolerate it.  So that the point is made.     

When your date finally leaves, your shaky smile and poorly concealed look of relief convinces neither of you of a second date.  You suppose you should be grateful that he left without a fuss, but you’re just relieved that he’s gone.  You’re contemplating—holding your head in your hands while your elbows rest on the kitchen counter—when you hear him.

“This is pathetic, even for you.”  You turn around, and yep.  It’s him alright.  Sitting at your dinner table, your flimsy chair all but invisible behind his massive frame.  “Breaking in, Simon?  Seriously?”

“Y’gave me a key, little dove.”

“Yeah.  When we were dating.  A key that you’d returned?”  

When there is neither a response, nor any change to his posture, you turn around and start to pour yourself a glass of water.  Then change your mind and grab two whiskey tumblers and your decanter.  “Pathetic,” you repeat.  “How long were you planning this?”

His sudden breath on the back of your neck makes you exhale harshly, and he steadies your trembling hands by placing his on yours.  Together, you pour two glasses of whiskey, but his hands don’t leave yours even when you’re done.

“How was the date?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t invited, was I?”

“It didn’t stop you.”

He places a small kiss behind your ear in response.  “No.”   His hands knead at your breasts and your head falls back to his shoulder with a sigh, and he grinds into you.  “Feel that?  What even your fake little noises do to me?”

“You were listening?”  The thought is…unbearably hot, and you stubbornly refuse  to examine it any further in your mind.  

“You belong with me, little dove, you know this.  You’ve always belonged to me.  All of you.  Every single inch.  Where would I go?”  

You reach behind you to touch him, and he’s thick and warm to the touch, even through the layers of fabric, and it’s familiar, it’s all so familiar to you..  “This is fucked up.  You were here listening when another man fucked me?”

In a quick succession of lithe, almost impossibly quick movements, he’s picked you up and placed you on your kitchen counter, one glass of whiskey shattering on the floor.  “Made your point, baby?”  

Your robe is off your shoulders and pooling around your waist in a second, and Simon doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk when he pulls off your panties and pockets them.  You don’t bother protesting.  It even feels like trouble when he runs a single finger over the seams of your cunt—you’re damningly wet and if you had enough withal to curse your body out for it, you would.

“You've got such a pretty pussy, little dove,” Ghost says as he fingers you, his voice half-muffled because he's pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead.  “And so wet baby, you’re dripping on my fingers.  All of it fo' me?  Or was it that twat, hm?” 

You're seething inside, raging that your plan backfired like this.  “It was him,” you say, before you can help yourself.  “You heard him fuck me, yeah?”  

“Fuck you?” Simon’s chuckle is dark and ruinous.  “He didn’t fuck you, baby.  He just stretched you out for me.  Good man. Saves me the work, innit.”

Before you can react, before you can breathe, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, picks up his glass of whiskey in his other hand, and brings you to your bedroom.  Fuck, your sheets are still rumpled, dress and bra strewn on the floor, sandals sitting like a death trap of heel and straps by the foot of your bed.  The room even smells of sex and the cologne your date had worn—it’s disorienting.  You almost feel bad.  Almost.

But…Simon’s presence is all over your bedroom too.  The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, noticeable if you closed your eyes and breathed in deep.  Other signs too—the faint bitterness of his cigarette from earlier that evening, it’s corpse in the ashtray on your vanity.  When he sets his drink down on your nightstand, he sets it on the coaster you keep there—they’re strewn on almost every surface on your flat.  Mementoes from Simon from different countries he’d go to on deployment.  

“Told you he fucked me,” you say, cheekily—trying to dissuade your mind from leading you towards sentiment—and get a smack on you ass for your trouble.

“‘Course, little dove,” Simon drawls in response.  “‘N you enjoyed it too, yeah?  Tryin’ t’make me jealous.  Took him to the same place we used to go, huh?”  Another smack on your backside, this one hard enough to make you gasp.  “Think I’d forgotten, baby?  Fucked you in that car park, didn’t I?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Why should I be?”  He sets you down gently on the bed so you’re sitting upright, then takes a sip of his whiskey.  “Y’want this.”  

“I didn’t think you were giving me much of a choice.”

“I’m not.”  He takes another sip, and when he leans forward to kiss you, the whiskey floods into your mouth, rich and smoky and bitter.  He continues to kiss you and you have to swallow around his tongue, which makes him kiss you harder.  He’s a bully in every aspect of his life, and kissing you is no different.  His fingers clamp around your cheeks and you have no choice but to kiss him back.  Even in this he dominates you, trying to win even where there is no fight to be fought.

When he pulls away, your heart throbs at how he looks through the lights of the street outside pouring in through your window.  You’ve seen his face before, you’re one of the trusted few that can say they know what Simon Riley looks like, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this.  The harsh lights from outside almost soften where they kiss the harsh angles of his face, where the sharp line of his clenched jaw disappears behind his ears, accentuating his thick neck.

He’s beautiful and cruel and bad for you and every adjective you can think of under the sun.

“Y’want this,” he repeats.  

“I want this.”

And then Simon moves so suddenly.  There’s no preparing for it, no accounting for speed that has no build up—one second you’re sitting upright looking up at him the next you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you, fingers making quick work of his zipper before, in one push, he’s buried in you.  Your breath feels like it’s literally been punched out of your chest.  He’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat—he allows you one deep breath before he’s got a large hand wrapped around your throat.  The one with your tattoo on it.

The thought of it incites something foreign deep in your belly, low and simmering hot—you can’t believe he’s tattooed your name on his hand after telling you that he didn’t think you were what he’d wanted.  

You can’t imagine your expression right now, but he tightens his fingers around your throat and it drags your attention back to him.  He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clamped tightly shut while he grinds his pelvis into yours, each thrust driving you further and further away from him and towards the centre of the bed.  You don’t even understand the movement of his hips—you’re displaced and jostled from the sheer power of his thrusts—but the motion itself feels like it’s more of an up and down motion, dragging against your walls, punching into your G spot.  When your head falls back on a low moan, he jerks your body to alertness just by your throat, and you clench at the feat of strength even when he’s buried in you as far as he can go.  

Simon groans in response, the noise sounding like it tears through his throat on its way out, but you’re helpless to do anything at all, just trying to breathe through the foreign sensations inside you right now, clamp tighter and tighter around him, threatening to break.  You’ve given up trying to look up at him anymore, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut, one hand intertwined with his by your head, the other clawing at his forearm.  

“Shit, baby, hold on, fuck, jus’ let me—” He moves to adjust you, grabbing one thigh to spread you open, push himself deeper inside you, when he freezes.  

“Wha—Simon, what—”

“The fuck is this?” His voice is pitched lower than usual, dark and dangerous.  You follow his line of sight and he’s transfixed, eyes unblinking, looking at a spot on your inner thigh.  You know what he’s seeing, and in the midst of everything that’s happened, everything that’s about to happen, you wonder if you’re seeing the evidence of the existence of a just God.

“You weren’t…you weren’t meant to see it.  It’s from ages ago…”  He reaches out a slightly trembling hand towards it, stops inches away from it—and oh this is better than anything you could’ve imagined—before he brushes two reverent fingers over the little skull you have tattooed there.  “Simon?”

When Simon looks back at you, he seems more determined, somehow.  Like the final part of a puzzle has clicked into place, somehow, and a decision has been made.

This time when he moves, it’s deeper, more powerful but equally as deliberate.  The hand around your throat moves to your face, brushing sweaty strands away from it, and framing the entire side of your face where it rests.  “Got my mark on you, yeah?  Want t’keep me, is that it?”

“I want…want to keep you,” you nearly whine at him, and his hips kick up, hammer into you, in and out, in and out— “Want to keep you Simon.  Want to be yours.”

He bends over you, his grip on your thigh unyielding, long fingers digging into the tattoo on your skin.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I—” He uses your neck to muffle his own sounds for a second and then leans to kiss you.  But it’s more than that.  You feel Simon’s surrender in that kiss—the acceptance of the inevitable, your months of torturous longing for your torturer finding release—and when you come, you bite down hard on his lip.

It feels like your body is hot enough to melt the world into soft, sepia tones around you, and you don’t even understand what he’s doing to your body right now as he fucks you through your orgasm.  He readjusts your hips as you come, and the slightest brush of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your clit makes you vibrate from the shock of what feels like your second orgasm bleeding into your first.

And when he comes, he slams his hips into you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you.  His groan is long and tortured, and for a man who’s usually silent when he fucks, the sound is delicious.  You never want him to stop.  “Fuckin’ shit,” he murmurs, and traps you as he collapses on top of you.

In the aftermath, there is quiet.  

Simon lifts his head, once, to try to feel his way to the glass of whiskey on your nightstand, all while kissing you deeply.  Turns out, fucked out of his mind Simon is clumsy as hell, and so you grab it for him, draining it yourself before offering him the empty glass.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he mutters, unimpressed, before burying his face in your neck.  

“Says the man who slept with the entire British army in a matter of six months.”  You kiss his sweaty hair and his grip on your hips tightens.  “Bunch of slags.” 

“Don’t call my sergeant a slag.”

“Your serg—” you gasp, feeling your restart its pounding in its cage.   “Not Johnny!  You slept with MacTavish?  He fuckin—he fuckin’ offered to meet me for coffee so many times when we were broken up!  I thought he was being nice!”

“Was bein’ nice, innit.  Lookin’ out for his CO’s girl.”

Your head falls back to the bed as you stare up at the ceiling again.  “This is messed up.”  His casual tone feels like a barb, reopens old wounds and threatens to ignite a fresh wave of hostility inside you.  But before you can stew in your bitterness any longer, he kisses the side of your neck and moves off of you.

“Can’t keep doing this, little dove.”  He says, gathering your clothes from where they’re strewn all over your room.  

You get up on your elbows and cock your head, feigning innocent confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Gonna have twats all over town stretchin’ you out fo’ me before I fuck you?”

“Why?  You offering to put the graft in yourself?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and when he stands up to face you, he’s got a cig hanging off the corner of his mouth.  “Y’got a light around here somewhere, can’t find mine.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab one and throwing it at him.  He catches it deftly, and lights up his cigarette.  “What’s next for you then, Simon Riley?  Off to the pub to find the next victim for the evening?  Send me a recording of when you fuck her in the disgusting toilet?”

“Victim?  Shit baby, give me ten, we’ll go again,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.    

“You’re staying?”

He leans forward, smushes your face with his large hand.  “You got me inked on you.”  You squirm away from him and he lets you go.

“It’s just a skull, Simon.  Not my initials on your hand.”  When his eyes narrow, you gasp theatrically and your hand flies up to your chest.   “Or was I not meant to see that?”  You lean up to pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a long drag.  “Obnoxious, by the way.”

He leans forward and kisses you, hard.  You inadvertently end up blowing smoke in his mouth, but he doesn’t move, kissing you until you melt.  “Love you, little dove.  You're a massive bitch, though.”

“Pot meet kettle,” you whisper against his mouth.

You know what they say about history repeating itself.  You’ve been through this cycle before, you and Simon.  And you know what he promised you when he fucked you—he may have asked you if you’d wanted to keep him, but you hear what Simon doesn’t say.  And what he doesn’t say is that you don’t have a choice in any of this.  Simon operates like a bully, thinks like a bully because he is one.  Like with most other things, Simon brute forces your relationship, moulds and bends and twists to his liking, does not care if anything breaks.  You have no doubt that in two or three weeks’ time he’ll be across the world from you, bouncing someone else on his cock but it hardly matters.  You’ll get your lick back.  It’s what he’s taught you, afterall.        

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #lumi writes #toxic exbf! Ghost #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙞 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡︎

anon asked: nobu could you do something with scara and feminization?? thank you!

characters: sub!scaramouche x nb!dom!reader

warnings: edging, overstimulation, praise, dacryphillia, feminization, just scara fucking himself stupid on your cock, as always cock can also mean strap on

notes: i gotchu nonnie, i gotchu😌 also scara is a bit of a yandere here ig??? this came out much more softer than i imagined. as a fellow scara-nation person, SCARA NATION COME GET YALL FOOD🗣

reposting bc tumblr has started a war against someone they can’t beat by deciding to suddenly flag my posts as mature

“aah! aanhg! m-mine. mine mine mine! only mine! n-no one else’s! mine! minemineminemine-gyaah~!”

bouncing on your lap with a cute purple, lace lingerie and stocking on was your sweet boyfriend. eralier today when you had your friend and co-worker drop by your house to drop off some of your work documents, scaramouche saw how awfully close you two seemed. your friend even gave you a hug! so he decide to surprise his loving partner with a gift.

after finishing the documents, you didn’t expect your cute boyfriend to be sitting on the bed with the latest lingerie you bought for him. pink nipples being seen through the bra and his already hard cock poking a bit out of the panties with the stocking hugging his thighs just enough to cause a little pudge, he looked absolutely delicious. throwing himself on you and guiding your bigger hands to roam around his body, scaramouche started grinding himself on your legs.

“aww love what’s this gift for?” kissing the old hickeys and marks on his neck, you gently squeezed his ass. even that little action seemed enough for scaramouche to moan in your ears.

“just-just wanted to make you happy” came in the breathy response of your short lover. he oddly seemed quite desperate today. wearing a cute set, throwing himself on you, selfishly grinding his ass over your thighs. but it’s not like you were against it. if your sweet boyfriend was feeling nice might as well enjoy it.

dragging you to the bed by the collar of your shirt and pushing you down on the bed, he seemed more like himself now. straddling your crotch and grinding himself, scara started mumbling and whining about some stuff about how you’re his and he belongs only to you. how you should only look at him, need no one else but him and something along the lines of it.

and that’s what led to this point. with your sweet kuni fucking himself stupid on your cock.

“[n-nameee]~ please? h-help me! ca-anngh aaGKK! pleasshee~ help me! tired. shoo tired nngk~” whining about how tired he is and how he can’t ride your dick anymore he looked down at your face with a pitiful look and tears running down his cheeks. but you only smiled at him and squeezed his hips, gently making him grind down on you. he sometimes hated how easily in control you are.

“shhh, it’s alright baby boy. you can do it. i know you can. do it like how you always do okay? up and down baby boy. up and down” toying with his cherry red tip with one hand while guiding his hips to meet yours, scaramouche found himself growing more and more desperate. soon enough he came with a loud yell of your name and fell on top of you like a deflated balloon.

“aww you did such a good job darling. surely you don’t mind if we go a few more rounds right?” flipping yourselves over and kissing his cheeks you asked him for his permission. he can get overstimulated a bit too easily at times. nodding and smiling dumbly up at you with hearts in his eyes with a dazed look, this was gonna be a long night.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #sub!genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub!scaramouche #sub scaramouche #sub wanderer #sub yandere #dom gn reader #dom!reader #dom reader #x dom reader #dom fem reader #dom male reader #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut

[osachiyo]

☆ SWEETER THAN HONEY ! ๑'ꇴ'๑

ꕤ Genshin impact men + their favourite body part of yours, part one 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ

PAIRING ✧ Ayato, Kaeya & Neuvillette x fem!reader (seperate)

CONTENT WARNINGS ✧ Not safe for work content (mdni), oral sex , overstimulation, talks of anal but no anal actually, degradation, name calling, petnames, pussy slapping, fingering and etc

AUTHOR'S NOTE ✧ this one won the poll so here it is! Feel free to request other characters for this series! Happy reading <3 I don't own any of the artwork used.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

KAMISATO AYATO ✿𝅼

If you asked him what body part he liked most about you, he'd laugh it off, cupping your face with a large gloved hand and looking at you with his ocean blue eyes, " I love all of you equally, my dear. But if I had to choose, it would be your eyes." You felt your cheeks grow hot as he stared at you with his loving but mischievous eyes. His lips curl up into a grin when you tore your gaze away from him, struggling to come up with a response. To be completely honest, you weren't really expecting an answer like this but you should've, knowing how romantic your husband could be at times. "I love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you're excited about- or when your eyes gloss over when you're feeling particularly emotional. They're absolutely stunning." He continued, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as he kept going on about why your eyes were the prettiest to him. "They shine like glittering jewels, I could stare at them forever.." he mumbles, gently pulling you even closer for a sweet kiss, his lips moulding perfectly against your own.

When he said he loved your eyes, he also meant how they roll back into your skull when he's between your thighs, the soft flesh decorated with so many red, blue and purple bruises, his teeth marking you as his own. His now bare hand coming in contact with your sweet cunt, slapping the soft flesh as you cry out for him so deliciously, making his cock throb in his undergarments. You muttered out a string of curses when he started rubbing your clit, soothing the stinging flesh before slapping it once again, your juices going everywhere. You scream his name once he finally, finally indulges in you and shoves his tongue inside your gummy walls, still making eye contact while eating you up. He could see how your pretty eyes gloss over with unshed tears and how they roll back slightly when he hits a certain spot. He humps the bed, unable to go on without some release as he watches you fall apart on his tongue and fingers completely.

"Keep shedding those beautiful tears for me, darling. You look the most stunning when you're sobbing my name out."

KAEYA ALBERICH ʚ ✮ ɞ

It was a lazy Sunday morning with your fiancè. You were perched atop his lap comfortably while he read a book and occasionally playing with your soft hair, his nose buried in it as he inhaled the sweet scent of your shampoo. You were playing with the hem of his shirt when a thought came into your mind. You paused for a bit then leaned back, smiling up at him as you admired his beauty. His dark blue hair was tied in a messy ponytail, matching his complexion beautifully. God he was beautiful. "Honey, I have a question.." He finally looked down from his book and raised an eyebrow at your playful tone. "And what would that be, darling?" You smiled at the nickname, "well, what is your favourite body part of mine?" He chuckled softly at your question, the slight dimples showing on his cheeks that you loved so much. He closed the book and placed it aside, wrapping his strong arms around your smaller figure as you waited for an answer. "well?" you inquired. He merely hummed, thinking for a bit before answering, "let's see, I'd say your smile is the prettiest thing I've ever seen in my life." He looked down at you, your gaze softened at his answer. You saw the look of pure love and admiration in his blue eyes, staring at your own reflection in them. "god, you're so cheesy, y'know that?" you slapped his chest gently, laughing at the way he pouted. "Whaaat?~ It's true!" He scoffed, clutching his shirt, where his heart would be to show you how hurt he was. "well..i guess your ass does look pretty ni- OW!!!"

He wasn't lying when he said he loved your ass, the soft flesh jiggling with each brutal thrust of his hips against your own. Your face was buried in the pillow, staining it with your unending tears and drool as your fiancè pounded you into the sheets exactly how you loved it. "Yeah you like that, fuckin' slut? You like it when I- mmh- fuck your brains out?" You couldn't answer him, the way his cock was hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. The only coherent thought in your head was how good he was dicking you down. His hand came down against your reddened ass, the hit stinging bad, making you jolt up, pleas and cries falling from your swollen lips as he rearranged your guts so damn deliciously. His thrusts slows down, greedy hands spread your cheeks open to get a better view of your soaked cunt swallowing his cock. He groaned at the lewd sight. His gaze fell on your puckered hole, twitching slightly as he licked his lips. You were about to whine for him to go faster when a glob of spit landed on your other hole, dripping down to your aching pussy.

"Ahh fuck, think I should take this hole next, sweet girl? It'd hurt? Aww, of course it would hurt! You need to experience a bit of pain to get good things in life, no?"

NEUVILLETTE ༊࿐ ⊹ ˚.

If someone asked you how you started dating the leader of the Marechaussee Phantom, you wouldn't even know how to answer. Honestly, all you knew that he was your type and he was hot as fuck. So here you were, sitting on your boyfriend's lap as he did some 'very important paperwork', as he called it. You sighed dreamily, bored out of your mind as you hear the scribbling of his fountain pen meeting the high quality paper. You tried to adjust a bit, getting more comfortable on his thighs as you looked up at him, taking a moment to appreciate this man. You hummed, catching his attention as his gaze snaps from the paper to you. You smiled at him, making him sigh and put the pen down. "Do you have something to tell me, dearest?" You pondered if you should ask the question before looking at him again, "well..yes. I have a very important question to ask you, actually." He merely gave you a questioning look before motioning for you to continue. "Sooo....I wanted to ask, what part of me do you like the most? As in like body part.." He deadpanned, "that's the very important question you wanted to ask me?" "Mhm! So what is it?" He leaned back in his seat, "Hmm.. I'd say your breasts are quite the sight-" "NEUVILLETTE!" You screeched, shocked by his answer. He merely raises an eyebrow, confused as why you were 'squealing like a little piglet.' "I didn't expect you to be so blunt..." You mumbled shyly, resting your head against his hard chest, playing with the intricate design of his coat.

Oh your breasts were quite the sight indeed. He couldn't help but stare at the two bouncing mounds as you tried your hardest to ride him, your hips and legs were hurting from slamming down repeatedly on him, pussy gushing on his cock. But he didn't care, all that was in his head right now was how fucking tight your cunt felt around his throbbing cock and how pretty your tits looked, glistening with a thin layer of sweat covering them. Delicious, he thought to himself as he took one nipple in his mouth, making you slow down before a harsh slap against your other tit snapped you back into reality. You whined to him to take the lead to give you some relief but he refused. He kept suckling and biting the bud until it was left raw and sore, before moving on to the next one with equal eagerness. Oh don't you worry though, he'd massage them nicely after.

"Oh archons, you feel so good. Mmm...yes darling, keep bouncing. Maybe I should impregnate you, fill you up with my seed, hmm? I bet you would look so pretty with a swollen belly and tits full of milk, yes?"

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

TAGS ☆ @lxverss @stygianoir

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader fluff #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin headcannons #ayato smut #ayato x reader #ayato x reader smut #ayato x reader fluff #kaeya smut #kaeya x reader smut #kaeya fluff #kaeya x reader fluff #ayato fluff #neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x reader smut #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x reader fluff

[lipstickstainedreid]

Tequila shots

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Summary: You and the team go out. Tequila shots are flowing, which leads to a closeness you hadn't expected.

Wordcount: 2787

NSFW, fem!dom!reader, Sub!Spencer, Praisekink

------------------------------------------------------------------------------The team decided that it was a good night to go out, after an especially hard case to celebrate. You were happy to find a nice black top in the back of your car. It’s off the shoulder and accentuates your cleavage nicely without being too much. 

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror of the bar. Sighing you touch up your lipstick and fluff your hair for more volume. 

“Y/n!” you hear Emily knock on the bathroom door. 

“Coming!” You yell back. 

You give yourself one more look before heading back into the bar. 

Everybody is stuffed into a booth in the back. The Rolling Stones playing over the speakers gives the bar a nice vibe. A few small groups are scattered around, a couple of guys playing darts. Overall it’s not as busy as you’d expect.

You sit down next to Emily. “What are we talking ‘bout?” You smile. 

Your eyes scan the table, everybody already has a drink. Morgan slides a beer towards you. You smile gratefully at him. 

Your eyes get stuck on Spencer, he took off his blazer and the tight-fitting dark purple shirt is very visible. You let your eyes wander over his chest, the buttons are slightly pulling on the fabric. Over the past year, he grew out of his lanky frame and into a man with broad shoulders and arms. His sleeves rolled up making his arms look even bigger. God, he looked delicious. 

“Well, Prentiss, JJ and I are convincing everyone else to go to this club a block away,” Morgan spoke.

“The average age here is 50.” Prentis sighed head resting on her hand, with the other she was waving her beer around to point at a group of elderly men. 

Rossi quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

“No offence.” She quickly mumbled. 

Spencer seemed to get nervous at the thought of going to a club. His hand ran through his hair. 

“Come on guys, we want to dance!” JJ exclaimed. Garcia gave in with a little “Whooo,” sending a wink your way. 

A night of dancing would be a good way to get your mind off of all the brutal cases you’ve seen lately. Besides it’s been forever since you had some drunken stupid fun. Who knows, what is the worst thing that could happen with your colleagues?

You take a big swig of beer. “Okay, I’m in!” You laughed. Half of the table burst out in cheers.

Hotch, Rossi and Reid still needed to be convinced. Prentis starts a small chant, tapping her beer on the table. “Clubbing, clubbing, clubbing.” JJ and Garcia join in quickly. 

“Come on Hotch, scared you can’t keep up anymore.” Morgan taunts. 

Hotch glances at the man next to him about to answer, when Rossi intervenes. “Come on Hotch let’s show these kids how it’s done.” 

More cheers erupt from the table. 

Reid is fidgeting with his hands looking up at you worried. you smile at him reassuringly and mouth “You’ll be okay.” He nods and gives you a small smile. His eyes were still a bit worried. 

The team finishes their beers and gets ready to walk to the club. 

Standing at the coat check you can already feel the bass coming from down the hall. You start feeling a little giddy, excitement filling your chest. “Y/n! you ready?” Penelope grabs your hand to pull you down the hallway. 

The music hits you like a wall. There are speakers all around the room blasting what the DJ is playing. Different coloured lights are flashing everywhere. Reid comes up next to you, anxiety visible in his shoulders and jaw. You reach over and give his hand a small squeeze. He smiles at you and lets out a breath before walking in with you. 

Prentis comes up to your group and waves everybody over. Derek is standing at the bar guarding a row of shots with his life. Everybody piles around the shots. You lick your hand and pour some salt over it. Getting ready holding the glass and lime. 

“One, two, three, shot!” Morgan yells.

The tequila burns a little going down and you grimace at the taste. The lime helps a bit. You lock eyes with Reid who seemed to have a worse experience than you. Before you can talk to him the girls pull you back on the dancefloor.

In the bathroom, you look at your phone”, the text is starting to become blurry. 2:00 AM. Your mother's voice echoes in your head “Nothing good happens after 2:00 AM.” You shake your head and look in the mirror. Why do you always feel more drunk in the bathroom than out on the dancefloor? You reapply your lipstick and tousle your hair around a little bit. You stumble a little to the door before heading back out. 

Walking past the bar you see Derek and Spencer standing around a group of girls. A small pang of jealousy hits your chest. Reid runs a hand through his hair and smiles at one of the girls. God, why did he have to look so hot today? All those girls are probably throwing themselves at him. It’s, not like he’s yours or anything but still, that doesn’t mean you have to like these girls flirting with him. Surely if you were sober this wouldn’t bother you as much. Right now your head is dizzy with alcohol, and you can’t think straight. 

As you march over there Morgan calls out “Y/n come do a shot with us!” Spencer's hair was starting to stick to his forehead from the heat and he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. You could see the blonde girl beside him whisper something in his ear. Her hand very clearly touching his arm. Could she be even more obvious? 

Reid his cheeks were turning red by the second as he gulped. 

“Okay, it’s Reid's turn,” Morgan calls out, and all the girls cheer. Confusion is written all over your face, Derek smirks at you. 

Spencer looks even more uncomfortable wiping his hands on his trousers. 

“Okay pretty boy, it’s salt, shot, lime remember?” Reid nods, nervously looking around. 

Derek comes closer to your ear, so you can hear him over the music. “Can you help boy genius out?” 

“Sure, what do I need to do?” you answer.

“Stand there and look pretty we’ll do the rest.” 

Sounds ominous but you’re sure Derek would never do anything you’re uncomfortable with. 

He walks back to get some stuff from the bar and comes to stand behind you. 

“Don’t be scared pretty girl.” 

You feel something cold on your neck going down parallel to your collarbone. You turn your head to see salt getting poured over the same line. Derek stands in front of you now and hands you the lime. “Hold this in your mouth.” 

You do as he says. Surely this is not the most professional thing you could do but you can’t see anyone else from the BAU around. 

Spencer gets pulled by Derek to stand behind you. The blonde girl glares at you, obviously jealous of the position you’re in. 

You can feel the heat radiate from the man behind you. He’s holding the shot glass in one hand. 

Derek yells from the group of girls “One, two, three, shot!”

Spencer's big hand holds your arm as he moves even closer. You feel him completely pressed behind you as he dips his head down. His tongue moving across the strip of salt. 

Tingles shoot up and down your spine. Just as fast as his mouth leaves your neck he turns you around. He takes the shot and puts the glass down. Both of his hands hold your face. He pulls you close to take the lime from between your lips. 

Your breath stops. You’ve never been this close to the man in front of you. Your mind is consumed by the thought of this man. All you can think about is closing the gap between your lips. You lock eyes as he moves away. The confidence in his actions seems to fade away as he steps away from your body. 

“Okay, Y/n now it’s your turn!” Morgan exclaims from behind you. His words slowly bring you back to where you are. “Pretty boy, you want to return the favour?” he taunts. 

Spencer mumbles something which gets taken as a yes. The blonde girl drags the lime over the space on his chest now visible with the part of the shirt that’s unbuttoned. She shakes the shaker to pour salt over his chest. She gives him a wink before walking away. Reid takes the lime from Morgan, who hands you the shot after.

Something about this girl so obnoxiously flirting with Spencer is setting something off in you. Maybe you had some unresolved feelings about this man. You knew you were attracted to him, who wouldn’t be? This was a jealousy deeper than that. 

You were aware these girls wanted to go home with Spencer tonight. Something switched in your mind. Fuck it let’s give them a show.

You approach the taller man, who’s staring nervously at you. With your free hand, you move the shirt out of the way and you lick a long strip over his chest, not breaking the eye contact. Spencer's eyes darken as he looks down at you. You take the shot and use both hands to pull Spencer down by his shirt. You’re filled with longing as you hold him there. Taking the lime from his lips, you feel his breath hitch in the closeness shared for a split second. 

“Let’s go,” you growl in his ear. Reids's hand grabs yours as he pulls away. He manoeuvres you across the dancefloor filled with partygoers. When he finds an empty bathroom he pulls you inside and closes the door. 

You push him against the door and with your other hand you lock it. Your lips connect in a passionate kiss. Fireworks go off in your chest as you’re mind is buzzing with alcohol and lust. Your lips move against his with hunger. His hands try to touch you anywhere he can. They move from your hips to your waist to pull you closer to him to your face. Your hands are unbuttoning his shirt. When his shirt is open you push it from his shoulders and let it fall on the bathroom floor. You break the kiss and a soft whine escapes the taller man. You let your eyes travel over Spencer. His blonde hair all tousled, cheeks red and lips flushed, his eyes stay focussed on yours. 

“Such a pretty boy” you whisper against his ear as you leave wet kisses down his neck. He lets out a quiet breath from the feeling. You smile against his neck and suck harder leaving maroon and purple bruises all over his collarbone. 

His knees almost buckle from the feeling. Your hands move down from his chest to his thighs. You softly brush against his groin feeling how hard he already is. 

“Are you so needy already?” You coo. 

Spencer nods feverishly “Please let me make you feel good.” He begs. 

“Not yet baby,” your hands move to his belt slowly undoing it. “There is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” You quickly pull his pants and boxers down.

He gasps at the feeling of the cold air on his dick. A drop of precum already collecting at the tip. You smile as you slowly move your hand around his shaft. You go teasingly slow at first looking up at the man in front of you. 

Spencer is leaning his head against the door, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed together. 

You start licking at the tip, then moving from the base down his shaft. Spencer lets out a moan at the feeling. You take the tip in your mouth as his hand buries in your hair. 

You start bobbing up and down his dick, your cheeks hollow. Enjoying the pretty sounds he’s making. Your hands grab his thighs. You notice Spencer is starting to move with your head trying to go deeper down your throat. He feels heavy on your tongue. 

“Please Y/n,” he whimpers “Please let me cum.”

You move away from him. “Not so fast baby. Slowly standing up you keep one hand on his length, moving it teasingly slow. You feel him trying to gain some more friction by moving his hips. You loved having this incredible man so desperate for you. 

“You’re being so good for me baby.”

Spencer moans at the praise. 

“You want to fuck me, make me feel good?” 

He nods his hands again trying to pull you closer. 

“Please miss.”

You bring him towards the sink as you jump up on the counter. Pulling on his blonde locks you lock lips again. His tongue brushes against your lips, you let him in. Your tongues circle each other. Spencer's hands move to the bottom of your shirt. 

“Can I take it off?” He murmurs against your lips. You nod in response. 

He quickly moves his head away to remove the top and throws it down on the ground. He stares at you for a moment. His lips connect to your chest as his hands find their way to the clasps of your bra. 

You moan at the feeling of his lips all over you. He slides the bands of your bra down your arms as it joins the pile on the floor. 

His kisses move to your right nipple, and his hand finds your left boob. He kisses and sucks on it while his hand massages the other. His teeth softly pull on it. 

“You make me feel so good baby, suck a good boy.” 

He whimpers against your chest. His hands move your skirt up to your hips as his mouth continues making its way down.  You gasp at the cold counter against your bare ass.

He hooks his fingers around your panties and moves them down your legs. They get tossed aside without looking. Spencer's mouth latches to your thigh. Wet kisses up and down your thighs. 

You feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second as your breathing becomes more heavy. 

After what feels like ages his lips find their way around your clit. His tongue moves circles around it gently applying pressure. Your hands are buried in his hair.

“Fuck Spence,” you moan. 

his tongue licks around your entrance as he continues to suck on your clit. 

Softly you feel one finger nearing your entrance. He moves it in and out of you with ease. Fuck he has long fingers. 

A second one joins. 

“Fuck baby,” He curls his fingers to hit your g-spot “you feel so good.” Your moans come out broken from the pleasure.

He continues eating you out as if his life depended on it. 

A familiar tightness forms and your legs start shaking.

“Don’t stop Spence, I’m so close.” This only seems to make him more enthusiastic. His tongue still circling your clit. His long fingers fucking you. You can’t take it anymore.

“I’m gonna cum Spence.” You warn him. 

Your sweet release covers his face as you moan his name. 

The man comes up from between your legs with a hazy smile. You brush his hair out of his face. 

“You did so good sweetheart.”

You give him a soft kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Something that sends a wave of endorphins through you. 

Your hand moves down to his shaft again, still standing ready. With your other hand on his shoulder, you pull him closer to you. You give him a few pumps before lining him up with your entrance.

He moves into you. You both moan at the feeling as he slowly bottoms out. 

“Fuck you’re so big baby, you make me feel so good.” 

He whimpers “Thank you miss.”

Spencer starts thrusting slowly first, moaning at the feeling of you surrounding him.

“Faster baby.” At these words, he starts fucking you faster. 

You press your nails into his shoulders. Whispering encouragements and praise into his ear. 

His hips snapping into you faster and faster. 

You feel your walls fluttering around him, feeling the familiar tightening in your stomach. Spencer starts moving faster and deeper. You can tell he’s getting close.

“Be a good boy and cum for me.”

That’s all it takes for Spencer and you to fall over the edge. His hips stutter as he lets out loud moans. He lets his head hang against yours as he fills you up. 

You kiss his head.

“Such a good boy.”

#reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler #fanfic #criminal minds fic

[honeylations]

CHO MIYEON x FEM!READER

Prompt: Miyeon can’t sleep so she thought riding your abs was the best option to help her.

Warnings/Notes: smut kekeke, ab riding, 6th member reader, bit of photography at the end

Miyeon tossed and turned with each huff but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t sleep. She didn’t understand.

She was moping earlier that day that she wanted lay down and rest but how come her body wasn’t letting her anymore? She tried counting sheep, drinking warm milk, going on her phone, but it still didn’t tire her out.

Then she remembered the other nights she couldn’t sleep and what she did to help that.

Her face went red.

She looked at the time on her phone that read 3:40am.

She had to be up at 6am for her next schedule and she knew if she didn’t catch a wink of sleep, she’d be cranky the entire day.

So she saw this plan as her only choice.

Within the next minute, she left the warmth of her bed and tip toed to your room, making sure she locked the door behind her.

She smiled at your sleeping self. Your star night light was on which was gifted to you by Miyeon on your birthday because you admitted on your first date that you hated sleeping in the dark.

A childhood fear you couldn’t grow out of, unfortunately.

Shaking her thoughts away, your girlfriend carefully crawled on the bed and pulled down your blanket, revealing your semi naked body.

Actually you only had a bra on with plaid pyjama pants and Miyeon knew you didn’t like wearing shirts because you claimed it was ‘too annoying’.

So accessing your abs wasn’t gonna be difficult.

You felt a few taps on your collarbone, waking you up instantly.

“Huh-what? Baby is that you?” You said in your tired husky voice that sent chills down Miyeon’s body.

“Yeah it’s me. Sorry to wake you up, Bub”

You glanced at your alarm clock and groaned. “Babe it’s almost 4am, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep and there’s only one way that can help me” she pouted and you saw her hands crawl up from your thighs.

“Miyeon…”

“Shhh you don’t even have to do anything. Just let me ride you please baby. It’ll help so much” she whined, already palming your hard muscles and caressing them.

You released a shaky breath and gulped. “Ok…ok fine. Just don’t complain about being sore tomorrow”

“When have I ever complained?” She smirked and stripped off her panties.

“All the time actually”

You heard Miyeon scoff. “Not my fault. Now shut up and let me use you”

Your hand immediately grabbed onto her hips as she lowered her slick covered cunt onto your abs. Just the touch alone made her release a small gasp, holding onto your shoulders as she watched herself slowly move forward and back.

You could see how wet and shiny your abs became from her juices, lips parting in awe before inching them closer to your girlfriend’s face.

“Baby, I want a kiss”

Miyeon hummed and crashed her mouth into you, almost knocking your soul out. Your tongue slid its way through her soft lips and each lick encouraged your girlfriend to slide her hips faster.

Each bump of your muscle brushed deliciously against her clit, Miyeon’s breathing going heavy. She was whimpering into your mouth about wanting to cum so bad.

You squeezed her hips and smirked into her wet lips, chuckling at how sloppy her movements were getting.

“Don’t slow down, Princess. Wanna cum right?”

“P-Please baby. Help me. I’ve been good..”

“Hmm, I guess you have” you mumbled, moving your mouth to her pulse point and sucking gently, Miyeon’s eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

“Come on, my love. Keep those hips moving, I’ll help you okay?” You said after placing a final kiss to the purple mark you left on her skin.

Miyeon mumbled a thank you as you sat up a little more, flexing your abdominal muscles more and forcing your girlfriend to ride you faster.

She let out cute squeals and quickly pushed her (your) oversized shirt up to reveal her plump tits.

“Suck them please, baby. Gonna cum soon”

Accepting your princess’ request, your mouth instantly latched onto her left, sucking harshly and biting onto the soft flesh before moving to the other side. Your arms were wrapped all the way around your girlfriend’s small body, letting her reach her orgasm.

You held her tighter when she arched her back, her hips starting to slow down from her high.

“Oh fuck oh fuck yes…your abs so good baby” she whined, pushing your head into her chest.

Once Miyeon’s vision cleared, she moved backwards and saw the mess she caused on your stomach. You were about to ask her to clean it off but she quickly snatched your phone from the bedside table and placed her other hand on your cum covered abs.

“Uh baby?” You questioned.

“I just realised I haven’t shown off my new acrylics yet. This is the perfect time, babe” she winked at you and snapped a flash pic of her nails being flexed onto your stomach that was visibly wet with white liquids.

“You’re not posting that in public are you?”

Miyeon shook her head and sent the photo to the G-Idle groupchat. “Just the girls”

After placing your phone away, your girlfriend leaned down and licked a stripe up your stomach. “Now let me clean you”

“Babe, we’re not gonna sleep at this point”

“Worth it though. Now shhh”

[G-IDLE GIRLIES🍒]

[4:00AM] Miyeon: *sent an image*

[4:00AM] Miyeon: I know u are all asleep but check out my new nails😍

[4:36AM] Minnie: EW WHAT THE FUCK

[4:37AM] Shuhua: :/

[4:37AM] Soyeon: OH FOR FUCK’S SAKES

[4:38AM] Yuqi: Killing you both DELETE THAT SHIT NOW

#gxg #wlw #gidle x reader #gidle smut #gidle #Cho Miyeon #cho miyeon smut #miyeon smut

[upsidedownmvnson]

midnight ideas | eddie munson smut

warnings: sex, unprotected, oral (f receiving), friends to lovers, minimal plot

AN: im so down bad, but its my birthday so happy day to us all

It was midnight when you knocked on the trailer door, but you knew Wayne wasn't home, and you'd never felt bad about waking Eddie up before. He probably wasn't even sleeping. Lights flicked on and off in the windows before Eddie swung the door open, clad only in sweatpants and leaning on the door, looking a little too hot for a best friends' comfort.

But that didn't matter.

You were here to be a freak.

Here to ask something weird from your best friend, that probably crossed a line or two.

"I need a favour," you asked before any greetings were exchange. You'd biked from your house, which was far enough that you thought you looked a bit like a mess, but from Eddie's perspective you were hot as fuck. Your clothes were all unaligned, and your hair was a mess, like you knew he fantasized about threading his hair through it. "I need you to leave hickeys on my chest."

Eddie looked at you, as if waiting for you to say more. "Okay, well come in. But I'm gunna need a little more context."

"You know that guy I was seeing who just stopped calling and stopped coming by, well he's moved on already, it's been like a minute..."

"A month."

"A minute." You waved Eddie off, sitting on his couch casually like you weren't just asking your best friend to put his mouth all over you. "And I didn't even really like him but then he was like 'sure you do' when I said I have a date tonight." You scoffed and crossed your arms, rolling your eyes at the audacity of the man you had lied to.

"Did you have a date tonight?"

"Not the point."

Eddie laughed. "And you need, what? Proof?"

"Something like that."

Out of nowhere you pulled your shirt over your head, exposing yourself to him. You still had a bra on, purple and flattering, but Eddie was stunned into silence. He tried to speak, but all the words got caught in his throat, leaving him to just stare wide eyed at the presentation before him.

"Anyway, I don't want them on my neck because I don't need to broadcast this to everyone but..." you looked at Eddie who was staring at your boobs, not moving a muscle. Both of his hands placed neatly on his lap. "Oh c'mon, don't be a baby."

"I-I'm not, I just..." Eddie's eyes flashed up to your face, meeting you where you were looking at him. "You're beautiful."

You smiled. "Thanks Eds."

When he didn't move again, you swatted his hands off his lap, and you spun around to sit on his lap facing him. Your hands were on his shoulders, holding yourself steady on him. Eddie's voice was lost again, and his hands hovered in the air behind you, unsure of where to touch. Beneath you, Eddie was already rock hard, his wildest fantasies were literally falling right into his lap, but you didn't feel it yet.

"Obviously you don't have to," you said, back arching slightly into him, your bodies kept apart by only your bra. Everywhere skin connected to Eddie made your skin burn. He was warmth. He was comfort and warmth and home, and you were waiting for him to sink his teeth into you.

The threat of losing this closeness to you made him put his hands on your hips, the roughness of his skin was delicious against the softness of yours. Even touching you made his cock twitch in his sweatpants, but he was hidden behind the band.

"Just give me a second to process this baby," he said, he'd never called you that before and it made you clench, but it also made your heart flutter.

The tension of waiting for him made a knot in your abdomen build, and you felt yourself getting wet over the situation you'd put yourself in. You'd never thought about, but looking at Eddie like this, and thinking about him like this, was really making you horny. If he tried, you'd probably let him do more than kiss you.

Eddie's thumbs ran soothingly across your rib cages, looking up at you, his beautiful eyes looking at you like this made things feel different. You weren't thinking about some loser who didn't call you, you were thinking about Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He was taking over your senses. And then he did it. He reached forward and kissed a small section of your collarbone, before gently bringing it into his mouth, sucking a sinful little kiss into this skin.

Eddie hands trailed up your back slowly, shivers replaced his heat on your body. His lips were still attached to you, sucking slowly and sweetly on your collarbone. His hands around you kept you close, preventing you from shying away, but you wanted to be close anyway. You want him to keep kissing you like this. You wanted him to kiss you everywhere.

You moved your hands to his hair, practically coddling him and keeping him close to you, tugging at fistfulls everytime he switched to a new location to kiss. You shimmied in his lap, making him bite you lightly, and grip you tighter in his hands. It may have been a warning, but you ignored it and moved again, this time moaning quietly.

"If you don't stop that you're gunna start something you can't finish," he mumbled, hands moved again, gripping your hips just tight enough to hold you still.

"You know what would really piss that guy off?" you mumbled, and Eddie flinched at the words. He didn't really want to be thinking of the other man on your mind right now. "Was if he thought you and I really did it."

"How so?" Eddie replied, but reattached himself to the soft felsh peaking out of your bra. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity.

"I don't know," you mused, but you did. "Maybe I can wear that short little skirt to school, and maybe you can leave hickeys... I don't know, on my thigh?"

Eddie froze.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking up at you.

Your judgement was so clouded with lust for your best friend, it was pathetic.

"Please," you begged, pouting in a way you knew would make him fold.

But you didn't really need to, Eddie nodded softly and quickly, swallowing his nerves. you got off him, unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your legs. Eddie kept staring, he discovered your lack of panties without warning, and couldn't look away from the prettiest sight he'd ever scene. You unclipped your bra saying, "Guess we might as well take this off too."

"Come here," he said, holding out his hand and gesturing you back over by curling his two middle fingers towards himself. "On the couch."

You laid down, head on the armrest, suddenly a little shy at the prospect of having Eddie kissing you between the legs.

You mean... on the legs...

Eddie was on his knees, in-between your spread legs, leaning on the back of the couch so he could lean over you a little bit. One of your legs was draped over his, and he ran his hand up it, staring at the beautiful sight until it burned into a memory he won't forget.

"Are you really sure?" he asked, "this is intimate."

"You don't have to," you said, embarassed.

"Oh, I want to." His hand stopped trailing on your hip. "But I don't want you to be uncomfortable around me later."

His voice was laced with hints of vulnerability, you could hear it. You could see the way his head hung a little lower when he said that. You leaned up, placing your lips on his for a very soft, tender kiss.

"Eddie, I always feel the most comfortable when I'm with you."

And he couldn't even process the compliment. He kissed you again, casual, as if this wasn't his first and second kiss with his best friend that he's been crushing on forever.

He scooched his knees back so he could lay down a little, lowering his head to fall between your legs. He put a hand under your knee, lifting your leg ever so gently towards his mouth, looking at you like he expected you to pull away. But you said nothing.

He kissed the soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, above your knee. You watched him, the sight of him so close to your heat was unforgettable.

Eddie sucked a little spot, the purple mark left was small and shallow. He wasn't leaving them to be seen anybody else, and you could tell. But it felt so good and you didn't care, you kinda, didn't want to share. Eddie kissed a little higher, and did the same thing. And then moved... one kiss higher. And right when you were about to ask him to kiss you, really kiss you, he switched sides, repeating them same, slow, tantalizing kisses.

Meanwhile, Eddie was going fucking insane. Your leg was in his fucking mouth. Things would never be platonic again. He had to pretend he couldn't smell how aroused, and wet you were. Had to pretend he wasn't trying to rub his dick on the couch cushions just to get an iota of relief. It was his big performance.

"Eddie..." you said, and when he looked up at your big pleading eyes, the lust coming off you in waves, he knew.

This time, he didn't stop going higher, he trailed kissed all the way up your thigh, bit your hip unexpectedly to make you gasp, and then dove into your pussy, kissing where your pussy met your mound. Eddie was kissing you like this and looking up at you with those eyes. Those fucking eyes. You moaned, the anticipation alone making you writhe.

He licked up and down your folds, letting himself taste and explore every inch. You were so wet.

He snuck his hand under his chin, teasing your hole with one proding digit. It slipped in, your walls wet, and warm, and tight, and the sensation around his finger nearly made him blow his load.

His tongue slid perfectly over your clit and you jerked, moaning sharply and bucking your hips into his face, the pleasure of it sending sparks down your thighs. He repeated the same move, using one hand to spread your lips open and take note of where he was touching. He was memorizing you. Memorizing each and every move that made you moan. He wanted to make you cum so bad. Wanted you to cum for him.

"Feels so good, Eddie."

Groaning at the sound of his name, he slipped in another finger, making you moan again. The slight stretching of learning someone knew was always your least favourite part, but turns out, you just needed Eddie. He made you feel good because he wanted to, he was happy to have his head between your legs, eating you out like he was starving, and with no promise of sex.

But you were pretty sure you were going to fuck him. If he wanted you, he could take you.

He sucked your clit again, and your walls tightened. He curled one of the fingers inside you gently, experimenting, and when you gasped, he continued on that spot, hitting it again and again and again while you got impossibly tight around his fingers, moaning and writhing like a fucking pornstar. He was so in love.

"I want to cum," you moaned, "can I? Please?"

You were asking him to cum. Eddie was dizzy. All the sensations, being squeezed, smelling you, tasting you, the delicious pain of you gripping his hair like you were going to fall... it was all too much. Too sweet. Too hot. Eddie bucked his own hips into the couch, desperate to be touched.

He pulled away just enough to growl, "you better cum on my face," and then dive back into his clitoral assault, kissing and licking it like it was the answer to his prayers.

Which really, it was.

And you came, loudly, moaning loud enough for the whole damn park to know what Eddie just did to you. Through every wave of pleaser, you and Eddie had your eyes locked on each other. This was what you really wanted. You didn't care about some prick, you cared about Eddie. It's always been Eddie.

You kept moaning as Eddie continued to massage and suck you through your orgasm, stopping only when you tried tugging him up to you. He held himself above you, letting you pull his face down to kiss him. All tongue and teeth, more desperate than anything. Eddie could love you after he fucked you. The way you looked at him, blissed out and still squirming your hips, he knew it wasn't over.

He thanked god it wasn't over yet.

"Go to my room," he said, kissing you again, taste of your sweet still on his lips. And evidence of your orgasm remained unwiped, glistening on the skin all around his mouth. You did what he said obediently, almost running to the room with him on your tail.

You started crawling onto the bed, putting your knees on the edge, but before you could climb on, a large hand pushed you into between your shoulder blades, making you land doggy style and exposing your ass and pussy to Eddie. He had taken his pants off, but really couldn't wait one more second. The bed dipped behind you, and you felt him pushing the tip of his cock against your unsuspecting cunt. You gasped, waiting patiently for him to do. The suspense of his dick slowly trailing up your folds without penetrating you was going to drive you crazy.

"Can I do it, baby?" he asked, running the tip up and down your sopping wet folds. He felt how tight you were against two fingers, he was going to be fighting not to finish fast, he knew that. "Please, beautiful, let me do it."

His dick hit the divet of your hole, and he groaned, stopping himself to wait for your answer.

"Eddie," you moaned, the feeling of him pressed against your core wasn't enough. You looked over your shoulder, glassy eyes begging for more relief. He could've blown at the sight of your cock-drunk eyes. And he hadn't even fucked you yet. "Please, fuck me."

Not wasting another second he pushed himself in, fighting playfully against the tightness of your walls. You moaned, shocked at how thick he was, but loving every second. You welcomed him in, pussy so tight and wet and fucking warm that he had to take a few deep breaths before he could fully push himself in.

He pulled entirely out, to slowly push entirely in a few times, taking his time to stretch you before doing anything harder. He said another prayer right then, a prayer that this wasn't the only time. He needed you, and you needed him. And you were already a moaning mess in his arms.

Once you were comfortable, he started really thrusting, keeping the pace steady. He had to close his eyes and take deep breaths again. Just looking at you while he hit it from behind? Too much.

Eddie slapped your ass once. And then finally looked down to see what it looks like. He loved watching your ass jiggle as he fucked you, your cheeks slamming against his abdomen.

"M-Maybe he'll see how-"

"Enough!" Eddie couldn't hear you bring up that fucking idiot one more time. "I'm gunna fuck that guy right out of your mind," Eddie grabbed one of your arms making your chest fall into the bed. He grabbed the other and held them both captive in one of his hands, and used his other hands to slap you on the ass, hard. He did it three more times, your moaning egging him on. But when you started moaning his name, repeating it over and over, he knew he had to get you there. He wouldn't last much longer, not with you intentionally squeezing your walls around him. He spanked you twice more more rough than the rest, followed by a smaller gentler tap. A small, good girl, without words.

Eddie squeezed your reddened ass cheek, as he hammered into you, but released to use his hand to grip a fistful of your hair, pushing you down deeper into the mattress. Your ass was up in the air, while Eddie fucked your pussy relentlessly. He was so deep, hitting parts of you that no one had ever touched. You wanted to praise him. You wanted to thank him for fucking you so good, and tell him how good you felt. You wanted to shower him with praises for fucking you better than anyone ever had, but the only thing that came out was a string of moan and unintelligible syllables of unfinished words.

But you didn't need to say it anyway, Eddie knew.

He could tell by the way your cunt squeezed him greedily, or everytime you caught his eye over your shoulder, glossy and pleasured, how he'd like to see you more often.

It was starting to ache how deeply he pounded you, when he suddenly let go of your hair so he could wrap an arm under you, and get his fingers on your clit. His body was pushed against yours even more, his dick staying deeper and repeatedly hitting a spot that was making you stupid. Eddie saw drool puddling at the corner of your mouth at the mattress, and your pussy dripped down both of your legs. He licked his lips at the sight. You unable to speak, drooling, moaning, and letting him have his fucking way with you.

"You're gunna cum," he said, a fact not a question. "All over this cock, fuck baby, you're so hot," Eddie was trying to keep it together but failing. He'd wanted this forever, and now that he had it, he wasn't going to last. "Are you gunna cum, baby?"

You nodded in his grip, but he held your hair tighter. He wanted to hear you. A strangled, "please," was what you managed.

"Good fucking girl, oh my god," Eddie praised, his fingers on your clit were softer in contrast to the deep pounding. The circles the rubbed over it were sensual, and hot, and going to make you explode. "Cum on my cock babe, do it." Eddie let go of your arms, and immediately they fell beside you, hands grabbing at the sheets pathetically. He grabbed one, and brought your own hand to your own clit. "And when you do," Eddie picked his pace up, gripping your hips in both hands now. "you're fucking mine."

It shouldn't have made you orgasm harder than you ever have in your life, but it did. The concept of Eddie owning your pussy all the time made you come all over him like he wanted, squeezing him so tightly that he couldn't help but bury it as deep as possible and coat your walls, holding your hips unwaveringly tight and pushing himself into you impossibly far to coax himself through his climax.

"Oh my fucking god," he mumbled, eyes closed and cock still buried deep inside you, twitching with sensitivity.

When he pulled out, you both moaned. You flipped over slowly, sitting upright on the bed.

"Eddie," you whispered, suddenly overthinking everything you just did. You couldn't lose Eddie, he was too important.

But he knew you. So he sat beside you, cooing and patting your hair. He kissed you on the cheek.

"Hey, listen," he said, scooping up a hand to hold and looking you in the eyes. His eyes were glassy from cumming so hard in you, but also filled with adoration and love. His gooey eyes could calm you from any state. Eddie encouraged you to stand, walking with you to the bathroom, hands locked tightly together. "I say we take a shower, make a snack, throw a movie on, and fall asleep. Hmm? How's that sound, petal?"

"Petal?"

"Pretty right?" He said, turning the shower on. "I figured I want something pretty, but not overdone. Babe is classic, but overdone."

"To call me?"

"To call my girlfriend," he said, you blushed but said nothing. He smiled. "Look, if you really came over here just to make some douche jealous that's fine, but... if you want me to love you, well, you already have that."

"I love you too, Eddie."

"Sorry it wasn't like, nicer." Eddie smiled at you, content to just be here with you. "For our first time, I mean."

You laughed, "no, it was perfect."

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things 4 #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things s4 #stranger things #eddie munson drable #imagine #imagines #drabble #smut #stranger things smut

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Into You

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You've been pining for your brother's best friend for a while. When he stops over and no one else is home, you decide it's time to finally make a move.

18+ Only

“Hey princess Harrington. Where’s your brother?”

You pulled your sunglasses down, resting them on the tip of your nose, to find your favorite metalhead grinning at you. Still rocking jeans even though it was ninety degrees because he couldn’t tarnish that image he’d worked so hard to build. The gray tee he was wearing was fitted, the material thin, not leaving much to the imagination. He was filling that shirt out, even with his lean frame, that slim waist. It was as if the shirt was just a thin mask hiding everything you’d fantasized of so many nights while alone in your bed, fingers buried deep within you, whimpering his name into your pillow. 

Eddie Munson had been tormenting your thoughts for the past three years, ever since he’d become friends with your brother, Steve. You’d been away at college and when you came home to find this long-haired, doe-eyed, rockstar in denim and leather standing in your parents house, looking entirely out of place, an insistent pulsing had begun between your legs that had yet to cease. 

It was like a fire was kindled inside of you, a fire that only burned brighter with each interaction, until it was a raging inferno that threatened to consume you. You would do anything to be close to him. You craved him like a goddamn drug. Every part of you ached with it. The mix of longing and desire that had been torturing you for years was making you insane and maybe, given this opportunity, it was finally time to do something about it. 

You leaned back on the pool lounger, raising one arm above your head, flashing him a smile. You were glad you’d decided to wear your little red bikini today instead of that horrid tropical print one piece your mom had bought for you. You didn’t miss how his eyes roamed from your head to your little purple painted toenails. 

“He’s not here,” you told him. “In fact, nobody’s here but me for the whole day. I’m all by me lonesome.”

“Oh poor you,” Eddie mused, his tongue slipping between his teeth to run over his bottom lip. “I am sure you’re hating having this big ass house all to yourself.”

“I’m quite good at keeping myself amused. But, there is something I can’t do all by myself.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” His head tilted to the side, lips curving up on one side with amusement.

“I can’t get the suntan lotion on my back,” you pouted. “Do you think you could help me out? I mean, you wouldn’t want me to burn out here in this hot sun, would you?”

“No, we can’t have that,” Eddie chuckled, taking the bottle you were holding out. “Sit up for me princess so I can reach.”

You leaned forward, sliding yourself along the lounger. Eddie swung one leg over, sitting directly behind you. Grabbing your hair in your fist, you draped it over your shoulder. The sound of the lotion squirting into his hand had you quivering with anticipation already, eager for those hands to be on your skin. 

“Here?” he asked, rough fingertips roaming along your upper back, between your shoulder blades, thumbs digging into the flesh, pressing deliciously into tense muscles. 

“Mmmhmm…” you murmured, your body vibrating with desire. “Lower too…”

His hands ran over your skin, leaving a trail of flame everywhere he touched. Fingers danced along the top of your bikini bottom and your hips rolled, your clit pressing against the tightly thatched material, the sensation causing a small moan to fall, unbidden, from your lips. 

“Damn sweetheart, when you make such pretty sounds just from me touching your back, it makes me wonder what other sounds I can get you to make.”

“Yes,” you gasped, every part of you alive with energy, ready to burst out of your skin. You needed him to keep touching you. You felt you would spontaneously combust if he stopped. 

“M’kay,” he rumbled, his voice deep and rough against your ear as those fingers trailed along your spine, slipping beneath the strap of your bikini top. 

Your heart rate accelerated, pounding incessantly in your chest, so loud you were sure the whole town could hear it. His fingers moved along your ribs, tracing the string of your bikini to the front. Your face was hot, breathing quick and shallow, the lightest touch enough to take your breath away. 

Then his hands slid under the triangles of your bikini, covering your breasts and you collapsed back against him, moaning soft and low. His fingers pinched and rolled, teasing your nipples into hard peaks of desire, your center pulsing with hunger, craving to get the same treatment. Your back arched, pressing against him and Eddie chuckled roughly. 

“Mmm, such a needy little baby, aren’t we?” he teased, squeezing and kneading the flesh of your breasts. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Let’s see what other sounds we can get you to make.”

Warm flesh and cool metal wound around your throat, pulling your head back even further. His lips latched onto your neck, suckling just over your pulse point. Your hips rocked, needy, wanting, made even worse when your grinding forced a growl from the hard body behind you, his teeth raking over the tender flesh. 

Keeping a grip on your throat, his other hand roamed along your stomach, fingers teasing just above the top of your bikini bottom. You lifted your hips, yearning for him to touch you the way you’d always fantasized about. You could feel his grin against the skin of your shoulder as he slipped two fingers underneath the fabric, moving achingly slow toward where you need him most.

“So eager. If I would have known you wanted it this bad, I would have given it to you long before now,” Eddie rasped. Slipping through your slick, he moaned. “Fuck me. You’re always so damn wet.”

You wailed when his thumb brushed over your clit. He teased it as his tongue played along your ear. Keeping his thumb on your clit, two thick fingers slipped inside of you, stretching you out, bringing you to levels of pleasure you didn’t know existed. Your body instantly responded, grinding your hips up and against his hand, seeking out the relief it so desperately needed.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” he murmured, nose brushing along your neck, shivers racing along your spine. “Can’t wait to have that tight little pussy around my cock. You want that?”

“Mmmhmm…” you whimpered, gasping when his fingers spread apart, scissoring within you, stretching you out even further as if he were prepping you. 

“Gonna need to hear the words, princess. Come on. Tell me what you want.”

“I…want…fuuucckk….I want you to fuck me…” you mewled, rocking your head, hair plastered to your head as Eddie curled his fingers, reaching that spot that had you seeing white. Your eyes rolled back, short, hard breaths pounding in your chest as the roller coaster that was your orgasm started cresting the hill, prepared to drop you in a rush of pleasure. 

“Of course you do, dirty little thing,” he rasped. “You been dreaming about this, sweetheart? Thinking about my cock? My fingers?”

“Yes,” you cried, your stomach knotting, muscles tensing. You could feel the blood racing through your veins. Your skin felt electric, alive. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…”

“You should have something. I’m always happy to help a lady in need.” Your walls clenched around his fingers, your body vibrating, on the verge of release. “Oh, you gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna cum all over my fingers?”

“Oh shit…oh fuck…oh god…Eddie…” you whimpered, hips rocking against his hand with abandon. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Turn your head for me. I wanna see your face when I give you the best orgasm you ever had.”

Your head rolled, obeying his command, willing to give him anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop. You were so close. That roller coaster was tipping over the edge. Your hands grabbed onto his arms, gripping hard as you screamed, your entire body tensing before collapsing into a puddle against him. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, slowly removing his fingers from inside you. He brought them to his mouth, sucking your pleasure from them. “Mmm…you taste so good, sweetheart. I’m going to need to bury my face between those thighs sometime.”

Just like that, your thighs pressed together, your center already aching again just at his words. Eddie stood up from the lounger, hands coming to his belt, unfastening it and undoing the button. He slid the zipper down and pushed his boxers and his pants just down off his hips. Taking your hand, he helped you to your feet and then laid down, opening his arms wide. 

“You want my cock? It’s yours for the taking, princess. Show me how badly you need it.”

You slipped your bottoms off and straddled his hips, struggling to process that this was all happening and not just another of your delusional fantasies. You were actually getting what you wanted, what you’d been craving. Eddie Munson had gotten you off and it had been even better than you’d imagined and now you were going to ride him like a fucking pony. 

He held his cock in his hand as you slowly lowered yourself over top of him. He was thick, stretching you wide with each inch and you took in a bit at a time until he bottomed out, your ass snuggled against his thighs. You placed your hands on his chest, eyes slipping closed, just savoring the feel of him inside you. 

“Jesus Christ…I knew you’d feel fucking amazing,” he groaned, his hands running along your thighs to grip your hips. “Come on, sweetheart. Fuck me the way you’ve fantasized about.”

“Oh, I’ve fantasized about fucking you every way possible. Most of the time it’s you fucking me.”

“Mmm…we’ll get there. I will fuck you every goddamn way you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Eddie,” you grunted as you began to rock your hips, each forward motion grinding your clit against his pelvis, drawing a moan from you. 

“Shit…” he groaned, fingers pressing into your skin as his eyes devoured the sight of you fucking him, taking charge of your own pleasure. “I will keep this one.” His hands slipped along your body, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Fuck baby. These are the most perfect damn tits I’ve ever seen. Always figured they would be. Easy enough to tell when you prance around in those…ahh…” He paused, teeth clenching as you switched up the motion, your hips rolling in circles. “When you prance around in those tight little tops but they’re even better than I imagined.”

“You imagined me?” you choked out, slipping your hands under his shirt, tracing your fingers over his lean frame, his belly that was thin but still soft, that soft strip of hair along his pelvis. 

“Fuck yes. You think you’re the only one who’s fantasized about this? Sweetheart, I’ve been dreaming of fucking you since that first day you came down the stairs, those sweet little tits bouncing with every step.”

The knowledge that he’d wanted you too filled your belly with heat. A confidence you hadn’t had before took over. Gripping his chest, you used your feet to lift yourself until just the tip of him was within you and then you slowly sunk onto him once again. He released the most delicious sound you’d ever heard so you did it again. His eyes slipped closed, hands coming to your shoulders in an attempt to keep himself sheathed within you. 

Your hand wound into his hair, pulling, “Open your eyes. I want you looking at me when I make you cum harder than you ever have.”

“Fuck yes, princess,” he growled, following your command, brown eyes dark with lust gazing right into yours. 

You kept your hips nestled against him, rocking forward and back once again. The consistent friction of his pelvis, the coarse hair rubbing over your clit was sending that coaster rocketing back up that hill. Eddie’s hands gripped your waist, holding on but not controlling, allowing you to be in charge. 

“I’m so close, princess,” he ground out between clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “Just like that, baby. Don’t fucking stop…”

“Come on, big boy,” you urged, tugging his hair again, earning a grunt of pleasure. “Cum for me. Fill me up, baby. Let me feel it.”

“Jesus…fuck me…shit…son of…biiitttccchhh!” 

His face screwed up tight as he held onto your waist. His hips lifted off the lounger, thrusting into you hard as he spilled his release into you. You yanked at his hair, your back arching as you quickly followed, crying out his name. 

“Jesus Christ…holy shit…fuck…” he muttered, flopping back onto the lounger, his chest heaving beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. “That was…fuck, that was definitely the hardest orgasm I’ve ever had. You’re like fucking magic, baby.” 

You giggled and he grabbed onto your arms, pulling you down to him, pressing his lips to yours. A feeling of shock ran through you as you realized this was your first kiss. After everything you’d just done, that seemed ridiculous but jesus if those lips weren’t just as plush and soft and yummy as you’d always dreamed. You could gladly spend the rest of your life just kissing Eddie. 

“Mmm…sweetheart, I can’t wait to find out what else you’ve fantasized about.”

“Oh, you might have your work cut out for you. I’ve envisioned doing just about everything with you. Some of it’s pretty damn dirty.”

“I’m not scared of getting a little dirty, baby,” he grinned, his lips finding yours again. 

#eddie munson #eddie the banished #stranger things eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x femreader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

[bearmansbabe]

Ollie Bearman x Reader

Summary: You give Ollie a special reward for his victory in Monza...

Warnings: Smut, NSFW content

“Ollie Bearman wins in Monza!!” the commentator blares. An uncontrollable, wide grin spreads across your face as you watch your boyfriend cross the line. The Prema garage erupts around you with joy.

You join the rest of the Prema crew in the pitlane and watch as Ollie stops his car in front of the #1 marker stand. He leaps out, pumping his fists in the air, and rushes towards you. His strong arms wrap around you in a firm hug. The adrenaline pumping through his veins cause him to hold you a little too tight, but you love how well you fit in his arms.

He releases you and embraces the rest of his team before heading inside to fulfil FIA checks before the podium. You wait impatiently to see him celebrate on the podium. After 15 minutes, they do the podium. He comes out, a huge grin across his face. He raises his trophy above his head and sprays the champagne over the other drivers on the podium. Then he blows a kiss down to you – instantly, you know fans on TikTok will be clipping that up, wishing he was doing that to them. You knew how unbelievably desirable your boyfriend was but had no intention of sharing him with anyone.

After the podium, you let him go and celebrate with the team and return to the motorhome to wait for him…

Ollie opens the door 30 minutes later. “Hey baby,” you say as he enters.

His soft brown eyes look at you. His messy, brown hair perfectly frame his gorgeous face. His usually curly hair

“Hey,” he replies, placing his trophy and champagne on the table and then walking towards you.

 “How’s my winner feeling?” You ask.

“I’m exhausted,” he replies, his eyes closing as he hugs you gently.

“Well, you can relax now, baby. Let me take care of you,” you say. You capture his mouth in a soft kiss, beginning to undo his Prema overalls. You suck his neck, his heavy breath in your ear. You slowly peel his Prema overalls off his body and let them hang from his waist. You drop to the floor and remove his boots. You’re on your knees as you pull his overalls off, exposing his boxers and the noticeable bulge in them. You take off his socks and return back to your feet.

You start kissing him again. It’s more passionate and desperate now. Your lips crash together harder. You grip the hem of his shirt and pull it up. He gets the memo and raises his arms so you can pull his tight white undershirt over his head. “I love your body so much!” you exclaim as you expose his chiselled abs and toned arms. His mouth forms a wide grin as you take in the magnificent body in front of you.

His body is coated in a layer of sweat and champagne. It glistens in the light on his wonderfully toned body. You begin a tour of his perfectly sculpted physique. You begin at his tight pecs and gently play with his adorable pink nipples. You stroke your hand down his chest and over his sensational abs. Your eyes wander to the thick bulge in Ollie’s boxers, a malevolent smile creeping across your face.

You take a nipple in your mouth, tweaking the other with your hand. Again, he exhales deeply at your touch. Your cold hand against his warm body like a shock of electricity. You lay a trail of kisses down his body, over his impressive chest and defined abs, slowly dropping to your knees. The saltiness from the sweat and the velvety notes of Champagne mix to form a delicious concoction on your tongue. You kneel before him, face-to-face with his suggestive tent. You gently scrape your nails against his skin and under his waistband. You slide his black boxers off to unveil his thick, 7-inch cock which springs up, almost hitting you in the face.

It's the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. His pulsating purple head, already glistening with precum, makes you salivate instantly. His long and thick shaft is made even more beautiful by the bulging veins across its surface. A trimmed bush of hair frames his impressive cock and his balls, full of his delicious cum, look enticing.

You wrap your strong hand around his length. A soft moan escapes his lips as you run your fingers over his member. You begin rolling your fist along his shaft, his foreskin gliding back and forth to expose his head which beckons you to swallow it. His moans become louder as you stroke him faster.

“Are you liking it?” You ask him, looking up at his magnificent body.

“Mmmm…” he agrees, nodding his head, “I love the feeling of your hand round my cock.”

“Well if you’re enjoy this, you will love what’s coming next,” you reply. You stop pumping his impressive cock and move your mouth towards his meat. You see him shiver as he feels your breath against his cock. Then you slowly circle your tongue around his head. You hear Ollie exhale deeply and his cock throb at the touch of your tongue.

Next, you swallow the head of his cock in your mouth, and he lets out the most delightful moan.

“Fuckkkkkk,” he moans. This is all the encouragement you need to progress the blowjob. You slide your lips down his shaft and begin bobbing on his shaft. You start slowly and gradually increase the pace. Ollie’s moans become more desperate, high-pitched, and loud.

“You’re wearing way too many clothes,” Ollie stated through bated breath.

You pop off his cock and flash a flirtatious smile at him. “We ought to do something about that then,” you reply, returning to your feet. Now at face level, you hold strong eye contact until he places his large, soft hand on your cheek and pulls you into a passionate kiss. His pulls back for a moment and pulls your shirt up. You raise your arms, and he lifts your shirt over your head. He ogles at your body like you had done earlier before resuming the kiss. His hands start roaming your body, desperate to touch every inch of your body.

You break away from the kiss and say, “I want to get back to sucking your fat cock.”

“Strip for me first, please, babe,” Ollie says, pouting.

You pull off your socks and then slide your trousers off. You stand there in just your underwear and watch as he stares at your body, gently stroking his cock. You remove your underwear and drop to your knees again. You start by sucking his balls. They feel so full in your mouth. You lick a stripe up his cock and then envelop his cock with your mouth again.

Your eyes travel up Ollie's body to the Briton's soft face. The F2 driver's cheeks shone a shade of crimson. Your tongue forces Ollie's eyes to roll to the back of their sockets. You begin to bob quickly, sucking hard on 18-year-olds’s thick cock. The Prema driver places his hand on the back of your head as you pleasure him. Your hands hold his smooth muscular thighs legs. Devouring the length of Ollie's shaft, you suck the delicious cock. He grabs a handful of your hair and presses your face down so far that your nose presses against his pale crotch. You send waves of pure pleasure through the F2 driver's body.

“I’m close, babe,” Ollie moans. This makes you increase the pace. You take his entire length in your mouth. It tastes amazing and is covered in your saliva. You suck harder and faster until he explodes in your throat.

“Ohhhh, yessss,” He moans, followed by a string of expletives, as he finishes in your mouth. You swallow his delightful load. The salty taste lingering on your tongue.

“That was heavenly,” Ollie comments and he recovers his breathing from your intense moment.

“Now it’s your turn,” you say, returning to your feet.

“Okay, let’s take this to the bedroom,” he says. His strong arms pick your naked body up like a trophy and he carries you to his bedroom to have his way with you…

#ollie bearman smut #ollie bearman #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #ollie bearman x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #smut #imagines #formula 2

[lottiecrabie]

pray for my soul. part four – matty healy

sneaking around with matty healy might forsake you, but at least it’s fun.

warnings: 18+, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, joint fingering, masturbation, dry humping, mirror sex, thigh riding, restraints, roleplay, religious imagery, pfms typical desecration

part four of five

20,067 words

Matty’s grip on your thighs is brutal. He has to: your legs trash around the sheets wildly, bucking into his mouth. His tongue meets your clit with deadly accuracy. He rubs at it with the back of his tongue, a new trick that has you biting your lip until your chin is numb, tugging at the roots of his hair.

His nails dig into your flesh, crescent moon scars to cherish when he’s gone. There’s faded purple bruises all over your body, hidden under your clothes. Thank God for cardigans, for turtlenecks, for swallowing sweaters; all the modest clothes your mother buys in pretty shades of pastels are perfect smoke shows for the hickeys Matty litters on you religiously. 

You love to trace the imprints of him. On your hips, your waist, your legs. Pretty colors on the underside of your breasts, still burning with soothing after-kisses. In front of the mirror, you trail your fingertips over the temporary tattoos, feeling like his name is permanently engraved on you. 

That’s what he’s doing now, spelling M A T T Y on your bundle of nerves as his fingers fuck into you. You put the letters together with a moan, some vertiginous thrill at both the feel and the idea. He’s marking you. He’s ruining you. You’re letting him. 

“Matty, please,” you whimper, raking through his sweaty curls. He hums, delicious resonance on your clit. Euphoria shoots up your spine; you clench around his fingers, drenching them in your slick. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so—” Your head rolls. A shattering orgasm threatens the edges of you— you know that now, know the telltale feel of it by heart. 

His mouth leaves your cunt. You whine, frowning at the sudden loss of feeling, bucking into his fingers with renewed fervor to make up for it. “Look at me,” Matty orders. “I want to see you when you fall apart.”

It’s an herculean effort just to open your eyes, but when you finally do, Matty dives back between your legs restlessly, rubbing at you with a frenzied rhythm. You struggle to keep your gaze locked with his, trying to muffle the desperate cries you want to release. 

You’re close again— right there, really. You don’t warn him. He knows the signs anyway, knows them probably better than yourself. His eyes darken at the sight of you, flushed and panting, shirt pulled off, bra cups lowered just enough to reveal your pebbled breasts, skirt bunched uselessly around your waist; a show you put on nearly every night. Just for him. 

His hips grind into the bed, unconsciously humping the covers, surely overwhelmed with the sight and the taste and the smell. You feel guilty. For all the time Matty has spent on his knees in the past weeks, you haven’t returned the favor. You think you should probably— Matty curls his fingers just so, and now you’re not thinking of anything at all, breaking apart on his tongue. 

He comes breathless out of your legs, grinning lazily like he’s just so proud of you for doing the easiest task of climaxing. He climbs up your body as you pant, kissing your stomach, your neck, your lips. 

His tongue slips into your mouth, holding the side of your face like you could shatter between his fingertips. He tastes like you. You don’t hate it. Matty is still hard between your thighs, pressing into you as he tilts his head, finding a better angle to steal the breath right from your lips. 

You break away, eyes still firmly closed, mind spinning languidly. “You can—” You open your eyes, searching his frowning stare. Eyebrows furrowed, Matty almost seems to fear your next words. “You can… you know.”

Worry spills away from his face, replaced by amusement. He smiles teasingly at you. “What?” 

You huff, blushing. “You know.” Your hands dig into his shirt, embarrassment spreading through you, shaking you out of the happy blur post-orgasms bring you. “Touch yourself,” you finally complete, looking away, because Matty is clearly unwilling to help, preferring watching you squirm instead. 

“Yeah?” He laughs, nosing your cheek. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, suddenly hyperaware of him, of how hard he is between your legs. You already feel ready for another go. “I wanna see you,” you whisper, choked. 

Matty’s head rises at that. Gone is any trace of teasing. He’s staring at you like he could eat through your flesh, like he could dig under your bones. Like he wants you— right now and then. Your head spins. You almost consider saying yes. 

He kneels above you, hovering, each knee siding your waist. Your hands find them shyly. He peers down at you with a smirk; his turn to give you a show. Unbuttoning his jeans, Matty lowers his boxers, revealing his hard, leaking cock. 

Fire burns down your veins. You swallow thickly, eyeing his red tip, the vein running down his underside. It’s different than seeing it between the latticed holes of the confessional— realer. 

Matty wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly, thumb wiping at his tip. He spreads the precum down his length. His lips part at the first touch, a smothered groan gracing his lips. He’s beautiful. 

Your fingers dance on his knees, tingling with envy. You want to reach out, to touch him, to feel him. More than that, though, you’re scared. Of doing it wrong, of being bad, of new things you don’t know. 

Matty doesn’t seem to mind, however. His strokes quicken, already done teasing himself, instead chasing after his earth-shattering end. Your eyes flicker between his cock and his face, never knowing which spectacle is better to look at, always distracted by a twisting motion or a low groan scrunching his face. You suddenly understand him, understand his unsteady and evermoving gaze when you’re moaning under him. How you want to splinter apart, see everything. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, shortwinded. 

You nod, too fascinated to blush and shy at your own eagerness. “Yes. Yes.”

His hips fuck into his own fist, tip glistening with precum. He passes a hand through his curls, eyes rolling into his head. You smile cruelly, pinching his knees. “Look at me,” you repeat back to him, devious. 

Matty’s eyes snap open, his face falling forward to stare at you. His cheeks redden. You smile at that, power and thrill swirling inside your soupy brain. 

His strokes grow desperate and irregular; he must be close. Every time his thumb swipes at his tip, Matty jerks, biting on his lip, trying to swallow a cry. Your head cocks, grinning at him. “It’s not so easy keeping quiet, huh?” You tease. Finally he knows how it feels to bite back uncontrollable sounds, knows how it really is when there’s no grinding cunt muffling all the pretty noises he usually unashamedly lets out.  

A breathy laugh leaves his swollen lips. “Shut up.” His arm flexes, eyes scrunching close and then opening as he remembers your demand. “Shit,” he cries, shaking his head. “I’m gonna—” 

He makes a move to move off you, but you still him by his knees, pushing down the bunched fabric of your skirt to make room. You stare at him unflinchingly, a smile digging into your cheek. His eyebrows rise in surprise, lust glazing over his eyes, but then his head falls forward, face wrinkling as he comes with a fucked-out groan. Ropes of cum spill on your stomach, painting your belly white. 

Matty catches his breath above you, panting as he stares at the sinful sight of you. You peer down at yourself too, fascinated. With a curious finger, you wipe at his cum, sucking it into your mouth. Vaguely salty. Not terrible. 

“Fuck,” Matty moans. Your eyes snap to his to find him already watching you. You grin around your finger. 

Devilishly, you catch another string of cum, reaching up to his mouth with a smirk. “Open up,” you tease. 

Matty jumps, slapping your hand away with a disgusted sound. “Fucking gross.” 

You giggle, wiping your dirty finger on your stomach. Matty glares at you, clearly unimpressed by your pestering. He tucks himself back in his jeans, falling beside you on the bed, sweaty head on your pillows. He kisses the top of your hair, sighing satisfiedly. 

Your eyes flick to the clock. You groan, digging your face into his shoulder. “It’s dinner soon,” you lament. Not only do you have to go downstairs and sit around a table with your parents like you’re not still tingling with the memory of Matty’s hands on you, but your mother has convinced herself a diet is needed and now you can’t eat anything but overcooked vegetables and soup. 

“Well, I’ve already eaten.” You slap his stomach, rolling your eyes. He laughs. “Come on. It was right there.” 

“You don’t have to take every bait.” 

He grins down at you. “How else am I supposed to make you blush?” 

“Try a compliment, maybe.” 

A beat passes. Matty stares at you still, smiling and lighthearted, just as happy dazed by his own orgasm. Your heart slams against your chest with each passing second, stomach fluttering uselessly. “You’re very pretty,” he says, low and confessionally, unrushed. Of course, you feel a flush spread on your face. You look away embarrassed. “Well, would you look at that. It does work, too.” 

“Shut up,” you mutter, as though the words aren’t still coiling around the wrinkles of your brain. Matty laughs again, something easy. 

You sit up, staring down at the mess of your body. “I have to get cleaned up.” 

Matty nods, getting off the bed, bending down to put his sneakers back on. It’s still light outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” you say, pretending your heart doesn’t pinch watching him go. “See you soon.” 

—

Sunday morning is a daze. You’re dozing off in church, limbs sore from Matty going down on you in the cramped spot of his passenger seat before driving you home after school. Your legs protest everytime you kneel, muttering back the prayers with a smothered gasp of pain. 

You pick your nails trying to not think of it. It feels almost too perfectly planned: Matty untethering all your connections to faith, dirtying them. A soiled confessional, a sullied bible, and now you sit in church and pinch at your thumb to stop imagining his fingers curling into you. 

It’s not very successful. Every passing thought has you throwing a guilty glance towards Matty’s unruly curls. He’s sitting diagonally from you, further up. How ironic that he seems to sail through church as you tangle yourself in the shadows. That you must look forward to find him in his pew, seemingly twiddling his thumbs as the sermon progresses on. 

You stand from your seat for the communion, following dutifully behind your parents. Matty doesn’t move. He stares straight ahead; so do you. Your heart races inexplicably in your chest as you walk the aisle, inching closer and closer to him; some vague buzzing thrill taught to react to his mere proximity. Soon, you’ll brush past him. Your cheeks grow hot. It’s silly— young and naive and innocent. 

He’s been between your thighs. He’s seen you naked. He’s licked your wetness off his lips. Yet you’re still flushing at the idea of a graze. 

He’s under your skin. 

You count the seconds between each step. You pinch at your thumb, trying to kill the growing excitement— or at least smother it. 

You bite your lip as you finally get to his pew. His hand rests on the armrest, bored. Your thigh could graze it if you swerved— it happens all the time. It’s not suspicious. People falter in their steps every day, get caught in their feet and bend into unsuspecting bodies. 

Your stare faces straight on, digging a hole in your father’s head. You won’t get distracted. Won’t be weak. Won’t indulge in your sinful thoughts where everyone can see.

It’s almost predictable. Matty reaches a hand out and tugs on your pleated skirt. You jump, spinning to him, the back of your thighs tingling from a graze of his knuckles. He stares straight on, head resting on his hand, grinning to himself. A giddy smile that cuts his lips up, impossible to wipe away. An innocent act you see right through.

Your heart races twice as hard, but you can’t tell if it’s from the public display anyone could have caught or from the mere sight of him. You’re twice as flushed when you turn back to the line, squeezing your thumb so hard it numbs. You feel slack on your bones, butter melting from the heat of him. You can’t stop thinking about him.

You finally reach the priest. Dazed, you open your mouth wide. He places the body of Christ on your tongue carefully. You bite it. 

—

The shower burns. It’s a boiling degree, like the heat could make you clean. You scrub at your skin and it seems to only make your mind dirtier; a perfect equilibrium of filth must always be balanced in your flimsy body. The soap lathers over the purples and now you’re thinking of Matty’s lips stretched into a grin, a serpent smirk, bending down to kiss you. 

Whispering some terribly reprehensible things that make you dizzy, make you grip onto his shoulders just to ground yourself to something tangible. Grazing down your chest, kissing each rib to watch your breathing speed up. Biting your hip for the surprised jump, a giddy giggle falling out of your mouth next. Licking a flat tongue up your folds to hear the laugh morph into a moan. 

The images are too vivid. You’re breathless, nipples pebbled under your soaping hand, growing embarrassingly wet between your thighs. Your body holds a memory of him even your mind can’t keep up with. His name crosses your brain and suddenly your cunt throbs, ready to welcome him in, practically begging for it. 

Your hips shift uncomfortably, feeling that typical heat that spreads through you whenever Matty throws you a dark look, promise catching in the sharpness of his smile. It’s the wrong thing to think about; now your belly flexes, everything in you pulled tight in preparation. Your body holds its breath. 

You groan, frustrated. You lower the temperature of the water, incapable of keeping up with the boiling fire this bathroom has caught on, lapping up the shower curtains. It’s at least a bit soothing on your hot skin. 

Though there’s still the problem between your thighs, of course. It doesn’t seem to satiate with the minute change, barely notices it. You sigh, grabbing the showerhead, hoping to wash away the wetness dripping down your thighs, the remaining filth on you. 

You angle the showerhead and— Oh. 

You jump, startled by the sudden feeling, heart racing. Wide eyes stare at the white tiles, blinking. You flick a look to the incriminating showerhead. You bite your lip, apprehensive as you slowly place it back between your legs. 

“Shit,” you cry, biting your lip to hold back the following moans threatening to come out. A hand on the wall holds you upright. You wrinkle your face, washed with burning ecstasy. Fucking shit. 

It hits your clit just right, incessant pressure practically attacking it. You roll your eyes, head falling backwards, pleasure building inside of you. Your legs spread further apart, upping the water pressure, biting back a scream. You follow the motions Matty usually licks on your bud; circles, up-and-downs, side-to-sides, shaking at the consequential new feelings 

You might very well tear your lips apart trying to keep quiet. Your forehead falls on the tiles, afraid of crumbling to the ground. Euphoria waves through your limbs, warning bells ringing in your mind. You slap a hand on your mouth in preparation, keeping the showerhead still as— 

You come apart with a muffled scream. The shower nulls into inexistence, water barely an existing concept as pleasure washes you. His name tingles your tongue. You swallow it.

You drop the showerhead as soon as your climax ends, overwhelmed and sensitive. You breathe harshly, staring as the water runs down the bath. You laugh to yourself, raking a hand through your wet hair. 

It’s the first time you’ve come without him. First time you’ve— a moment in the confessional passes through your mind, taunting you to use the word— masturbated since the last time, the one that brought you sticky deep into this mess. 

You came into the shower to wash yourself and you’ve managed to make it dirty. Still, as you step out, the bathroom drenched in heated smoke, you feel strangely clean. You wrap a towel around your flushed body, a slack, relaxed smile on your lips. 

—

The sheets are sweaty and sticky on your skin. You push them off, then feel oddly exposed, throwing them over your body again. You huff, twisting, laying on your back as you throw a glance at the clock. He’s not coming. 

It’s fine. Something must have come up. Perhaps he remembered a very important test for tomorrow and threw himself nose first in his studies. Perhaps his mother started noticing his cracked bedroom window and sealed it shut, preventing him from sneaking out to crash in her bed nearly every night. Perhaps he’s bleeding out in the streets somewhere.

Whatever the reason, it’s not like you have to see him anyway. You can sleep without his cheeky goodnight, your eyelids droopy and your thighs sticky as he gets dressed in a hurry. 

It’s just— Well, there was a bit of teasing today; grand, dirty promises whispered in the crook of your ear; ghosting touch as he passed you; heavy looks that made your hands shake as you solved an equation on the blackboard; kisses that never went to more. Now you’re keyed up, jittery and awake, and he’s not coming. 

You sigh again, passing two hands though your hair, trying to ignore the ache throbbing between your thighs. You purse your lips. The cross stares at you, chastising the inkling thought tugging at your mind. 

You shut your eyes and let a hand travel down your stomach. You near the hem of your underwear, hinting at the possibility. Your thighs clench in anticipation. You frown, trying to remember all the reasons you shouldn’t as your fingertips dig under the fabric and cup yourself. You’re already wet. 

It’s not like it would be the first time. What is one more in the grand scheme of things. It’s surely not gonna be that that forsakes you, of all the things. You dip one finger in, hitting your clit. You jolt and bite your lip, pleasure striking through you.

You start with slow circles. Relief immediately seeps down your stomach. You open your thighs further, giving you space as you attempt to hit your clit like he does. Your finger lacks the roughness of a callus. You make a low noise of frustration.

That damn callus and its filthy trail on your skin. On your collarbone as he nears your cross, rubbing the cool metal like he had to remind himself of your faith while kissing you. On your breast as he grabs, circling a nipple until you’re putty in his arms. On your stomach as he takes his sweet time traveling it down just to tease you. On your thighs as he grips them and keeps them apart for him. On your neck as he presses until you’re rolling your eyes and gasping. On your clit finally —finally— as he draws the letters of his name on it. 

You make a sound of pleasure. You copy him, rubbing M A T T Y on your bundle of nerves as if he was there in the room, as if it was his hand in your underwear and not your own. Thrill hits you. You rub harder, trying to find half the ecstasy he naturally coaxes out of you with knowing eyes and a sweet, devil tongue. You can’t seem to. 

Last time you touched yourself— properly touched yourself— you didn’t know what pleasure could be. Now, with the vivid memory of Matty’s hands and tongue in your mind, everything feels a little shortcoming. You try to speed up, but you can’t match the pace he does. 

Impatiently, you push the covers off your chest, grabbing your tits and palming them like him. Low heat boils under your skin and you shift your hips, glad to see that something is finally working. 

Matty in your bed. Matty fingering you. Matty licking his digits clean. Matty in the confessional with that low, implacable voice. Matty asking you to pray for him. Kneeling in front of him, hands clenched together. Matty tugging at his jeans’ button. Matty’s hand on your chin as he pushes it open for him. Matty—

“Hey, sorry I’m late I was—” You open your eyes in a panic, pulling your hand out of your underwear like you’ve been burned. Your heart races as you turn to the intrusion with a panicked look. 

Matty is at your window, staring at you with two arched eyebrows. A slight, devilish smirk rises on his lips. He knows. Cheeky, he takes a step towards the bed, voice dancing as he asks, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers are wet by your thigh, laying on the white sheet under the covers. You bite your lip. “Nothing.” He gives you an unimpressed look. 

“Show me your hand.” 

“No.”

His smile breaks his face. “Why’s that?” You scrunch your nose, shaking your head. He snickers at you, taking another step until he’s reached the bed. “D’you wanna know what I think?” Your breath hitches. He has that low, teasing voice that turns you on. “I think you were— what did we call it again? Being ‘impure with yourself’? Is that it, angel?”

You lick your teeth, your cheeks heating up. “Maybe.”

He clicks his tongue. “Couldn’t wait for me to get home, huh? Had to relieve that little ache inside of you right now? Burning and dripping for me all alone in bed? Fucking begging for it but there’s no one to help?” 

You pout at him. “Yes. You were late.” 

“I’m sorry, love. Family dinner got forcefully extended. Couldn’t wrangle out of it if I tried.” 

Matty turns around and walks away from the bed. You frown, resting on your elbows as you watch him go. He sits on your desk chair, facing you. He looks like he wants to eat you up. His chin nudges towards you. “Go on, then. Give me a show.” 

You flush, falling back on your pillows. You shake your head. “I can’t. ‘S not the same without you.” 

“What? You can’t touch yourself like I can? Can’t make you come like me?” You shake your head again, more fervent, more pleading. Matty coos, “Oh, poor little baby. If I’d known.”

He stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed. You’re surprised as he grabs your hand and tugs you out of it, making a noise of confusion. Still, you follow when he directs you to the full-length mirror. His front presses against your back, his breath heavy on your neck. You shiver. 

“I can’t let my perfect girl stranded like this again,” Matty whispers, dragging his knuckles down your arms. He reaches your wrist, swallowing your hand with his own. “C’mon, let me show you how.” He takes your hand to his mouth, sucking on your wet finger. Your breath hitches. He smirks around your digit. 

He wants to— You meet eyes with him through your reflection. He releases your finger with a pop, licking its length for good measure. It’s dirty, and you feel the hot resonance low in your belly. God, you want him.

You grab his wrist before he can move, puppeteering his hand down your stomach— that damn callus— and in your underwear. He indulgently lets you. “Can’t you just do it?” You whine. 

“What if I’m late again? What if I can’t come that day?” He nips at your cheek, husky and tempting as he whispers in your ear, “What if I want you to give me a show? What’ll you do then?” 

You press his index finger between your folds. You shift your hips slightly, rubbing yourself on his offered digit. Your head drops on his shoulder, moaning. Matty groans behind you. “I just want you,” you plead. “Touch me, please.” 

You can feel him pant against your back, his chest upping in quick, deep successions. His fingers dig into your hip, possessive and tempted, and then he pulls the hand from your underwear. You make a pained sound, missing him. 

“Just be patient,” he says, working you down while he tugs your panties from your legs. 

Your knees hit the fluffy pink carpet. He spreads your thighs open, giving the two of you a clear view of your cunt dripping for him. You blush, shy and embarrassed, turning to hide into his shoulder. 

Matty tuts. “Look at yourself, love,” he demands, pushing your head with a finger until you’re facing your reflection again. Your nipples are hard through your flimsy,  silk shirt. Your hair is tangled and sweaty. Your face is pulled tight in pleasure. Your pussy is wet, clit swollen and begging. You look fucked out and he hasn’t even done anything yet. You moan. It’s not the worst sight. 

“Show me what you were doing.” 

You don’t have the instinct to hesitate, already shoving your hand between your thighs. You bite back a moan as your finger hits your clit. Your head falls on his shoulder. You make artless circles, slow and lazy. 

“Good,” Matty praises in your ear, though he adjusts two fingers over your bud, pressing them in. The sensation is immediate, euphoria blooming under your skin. You wonder if it really has anything with technique or if your body just recognizes that it’s him. “That’s it, darling.”

He creates a rhythm, circling and swiping incessantly, getting your wrist used to the shapes. You follow dutifully, mewling for him, your cunt throbbing around nothing. You miss his long, spindly fingers, miss the way they curl into you. 

“Matty,” you whine and hope it’s enough. For good measure, you lock eyes with him in the mirror, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Touch me.” 

He laughs in your hair, shaking his head. “You’re so greedy.” It should feel wrong, should feel shameful, but you giggle happily, feeling quite satisfied as he tugs your camisole up your chest. Your breasts are on display for him and he pinches one of your hard nipples. “Is that better?” 

“No,” you say, brain so hazy you forget good girls should never speak their mind— or even open their mouths for that matter. “I want your fingers inside of me.”

Matty smirks at you, raising his fingers from your peaked breasts and slipping them in your panting mouth. His ring tastes like iron on your tongue, like blood. It should feel foretelling, prophetic, but you just moan around them. He chuckles as he takes them out. Wet with drool, he rubs on your nipples again. “How about that?” 

You pout at him. “You’re doing it on purpose.” 

“You don’t need me,” he says, and his own hand draws yours lower, hinting at your entrance. You hold your breath, fluttering with need. “Female independence and all,” he teases. 

You shake your head vigorously. “I don’t want independence. I want you.” 

He snorts. “What? You want to be my little housewife?” This time, you nod, though just as fervently. He coos, rubbing your knuckles. “Want to lay in bed all day and wait for me to come home to eat you out? Bake me a pie so I’ll keep you happy and cockdrunk all year?” 

“I’m more inclined to you fingering me at the moment.” 

“Yeah?” His hand presses into yours and two of your fingers slide in. You gasp, straightening your back, getting used to the stretch. Only when you’re inside to your last knuckles that he whispers, “Sorry, love. I’m a feminist.” 

You throb around yourself. It’s an easy fit after having known his fingers. You don’t reach far, but it’s something. With delicate care, Matty makes you slide out, and you shudder against him. 

“Just like that,” he coos. “Slow at first.” You nod, thrusting in and out yourself. “Curl your fingers,” he demands, and you obey, biting your lip at the resulting feeling. “Perfect.”

He sets the pace with a sure, decisive hand. He picks up speed slowly, ignoring your thrilled wish to go faster, makes you thrust as deep as you can go, rubs your clit with the heel of your hand. You’re drenched to your knuckles, fucking yourself until euphoria spins your mind. 

“Look,” Matty demands, and you open your eyes. You stare at the filthy image of your cunt swallowing your fingers, over and over. You moan just like he knew you would. “So pretty. Aren’t you?”

“Y—Yeah.” 

“What are you thinking of? When you touch yourself, what do you think of?” 

“You,” you answer truthfully, still entranced by the show. 

He smirks. “I know.” Does he have to be so cocky? “But what?” 

“It depends.” He speeds up and your thighs shake with pleasure. Your wrist is growing sore, but you follow like a soldier marching to war. Anything for sweet release.

“Right now. Right before I arrived. What were you thinking of?” 

You’re drowning in pleasure, your neck slack on his shoulder. He pinches your nipple meanly, slowing your fingers, and you understand. You jolt awake, finding his dark, unflinching eyes in the mirror. Your reflection stares back, flushed and sweaty and gone, a mess just for him.

“I thought of you in the confessional. I thought of you making me pray, and me getting on my knees for you. You nudging my chin down, sweet in the gesture but rough on the fingertips, making my mouth wide open for you to—” Brain catches up to your tongue. You stop, suddenly embarrassed. 

Matty pants behind you. “What?” There’s no hint of teasing anymore, just raw need. You clench around your fingers at the sight, desire ravaging your stomach. 

Your lungs are on fire. He’s too close, and too there, and you can’t say. Good girls don’t speak. Good girls don’t finger themselves. Good girls don’t let dirty boys show them how. Good girls certainly don’t— Your cheeks heat. 

“What?” Matty repeats, presses. “Tell me, please.” As though to bargain, two of his own fingers slide into you. You gasp at the stretch, him there while you— Your room spins and spins around you. Your eyes focus on the spectacle, seeing your four fingers working together. 

You clench and clench around them, not used to the tight fit but so turned on and wet you barely register it. “Is this what you wanted?” Matty asks in your neck, pumping the four of your fingers in and out of you. You bite your lip so hard you might make it bleed trying to stop yourself from screeching. 

“Yes,” you admit, scrunching your face 

“Then give me what I want.” 

“I thought of sucking your cock,” you hurry out. Your brain is so liquidy with pleasure you can’t muster any shame anymore. “On my knees for you, and you pushing into my mouth, and gripping my hair, and your moans, and— Oh, fuck—” He curls your fingers in, hitting the spot you’ve been missing perfectly. The heel of your hand still rests on your clit and rubs sinfully. Your head falls on the mirror as you barely hold back cries. 

He rolls his thumb on your nipple. You’re overwhelmed with feeling, euphoria most of all, pleasure dancing and dancing around you. Matty fucks quick and hard— a reward. For speaking. You’ve never had that before. Something builds inside of you. You flutter around the joint digits, panting against the mirror, fogging up the glass. 

“Are you gonna come for me?” He breathes. You nod vaguely, too busy on the tension thinning inside of you. “Come on our fingers. Make a fucking mess.” 

“I—“ You wrinkle your eyebrows. Your skin buzzes and buzzes. “Matty—” The thread snaps. You straighten with a moan, shoving your free hand on your mouth to hold it in as ecstasy razes through your body. His arms tighten around you. He’s real and comforting as you crash from your high. “God,” is all you manage to say after it, a small giggle slipping from you. 

Matty kisses your cheek, then your neck, tickling. You wrinkle your nose, laughing some more. “Perfect girl. Soon you won’t even need me.” 

You roll your eyes. “That’s not true.” 

“This’ll be weird,” he warns, then slides the four fingers out of you. You groan, a little uncomfortable. You feel empty without the mess, clenching around nothing. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. He pulls the camisole back over your breasts, though it does nothing to straighten out the fucked out look your reflection offers back. How strange to see what he sees. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers. You stand up on shaky legs. On the fuzzy carpet, a wet patch lays. 

—

You stare at Matty from opposite sides of the cafeteria. His friends talk loudly around him, throwing pieces of food at each other with rumbling laughs. He doesn’t partake, locking eyes with you, sucking on the spoon of his pudding indecently. He sticks his tongue out, licking it. You can’t stop following his mouth with a heavy gaze. His eyes are teasing. He knows the effect it plants inside of you. 

You throw one leg over the other, clenching your thighs to silence the feeling. Your friends talk about math class and the way Julia’s red lipstick makes her look like a whore, but it is null to your ears. Matty kisses his spoon. You stand up in a rush. “Sorry, I— I just remembered homework. I have to go.” 

“Oh,” Fanny says. “Okay.” You’re practically running out of the cafeteria before she finishes her single-worded sentence. You give a look back at Matty. He’s throwing his spoon on his tray, standing up. You grin, pushing the doors, thrill racing inside of you. You know he’s following. 

—

Some rock music you don’t know plays from Matty’s radio. You straddle him in the back of his van, a flowery sheet thrown over the seat. There’s carpet on the floor, and the smell of weed stuck in it. Hands buried in his hair, burning lips meeting his with frenzied need, you’re afraid of melting on him. It wouldn’t be your fault: his tongue is too skilled; his hands are too warm, tucked under your school uniform, teasing at the band of your bra; his hard cock is pressed too deliciously between your thighs. It’s a miracle you’re not burning already, candle wax dripping on his poor open hands. 

“Just a little bit more,” you pant against his mouth. “Then I really have to get to youth group.” 

Matty nods eagerly. Anything to crash back against your mouth, find your bubblegum lip balm again. “Of course,” he says, already leaning in. 

Your youth group is presently gathered at the Fischer’s house, speaking bible verses and missionary statements, lettered bracelets around their wrist. They’re licking complimentary chocolate off their lips as you bite Matty’s, tugging it before releasing it with a smirk. The groan he lets out resonates between your thighs. You grip his hair tighter, shifting your hips on him, desperately trying to get as close to him as possible, as though you could step into his skin. 

You should pull away. Should brush through your now messy hair. Should unwrinkle the shirt he’s tugged on and sneaked under. Should drive to youth group. Should listen intently, bible heavy in your hands. Should recite holy words. Should repent, or at least try to. should should should should should. It’s all that seems to be spinning in your mind these days, yet you never listen. 

Instead, you let Matty push your bra cup off one of your breasts, grabbing a handful of it. You moan in his mouth as he twists the nipple. He grins against your lips, does it again. You buck on him eagerly, and, oh, isn’t that interesting? You do it again, and again, surprised at how it hits your bundle of nerves, how it reverberates through your body. You make artless rolls, sloppy and slow, just to chase that euphoric zap. You let another whine out. 

You wait for the guilt to eat your stomach, climb up to your heart, devour through the flesh. Wait for it to be strong enough to shake you out of this haze. But if pleasure feels like this —flames licking your limbs, insides droopy around the wick— then it’s not a surprise catholic guilt isn’t enough to keep you on the holy path. 

All it took was some filthy whisper in your ear while you organized your backpack, tugging at your ponytail with two raised eyebrows and a grin, and you were walking five steps behind him, making sure no one wandered around the parking lot when you stepped into his beat-up car, following him in all the deliciously sinful places he brought you to head first, mind second. I have youth group, you warned, as though that meant something. He smirked. I’ll give you a ride. 

One of Matty’s hands drops to your hip. He clutches the material of your skirt, as though that would be enough to rip it from your body, make it unreal. The bass thumps through the van, shaking the floor. It echoes in you, travels to your head. You grind your hips to the rhythm. 

And it is a delicious rhythm. Euphoria waves and waves inside of you, a dance to the drowning song. You whine in Matty’s mouth. You practically drip on him, sticky wet to your core. 

“What’s the song?” You breathe against him, high-pitched and shortwinded. 

Matty’s head drops to the wall of the van, staring up at you through his spiderleg eyelashes. He rubs at your nipple, makes your face scrunch and break with a silent plea. Distracted that he is, he manages to answer, “Palisade by Mineral.” 

“I like it.”

“Yeah?” His fingers dig in your hip, making you rock a little quicker on him. Still, he looks a little delighted at your answer. Childishly glad. 

You nod. “It reminds me of my favorite band.” 

A crooked smile hints on his lips. “What is it?”

“Flyleaf.”

He cocks his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “Don’t know them.” Matty seems genuinely confused at that, as though his brain was a dictionary of band names, and the lack of yours didn’t compute. 

You twitch your lips. “It’s a Christian band.” It feels wrong to even say the word when you’re rubbing yourself on Matty, flesh pleasures rippling under your skin. His hand is still on your breast, pawing lazily at it under your shirt, for Christ’s sake. 

Matty has a breathy laugh, half-choked by the low sounds he makes. “Don’t mock,” you whine, though humor still lingers in the words. “They do rock.” Again, he laughs. There’s something beautiful about it, about the softness of his eyes and the openness of his mouth, vulnerable, almost throat-bared. You want to grab his cheeks, hold him in place like he never is and really, really look at him. 

His laugh is contagious. You giggle, defending, “I’m serious. My parents don’t even want me listening to them.” Teasingly, you add, “Say it’s gateway music to harder things, like regular rock’n’roll.” 

“Your parents are right. They’re all devil worshippers and bisexuals.” You snort, knocking your forehead with his. 

Matty’s fingers fall from your shirt. He grips your hips with both hands, taking control of the awkward movements you roll on him. Quick, precise things, pressing into him. Everything snaps into place. Heat blooms under your skin. Your head falls back, a groan spilling from you. 

“Matty,” you moan. 

He smiles at that, kissing your jaw, then leaning back on the wall of the van to look at you. “How do you know Flyleaf then?”

You frown a little, trying to make sense of your thoughts while this pleasure swims through you. “My friend Jade has the CDs. When I go to her house, I can listen to them.” 

He licks his teeth. Amused, and perhaps a little condescending, he asks, “Do you jam out, then?”

“Yes,” you answer primly. 

His hands leave your hips, spilling down your thighs. Long fingers swallowing them up, rubbing at the fading hickeys as if to bring them back to life. Without Matty’s assistance, you rock on him. You emulate him as best as you can, circling and bucking. He groans under you and victory spins in your mind, a little inkling of pride beside the drowning ecstasy. 

The stitching of your underwear rubs at your clit in the most perfect way and you bite your tongue; a force of habit as the threat of your parents are miles away. He’s rock hard between your thighs. It always tugs at your mind, how real it feels. He presses into you, and you wonder how it would be like if— how it would feel when— 

Matty is not done teasing you. His hands slip under your skirt, grabbing your ass and speeding up your movements. You moan, digging your nails in his shoulders. Cheeky, he trails, “Do you dance around in your little pajamas? Scream-sing? Make the floors shake from how much you’re jumping? Do you have choreographies?” 

“Something like that.”

He huffs, a little grin teasing his lips. “I’d like to see that.” There he goes again, vulnerable and open and pretty. You have the urge to bite him to the core. 

You laugh. You look down at the sticky, bucking mess where you meet. “Now?” 

“Yeah,” Matty says. You twist your hips on him and he stutters, clenching your ass, groaning.  “Or— Or, you know what, maybe right after.” 

A giggle blooms out of you. You bend down to kiss the middle of his throat, right over his Adam’s apple; because it’s there, because he offers it so freely. Something in you aches to bite him, swallow him up. “Get me a Flyleaf CD. Maybe then.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” You roll your eyes.

Your thighs tremble from the effort, but you continue with just as much fervor, as much eagerness. You’re undeterred, single-minded— anything for the low thrumming building inside of you. A familiar feeling tingles in your toes, slowly licking up. You roll harder, pleading, hopeful. 

Your fingers move from Matty’s shoulders to his neck, hungry to get some skin. You dig into them, half-scratching. His head rolls on the wall. His face scrunches with a moan, pouty lips parted for you. 

A new song drums from the shitty car radio. It slashes through the blur of pleasure, takes hold of your liquefied brain. “What’s this one?” It comes out breathless. 

Matty opens his eyes, as though he needed all his senses to make sense of the song. “When You Sleep, my bloody valentine.” 

“I like it even better.” 

He smiles, warm and honey. “It’s one of my favorites, too.” You do a particularly artful buck and he cries, his head falling on your shoulder. “Fuck.” 

Euphoria buzzes up your limbs in warning. “I really have to get to youth group,” you pant. Though you do not slow, and even less stop, instead a renewed fervor to your moves. 

Matty tilts his head, kisses your neck. “Just a little bit more.”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing,  “just a bit.” Just a little bit, just a tiny, small, inconsequential bit, just more. There’s no wrong in it. His hand flies back to your breast, rubbing the nipple. You bite your lip, screaming, “Shit, Matty.” Your back shivers. 

You’re desperate, rocking on him with abandon. You don’t care for technique, just sheer speed, following the throbbing, screaming need inside of you that is just there. 

“I think I’m gonna—” You shake your head, pleasure too grand to make sense of the next words. 

Matty straightens from your neck, staring directly at you, panting. “I know. Me, too.” He pinches your nipple. You cry. Your toes curl. Pleasure thrums louder, following the dizzying music of the car. “Come for me,” Matty pleads. “I want to see you. Please, angel, just—” 

Your entire body shakes as you crash down from your high. You scream his name, a high-pitched cry, tongue loose in your mouth. Euphoria sings through you. All your limbs loosen and a slack, happy smile falls on your mouth. 

Your hips halt, exhausted from the effort, but Matty grips them and makes a few more sloppy rolls before whining, “Ah, fuck.” He comes with a shiver, and your name hot in his mouth. 

You stay there, unmoving, catching your breaths in the crooks of each other. He’s warm under you, around you. A known feeling, breathing. 

You giggle, dazed-happy. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Dry humping?”

“Yeah. Just without touching like that. It’s kinda—” You stop, embarrassed, suddenly not wanting to say. 

“What?” Matty trails, amused and curious. 

“Kinda like sex,” you whisper, flushed. The position, the feeling, the closeness. It really is almost sex. Though, you remind yourself, not sex at all. Of course. Matty doesn’t have time to answer that you add, “Does it feel good for you too?”

He snorts. “Yes.”

You chew your lip. Smaller, lower, you wonder, “Am I good at it?” 

Matty straightens, meeting your eyes. “I have come an embarrassing amount of times in my pants for you to not be.” 

You smile, proud. Glad. You lean in to kiss his nose. “Drive me to youth group?”

He pats your hip. “Alright.”

You attempt to straighten your clothes in the front seat, trying to iron out the wrinkles of your shirt with the palm of your hands. It’s a wasted effort, but you manage to look somewhat presentable by the time you’re a few houses from the Fischer’s. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell Matty, cheeky, and he snickers. You leave him with a wink, throwing your school bag over your shoulder. 

You walk into the room breathless and apologetic, already rambling. “Sorry I’m late. I was tutoring this kid and he wasn’t understanding the material and— it just lasted longer than I thought it would. I’m so, so sorry”

Betty smiles at you, benevolent. Guilt twists in your heart, but it’s distant. “No problem. We were just getting started on Lamentation.”

It hurts your cheek to grin so wide. “Great.”

—

You take demure bites out of your dinner, chewing and chewing until your jaw aches. It’s better for digestion, apparently. Passes straight through. Your mother sends you periodic looks, making sure you follow her advice. 

The chicken is dry and tastes like ash in your mouth. Still, you chew, trying to hide a grimace. Your stomach growls, but you wash it all down with water. 

“Did you hear about the Montgomery girl?” Susan, a neighborhood friend of your parents, exclaims. Her neck is flushed red from the wine.

Your father shakes his head, a somber expression on his face. “Such a shame.” 

“I don’t know what I would do if my Jade acted out like this,” Susan continues on, clicking her tongue in judgment. You frown. “I heard she was caught in the car.” 

“Surely not,” your mother says, clutching her pearls appropriately. There’s a sick tone of glee sticking to her teeth nonetheless. “In public?”

“Sexual deviants,” your father mutters. “It’s that damn TV. No one shows good Christian values anymore.” 

“Very true. People aren’t raised with the same standards these days. They just let kids act however.” 

“Now,” your mother starts, “Let’s not go shaming poor Sharon. She did what she could. Bailey just isn’t a very good girl.” 

“Rotten,” your father adds. “Remember when she was, what, 8 years old? At the birthday party? She practically ate all the cake.” 

“Devoured it!” 

“Sin starts young,” Susan snorts. “Gluttony isn’t treated with enough severity. It might seem like just a cake at first, but it quickly falls into premarital sex.”

“Who said?” You ask. The three adults turn to you, startled to hear you speak. 

“What?” 

“Who said she had premarital sex?” Your mother’s eyes practically bulge out from hearing you say the word. 

“Her mom came to the pastor looking for guidance,” Susan answers curtly. 

“And the pastor said Bailey was having sex in a car?” Your mother gasps, calling your name in reprimand. You ignore it. You stare at the neighbor, awaiting her answer.

Susan pinches her red neck, hand draped over her pearls. “Well,” she says, a little embarrassed. “No. Georgia said.”

“How did Georgia know?” 

“She heard it from someone.” 

“Who?”

“Well, aren’t you just a curious little thing?” Though Susan says it with a smile, it rings like a bother. You understand the underlying tone. It means shut up. It means you’re pushing. It means be good. 

You stare at Susan until she grows even more unsettled, unsure. Until she straightens in her seat, tries to play a confident front. You lick your teeth, shrugging. “It just sounds like we’re shaming her for something we know nothing about.” 

A heavy, tense silence crowns the room. Your parents look at you like you’ve grown a second head, like they itch to inspect your body until they find the devil’s birthmark; a concrete proof you’re a demonish changeling. You stand your ground. 

Your father rakes his throat. “We’re not shaming her. We’re concerned.”

You cock your head. “It’s not really our business, though, is it?” He purses his lips. You finally smile, digging your fork in your plate. “I’m just saying.” 

Your mother stutters. Susan takes a long sip of wine, staining her teeth. You bite the plastic chicken, swallowing without chewing. It goes offly down your throat. Everything does these days. Your parents’ teachings most of all. 

—

Your hands are buried deep inside of Matty’s dark mane. He tastes like cigarettes; smells like it too, the gray cloud lingering around him even when he’s done. Maybe it’s some sort of alarm call, some holy smoke signals. Maybe you should listen. 

You don’t, of course, licking into his mouth instead, lips meeting in a torturous frenzy. The bell will ring soon. You’re on a time limit. 

Matty has you pressed against the wall of some unpopulated corner of school, an awkward detouring staircase no one takes. Still, there’s a thrill humming in your veins. That someone could. Lost students, walking aficionados, fellow dirty make-out enjoyers. That they would find you, good, Christian girl, lip-locked with resident atheist Matty Healy, his hand on your tits. 

He gropes it unabashedly, his other hand digging into your hip. His knee presses between your thighs, just slightly, more to fix you to the wall than try to get you off. You feel a familiar heat build in your belly nonetheless, grinding into him every time his palm rubs your nipple. 

Thank God for skirts. Yours rised up your thighs, uncovering inches of silky skin, up to fading hickeys Matty devotedly left you. One in particular lies precariously low, always in danger of being exposed with one strong gust of wind. You wonder if he’s done it on purpose, if he wants to teeter that fatal edge, if something in him yearns to brand you and let it be known. 

“There’s got to be an empty classroom somewhere,” he says, leaving your lips just long enough to grunt the words before diving back. 

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve got choir in ten minutes.” 

He makes a displeased noise, groaning, “Fuck that.” 

“Come over tonight,” you breathe into his mouth, then tilt your head for another dirty kiss. 

His hand pinches your hip. He breaks away, licking your jaw, then saying, shortwinded and regretful, “Can’t. I’ve got a party. My mates’ll kill me if I miss another one.” He’s back to leaving wet kisses down your neck, rubbing his thumb over your peaked nipple masterfully. 

“Oh.” Your lips pull down. Disappointment digs into your heart. 

It’s fine. You can take care of the problem he’s growing inside of you yourself. Sure, your fingers never reach quite as far, never fill you up quite as deliciously, never work quite as efficiently, but it’s fine. It’s not as though you’ll miss him or anything. 

Matty’s head rises from your neck, seemingly sensing the shift in mood. He stares at your pout, though it might be more about the swollen, red mess he’s made of your lips then the shape of them. 

“You can… come too,” he says hesitatingly, perhaps even a bit shy. “If you want,” he immediately adds. 

You snort. The mere idea is a ridiculous concept, some clownesque farce. The girl that’s never had a lick of alcohol partying with his rowdy friends? That’s a likely sight. 

“That’s silly,” you say, but at least your lips don’t frown anymore. A smile spreads across them instead. “Can you imagine me at a party?” 

“Yeah,” Matty says seriously. 

You’re startled by his genuineness. You tilt your head at him, frowning. “And what would I do?”

He shrugs, grinning now. “Whatever you want. Drink, smoke, hang tightly in a corner doing neither.” You roll your eyes. “Hang out with me,” he adds bashfully, voice low in his voice. That idea is strangely appealing, your belly swooping at the thought of his tipsy frame leaning into yours, whispering his complex, drunk thoughts on the shell of your ear. “I might even let you kiss me.” 

You deadpan. “You’re too generous.” 

“I know,” he smiles, mischievous. He pokes your side. “Come on. Come. At least you’ll know what you’re staying away from.” 

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t find the proposition this tempting— but again, there’s many things in your life you shouldn’t find tantalizing. The boy holding you in his arms, unruly hair in the cracks of your fingers, most of all. 

“How would I even get there? I’ve got a strict bedtime.” Which he is well aware of, considering your mother interrupts your messing arounds like clockwork. 

“Sneak out,” Matty says easily. “I’ll pick you up.”

Sneaking out. It’s terribly wrong. Your parents trust you. Have put several thought out rules for a reason. It’s years of education that you would be breaking through. Years of character— good, tame, obedient— that you would wreck. 

But then, you’ve already started, haven’t you? What’s one more night? 

As though to convince you while you deliberate in that overthinking head of yours, Matty bends back into your neck, spreading open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He climbs up the bone, tugging your cardigan aside, revealing inches and inches of skin slowly, carefully. The white bra strap doesn’t deter him; he pushes it off your shoulder, tenderly pressing his lips to the red mark it left. 

His hand grabs at your breast, his knee grinding ever so slightly against your underwear, like a promise of what he could do. A small moan escapes your lips, eyes closing in pleasure. He smirks against your skin. 

“Come on, angel,” he whispers. “Please.”

An amused laugh breaks through the euphoria. You feel impossibly giddy. “Fine. Since you said please.” 

His head snaps up, grinning at you. He’s so happy you think you might melt from the sight. “Yes?” 

Your eyes dance. “Yes.” 

Matty bends down to kiss you, smile still crowding his mouth, eyes zeroing on yours. “Well, I believe we still got five minutes.” He tastes like cigarettes and honey; your favorite sugar. 

—

“How great is our God, sing with me.” The voices ring all together, some angelic, melodic music accompanied with soft piano. You clutch your hands behind your back, harmonizing, trying to remember the lyrics as your mind still scrambles from the heavy kiss mere minutes ago. 

Your stare swipes across the bored looks. You find Matty’s almost instantaneously; it’s scary that you do, that you spot him so easily in a crowd. As though you were always subconsciously searching for him. As though you were two magnets attracting, attracting, attracting. “How great is our God, and all will see.” 

He grins at you knowingly, teasingly, as if you’re sharing a secret. You can’t help smiling back, trying to bite back a laugh. The taste of him still lingers in your mouth. He winks at you and your heart sings. 

“How great, how great, is our God.”

—

You wait anxiously by your window, throwing furtive glances to the cross still reigning over the room. You bite your nails, walking in circles, trying to soften your steps so they don’t ring all the way to your parents’ room where your mom surely has a fretful sleep. A pebble knocks on the glass. 

You straighten, opening the window with shaky fingers. You stick your head out, peering down to Matty’s smiling face, a few more rocks in his hands. Glee is written all over him.

“How do I get down?” You whisper. 

“Use the trellis.”

The ivied wood looks like an unsound structure, but it has held Matty’s weight numerous times. Looking up to mutter a quick prayer— a habit more than a decision— you stick your leg out, perilously swinging it until your foot hits the wood. 

The rest of your body follows awkwardly. With a death grip, you claw at the trellis. You descend slowly, step by step, heart racing in your chest. You’re electrified. 

You jump the last couple of feet, landing on the muddy grass. It stains brown your Mary Janes; you’ll have to clean them when you get home, make sure your mother doesn’t see. 

You twist around with a proud grin as though to show yourself off. All in one piece, breathing and alive and out of your house. You feel like a reinvented Rapunzel. 

Matty smiles at you. He rakes his eyes over your body, coming back up with a teasing smirk. “Cute outfit,” he says, reaching a hand out to tug at one of your bows. 

You scowl. You tighten your pretty pink bow on the left. You wear your regular church skirt, rolled-up at the waist to show off the lace at the top of your white thigh-high socks. It’s what all the bad girls do with their school uniform, collecting detentions in return. 

Most importantly, you dusted out your frilly, lacy white top with spaghetti straps. It made your mother nearly collapse when she first saw it, claiming the stripe of collarbones and cleavage uncovered as unchaste, demanding you throw it away. You promised to do so, but shoved it in the back of your closet instead, behind boxes of old childhood stuffed toys. You’re still not sure why you kept it. Perhaps, in a way, you knew you would need it eventually. 

It’s the most scandalous thing you own. 

“Is it not a party outfit?” You say, self-conscious, peering down at your attire. You do contrast ridiculously with Matty and his ripped jeans and leather jacket; drenched in black, looking like caricatural danger. 

“No, no. It’s just— very clean.” It’s strange to be described like this. Your thoughts tumble with the word dirty and all its synonyms, yet Matty doesn’t seem to notice the filth caked on you. Something in your chest warms. “It’s, you know, a party. You might have a beer thrown on you.”

“Well, I’ll fit in, then. Rowdy and dirty like the rest of them.” 

Matty chuckles. He slings his arm over your shoulder and guides you to his car parked several houses away. “Sure will, angel.”

You finally get to Matty’s dirty van. It’s more of a dangerous box on wheels than anything else. You step into the passenger seat and immediately get a whiff of weed. There’s something reassuring about the smell, something familiar. It hits your nose, you see the brown carpet, and suddenly there’s the knocking idea to make out with Matty in the back of it, like a trained reflex. 

You buckle your seatbelt neatly. Matty presses play on the stereo. All Around Me rings through the car. You grin, looking at him with this pathetic glee. “You bought the CD?”

“I made a promise.” 

“D’you like them?” You bite your lip with the eagerness of a puppy. There’s something elated to have him see you. 

“They’re not bad,” he admits. “Real close to real rock’n’roll. I can see why your parents are terrified.” He shrugs, “Bit horny too.”

You gasp, slapping his shoulder. “Matty.”

“What?” He laughs. “I feel you on my fingertips? I can see you all around me? Thickening the air I breathe?”

“You make everything dirty.”

“It’s in the text, darling.” You roll your eyes, though, you have to admit, he’s not entirely wrong. 

Matty spreads his hand on your thigh. His palm warms you up, two callused fingers dipping in the inner side. You flush, dormant heat waking up from his ghost touch. “Are you ready?” He asks, suddenly serious. 

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that. I’m already out of the house.”

“No,” Matty shakes his head. “We could go back in if you want. I could eat you out until you pass out.” 

You consider him. It’s not a bad plan, far from it, but there’s something about his readiness to do so that makes you want to please him. You give him a cheeky smile. “I didn’t climb that trellis for nothing. Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Matty says, but his smile practically breaks his face. He turns the key and drives down the road. 

—

You stand neatly on the porch with a straight back. You’re in your church pose, something strict and firm, spotless to defend early against criticism. Your finger reaches for the doorbell, ringing it. 

Matty spins his car key around a digit. He laughs. “Oh, you’re so cute.” He opens the door, stepping in. You flush and follow inside. Your heart races.

Music attacks you, some loud, drum-filled thing that blasts through cheap speakers. The house smells of smoke. You wrinkle your nose. People are scattered everywhere, blue solo cups in hand, rolled up paper hanging loosely from the tip of their fingers. The floor is sticky. At least you don’t feel guilty for your muddy Mary Janes dragging on the floorboards. 

There’s a carefreeness to the scene, to the bodies dancing in a corner of the living room, to the lips meeting frantically against a wall in plain sight, to the limbs splaying and knotting and draping on a couch like some four-headed monster. 

You wrap your arms together behind your back, terribly aware of how out of place you are. Your silly outfit is not just in contrast to Matty. Everyone has something black, or ripped, or wrinkled. Dirty shirts and short skirts and combat boots. You’re a splotch of white in this infernal painting.

“Are you okay?” Matty says, dipping into you so you can hear him over the music. You nod faintly. He opens his mouth to say more, but someone interrupts, screaming;

“Matty! Shit, mate, I didn’t fucking think you’d make it.” A tall man approaches, catching Matty’s hand to smack their chests together. 

“No faith in me,” he tsks. “I said I’d be there.” 

“Well, you haven’t been the most reliable recently.” His eyes find you. He grins, narrowing in on you until you feel pinned in place. “And you must me why.” 

Your eyes widen. Behind your back, your fingers pick at your skin. “C’mon, Ross, give it up,” Matty rolls his eyes, and you’re a little glad he answered for you. 

“Nice to meet you,” you nod, reaching a hand out, ever polite. Manners drilled into you ever since you were young, impossible to disentwine from you, even when it’s ill-fitting. And it clearly is, because Ross makes a little amused snort as he shakes your hand, asking your name. 

“You must be thirsty,” Ross says, though mostly to Matty. There must be something written on your face, something hinting that you don’t partake in such activities. “C’mon. Everyone’s in the kitchen.” Ross jerks his chin in the direction of the kitchen, then turns around. 

Matty rests a loose hand on your back, guiding you in the crowd. Your skin lights from his merest touch. You tilt your head to watch him, fluttering your eyelashes at him. He catches your look, smirking. He faces straight ahead, but his tongue digs into his cheek, smug. You have to bite back a laugh when you emerge into the kitchen. 

A few people gather on the counters, sitting on the marble or mixing a free pour drink. The room is quieter, shaken up with laughs instead of bass. A blunt is being passed around. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. It vaguely reminds you of Matty’s van. 

“Here he finally is,” someone exclaims when they spot you. It’s another tall guy, cigarette tucked behind his ear, boozy cup in his hand. He’s got a loose smile on his lips. His eyes dance with amusement. “Nice of you to show up.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Matty rolls his eyes. “Ross said the same.”

He presents each of them to you, spotting his best friends George and Adam out of the crowd. You’ve seen them vaguely before, familiar faces hanging around him and a cloud of smoke. You grin at them, trying to mutter some sense of aloofness. It comes offly on your lips, a see-through mask.

You reach your hand out, and there’s the same amused look on their face as Ross as they move their cups out of the way, taking yours and firmly shaking it. They hum your name when you tell them, tasting its sweetness, memorizing it. Their eyes trail up and down your outfit, resting on the two bows on your hair. You regret them almost instantly, finding your thumb and pinching it instead of ripping them off. 

Matty gives them those easy handshake-hugs men seem to fall into. There’s a sense of pieces fitting together when Matty greets all of his friends. The room makes place for him, embracing him amongst the small crowd. He pulls the kitchen together, makes the sticky solo cups carnage a righteous war painting. Makes it make sense. 

“I got you your fucking wine,” George says with a hint of disdain. 

He picks a bottle of red wine out of the bridge, holding it out for Matty. It’s just as ill-fitting as you, misplaced in this sea of cheap beer and vodka-soda. There’s something comforting to the idea, to Matty’s carelessness as he grabs the bottle by the neck. 

He twists the screw top wine and takes a deep mouthful of the wine under the cheers of his friends. He licks his red lips clean, chuckling as he catches the droplets rolling off his chin. “Do you want anything to drink?” Matty asks you. The wine lingers vaguely in your direction. 

You wrinkle your nose. “Just water,” you say, and you hold your breath for some eyeroll or deserved grumble. Nothing comes. Matty nods. He opens a cupboard of the kitchen familiarly, grabbing a glass. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Adam nods at you. You jump, almost surprised to be acknowledged and not blurred into the background. 

Your lips up. “Thanks. You, too.” You take the glass of water when Matty comes back. He stays near you, a protective presence lingering, though he doesn’t even touch you. 

George takes a sip of his beer. “So how did you two meet?” 

You clench your hand around your glass. “Um. At church.”

Laughter roars through the crowd. You stand tight, awkwardly staring at them. Matty sighs beside you. The laughs die, a sort of shared incredulous look taking its place instead. Beady, multicolored eyes pin you in place. 

“Oh, shit,” George finally says. “You’re serious.”

Ross shakes his head, tsking, “Only Matty would manage to pick up chicks in church.”

Matty makes an offended noise, slapping his shoulder. “I’m not fucking picking up chicks in church.” 

“What’s this then?” Adam pingpongs his eyes from you and Matty, lingering in the space between. Or the near lack of it, shoulders brushing, an instinctive closeness. 

Matty opens his mouth, then closes it, staring at you. Waiting for you to declare this strange, unnatural thing between you. Give it a name. Make it real. Your heart races. “We’re friends,” you finally settle on. And it’s not untrue. Still, you take a sip of water right after, washing down the bitter taste. 

“See,” Matty comes back to his mates. “Friends.”

“Uh-huh,” George snorts, clearly seeing through both of you. “Sure.”

“You’re all a bunch of dickheads,” Matty says, and once again suffers the resounding snickers. There seems to be something brewing still, taunts and mockeries until they draw the confessions out of you. You ready for the impact.

Thankfully, a girl comes in and saves you from what surely is a line of further questioning, bursting into the kitchen to ask, “Beer pong?” The boys cheer, following after her. Matty stays with you. 

“They’re not usually this annoying,” he assures. “They’re even great sometimes.” 

“It’s okay,” you laugh, brushing his concerns away. You’d like them even if they were usually this annoying. Because they’re his friends. Because they’re his. Because he has this soft, wonder look in his eyes when he talks about them, to them. You don’t think you’d defend any of your friends to anyone. You don’t think you have friends at all. 

Though, of course, you have Matty now. Decretated it to a party and everything. It seems you’re more stuck together than you thought. 

—

His lips are stained red from the wine, pulled in a loose smile as he tipsy-giggles. There’s a freeness to his limbs, a jointlessness the alcohol strings out of him. He’s flushed in the cheeks. He’s pretty. Matty takes a swig of his bottle, licks it off. You want to kiss him. 

You stand alone in the kitchen, your own small cocoon away from reality. Out there, beyond the walls, there’s a heated Olympics of beer pong, cheers and cries and the swoosh sounds of balls falling into liquid resonating back to you. Even further away, the consistent noise of rock music thumps back faintly. An underwater resonance, almost unreal.

Matty leans against the island counter. He makes you laugh, draws out those embarrassing snorts out of you. His eyes grow proud every time he does, talking and talking until he gets another hit, as though placing the needle of the turntable at the fated vinyl groove of a favorite song over and over again. 

Another swig. You follow the movement, intrigued. Matty arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” He asks, annoyingly knowingly. 

You’ve finished two glasses of water, but there’s an unquenchable thirst inside of you, grumbling beside the everexisting hunger, the scary desire. 

You know you shouldn’t let yourself get tempted by sins. It’s already bad enough that you indulge in Matty, that you allowed to get talked into coming to a party. Wine is your savior’s blood, and nothing else. 

Still, you bite your cheek, feeling them heat. “Maybe,” you admit slowly. It’s embarrassing to go back on your words, but there’s a sense of safety when it’s just you and him, when there’s none of his friends who would surely be a little too amused at your drunk church girl act. 

Matty draws a hand out for you. You catch it, letting yourself get pulled towards him. He smiles down at you and your chest warms. Comfort settles in your bones; you grin back, tipping your head up. 

“Just a taste,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. Just a dip of lips, innocent and inoffensive. Like the communion wine, tasted and licked off. 

Matty smirks at you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, tugging you even closer. Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at his lips as he takes another mouthful of his wine, parting your own instinctively. Your belly somersaults. Fuck the wine. You want him to kiss you. You want him so thoroughly it scares you sometimes. It thrills you the other half. 

Matty dips his head into you, nears his lips, parts them, and lets the wine fall into your mouth. You gasp, tasting the dark flavor, tasting him. Your mind spins dizzyingly. It’s sharper than the eucharist; realer, better. Droplets fall from your lips, but you just catch his, careless, hungry. You lick the leftover taste of wine from his tongue. You want to swallow it whole, swallow him whole. Heat plants in your belly, blooming and blooming. 

Matty parts from you with a laugh. He catches the runaway drops of wine with his thumb, wiping your chin and dipping it in your mouth to clean. You do so instinctively, dutifully, sucking around his finger. Your stare meets his dark eyes. You feel faint. 

His hungry look falls to your rising chest, the inkling of cleavage you’ve uncovered for this party, panting for him. His eyes zero in on the cross, everpresent, evertainted. He clicks his tongue. “Sorry. I’ve stained your little outfit.” 

You look down at your top. Bright red drops on your white shirt. You won’t be able to wash it off, won’t get rid of this night, of him. You already plan the place you’ll hide it in your closet; because you know, secretly, you won’t want to throw it away. Not when it’s now intimately attached to this memory, to his cloudy eyes, to the bitter taste of wine and him on your tongue. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “Now I fit in.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Sure, angel.” His arm falls loosely around your waist. He takes a step in your direction and you do the opposite.

“Don’t call me that,” you say petulantly. “They’ll see right through me.” Your back hits the counter. 

“But you’ve got those wine drops. They couldn’t possibly mistake you for a good girl with stains on your shirt.” His hand catches your hip and he hoists you up on the counter, sliding between your spread thighs. Your skirt rises up dangerously, but you don’t bother straightening it. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the silky skin before, hasn’t touched and licked and bit it. There’s still the faint shape of bruises on them because of him.

“You don’t think I fit in?” You ask him, fluttering your eyelashes at him, comically pouty. 

Matty’s hand falls to the uncovered skin of your thigh, pinching there. His eyes dip to your pouty lips, as though an invitation he’s difficultly resisting. “You’d stand out anywhere, love.” 

“You’re a charmer.” 

He tsks. “I’m charming,” he corrects you. He raises the bottle of wine, letting the cool glass rest on your naked thigh. You jump at the cold feeling, shivering. “What did you think of your taste?” 

“I don’t know,” you whisper conspiratorially, amusement dancing in your eyes. “I’d need another one to really decide.” 

Matty smirks at you. “Anything you want.”

—

“There’s no way you’re making it! Give up already!” 

Your eyes narrow on the blue solo cup, ignoring the insulting cries around you hoping to get you down. They’re aiming for your head, to sneak under your skin and get you to mess up. Truthfully, they don’t need any trashtalking to throw you off your game. You’re three downed beers in and the circle of the cups seem to narrow each throw. You haven’t made a single shot since the very first cup. 

“Don’t listen,” Matty breathes in your ear.  “C’mon. Prove them wrong. You can’t let them be right.” You shake the stress off your shoulders. “Do the shot.” He gets louder, chanting, “Do the shot. Do the shot. Do the shot.” Spectators join in, singing with him, drumming on the table. 

You purse your lips, tilt your wrist, and throw. 

The ping-pong ball falls neatly in the cup. Swoosh. George bends down to blow on it, but it’s useless. You’re already screaming in victory. The party rumbles with shocked cheers, half of your chanting supporters not ever believing in you. You throw yourself in Matty’s arms with a happy cry. His grin hits your cheek. He lifts you up, sways you around. You hear your laugh over the boos of the competing team. 

“I fucking knew it,” Matty says, light and excited. “I fucking knew it.” The laugh bubbles out of you, easy and familiar. 

You won’t win the game, but this goal is enough. 

—

Your hands hook around Matty’s neck, loose and sloppy. You move your hips to the rhythm, let your arms flurry around you. You jump to the drum-heavy parts, looking like scattered limbs pushed around. People knock against you, never apologetic. Sweat sticks to your skin. You grin at him, knock your forehead on his shoulder. 

Matty’s laugh resonates. He puppeteers you, spinning you around his finger, throwing you off a joint hand and wrapping you back in his arms. He scream-sings the lyrics in your ears. Sounds bury inside of you.

You sway to the piano, grinning so wide it might rip your cheeks. His hands are warm on your lower back. Your fingers greedily dig up into his hair, burying home. An imprint of you on him; he leaves the dancefloor unruly, with the shape of your hands in his curls. Your name branded, secretly. You like it. 

—

“Sprite,” you say, impossibly solemn. 

George nods, twisting the Sprite bottle cap with equal seriousness. He splashes it out, then looks at you for confirmation. You’re implacable. He pours some more until you nod decidedly. 

“I found orange juice,” Adam says. He digs out a bottle from the very back of the fridge, coming back towards the sticky counter with his treasure. 

“That’s my mum’s, and it’s mango-passion fruit juice.” 

Adam shrugs, uncaring. “Eh. It’s fruit.”

“In the cup!” You shout, pointing towards the glass with a ridiculous amount of different liquids. You’re making the perfect drink, allegedly, but it’s more a collection of tastes than any attempt at mixing. Really, there’s a growing chance that it will be entirely awful. 

George, dutiful, pours the juice in the cup. “Where’s the grenadine?” He asks. 

“It needs more rhum,” Adam suggests. 

“Sprite!” 

—

You sit on Matty’s lap, practically dripping on him. Your back melts on his front, your head dipped on his shoulder, your legs hanging from his spread thighs. You’re an eight-legged monster you caught a glimpse of when you first entered the party, frowning at the agglomeration until you finished the bottle of red wine and understood. You’re giggly and spacey now, but most importantly needy, practically clinging on Matty. 

You drink a vodka-juice, and you reach it out for him instinctively, though he always refuses, restating he’s driving. Matty put grenadine in it to make it pink and sugary for you. His free hand warms your hip, spreading possessively over the bone.

His friends are a cacophonic orchestra around you, screaming over the music, talking over each other, laughing at a joke from three people away. You don’t care what you look like in front of them, a secret glimpse of everything unsaid in your friend declaration. Your skirt has risen up enough to reveal a flash of hickeys, but you don’t have the overthinking, overbearing mind to fret over it, tugging at the skirt. You doubt it really matters to them anyway; they must have seen much grander things than a hickey. 

You like them. They’ve got the same humor as Matty, the same cadence to their words. There’s a melody to their stories, an inherent rhythm. You like it, like that they sound like him. 

“So,” Adam starts, sounding even goner than you. “Church?”

You snort at his introduction. “Yeah.”

“How’s he like?” Adam adds, vaguely gesturing towards the two of you. There’s a morbidly interested look to his friends; everyone waits for the answer. 

You giggle giddily. “He’s a poor Christian,” you confess. 

“I’m not a Christian,” Matty repeats, his fingers digging into your flesh as a warning. You roll your eyes. Your skin buzzes pleasantly. 

“He’s a great atheist,” you correct for his sake. “He laughs and snorts at all the inappropriate places.”

His hand rises up to your stomach, tightening his hold on you. “They’re laugh-worthy,” Matty explains to you, and you shake your head dutifully, the religious example. 

“You liked Song of Solomon perfectly well,” you tell him, upping your nose. 

“That’s because it’s dirty.” Matty tightens his fingers, digging his stare into you. His words are dangerous as he says, “And I loved Genesis.” A memory of his fingers curling into, bringing you impossibly close to a cliff, as his melodic voice told the fatalistic story of Adam and Eve flashes back to you. You stare up at him, smirking. 

A girl steps into the living room, falling on the couch beside Ross. She drops her head on his shoulder, pouting. 

“Are you okay?” Ross laughs, clearly seeing through her pity act. 

“Delaney’s not coming,” she explains. The crowd resounds with regretful noises. You frown. 

“Who’s Delaney?” You ask, gone enough to be uncaring of what you look like. Out of the loop, ill-fitting. Delaney means something to everyone but you. 

“She’s our friend. Really cool girl,” the girl explains helpfully. “But she’s busy with her stupid job today.”

George smirks, flicking his eyes towards Matty. “She gave him that insane blowjob.” The hair rises on your skin. You freeze. 

Matty makes a clicking sound. “Shut up.”

“That’s what you said,” George defends, throwing his arms in the air. You relax in Matty’s arms. He doesn’t seem to care much about her, even if she supposedly gave him head worth telling about. You wonder when she did. If it was recently. 

The girl rolls her eyes. “She’s more than a fucking blowjob. She said she might come by late if the party was still going.”

“It will still be going,” George assures, confident in his hosting skills. 

The girl shrugs, less assured. “We’ll see.” 

An argument seems to be brewing, but Matty taps your thigh. He declares, “I need a fag.”

You stand with him, following him before he even asks you. Three feet apart and you might crack and die from the distance. Still, you think, he’s just your friend— plus the unsaid, of course.

—

The smoke lingers around you. You steal the cigarette from Matty, pulling your lips around the stick, inhaling in. Suck it like a straw, you remember him saying. Or, follows right after, leaving you flushing. You follow his command anyway, breathing out gray smoke without the hint of a cough. 

You hold it out for him after, which he takes as he peers unhappily at you. “You shouldn’t be this used to it,” Matty explains. “It’s bad for you.”

“You shouldn’t have taught it to me, then,” you retort cheekily. 

“I barely did.”

“Shouldn’t have made it so tempting,” you volley back easily, just as smug. “Every time I kiss you, you taste like cigarettes. You can’t expect me not to be already a little bit addicted.”

“You make it sound like you’re addicted to me,” Matty breathes out. His gaze devours you, like he knows. Like you don’t even have to confirm his hypothesis, like he’s well aware of your strange obsession with him. Like he can see the filthy thoughts flying in your mind any time he dares exist near you. 

You hum noncommittally, acting nonchalant. “Maybe,” you give in. “Maybe I just like the headrush.” You take another drag, letting the nicotine adrenaline bloom up your head, buzzing and buzzing. It’s a boneless feeling, something that leaves you grinning helplessly. 

Matty gets scared of your shivering body in nothing but your camisole. He takes his arms out of his leather jacket, pulling it over his shoulder. You clutch it gratefully; you hadn’t realized you were cold until you held it over your body. 

Your eyes fall back on him as the rush subsides. You reach your hand out to him; he grabs his Marlboro cigarette, sticking it back where it belongs: his mouth. It wraps around it. You tilt your head. 

“How was it like?” You ask, filter truly gone. 

“What?”

“The insane blowjob,” you answer easily. Matty chokes on his cigarette, coughing out smoke. You wait it out, watching as he smacks his chest. 

He rakes his throat, hesitant. “Fine.”

“Come on,” you laugh, “You can give me more than that.”

“This feels like a trap.”

“I’m genuinely curious,” you defend. “I don’t—“ You flush. “I don’t really know any of this. Sex. Pleasure. I’m just— It’s a lot of void. For me.”

“So you want to know how it felt?”

You stare at him, unflinching. “I want to know how she did it.”

A shudder passes through Matty. He licks his lips. Rests his cigarette between them, takes a long drag. Finally, he settles his gaze on you. 

“It was— It was a bit like this, I guess.” Matty takes your wrist, puppeteers two fingers out, and sucks them inside his mouth. 

Your breath hitches. Your free hand clutches his leather jacket, pulling it tighter over your shoulders. You stare at his red lips as they stretch over your digits. 

Matty licks his tongue on your fingers, sucking his cheeks in, bobbing his head. It’s a wet, pornographic sound. Your cunt clenches around nothing, ready for something you’ve never known. You feel heat droop in the deepest parts of you, staring at him, shortwinded. 

Matty’s dark eyes catch yours. He’s shameless, swallowing around your fingers. He releases them with a pop sound, kissing the tips of them delicately. Your skin flushes. 

“There,” Matty finally says, satisfied. “That’s how you do it.”

Your heart races, calling for him, for it. Your eyes narrow on his lips, crashing against them before you have the sense to think. You catch his waist, drawing him closer, kissing him harder. Matty answers eagerly, a low groan in the back of his throat. 

He’s everywhere. Climbing up your sides. Licking into you. Biting your lip, drawing it out. Whining in your mouth. Your body sings for him, utterly ready. 

“I want you,” you whisper against him. Matty mumbles, catching your mouth with a renewed hunger. “I—“ You start again between two breathless kisses, tongue mixing perfectly, “Matty, I need you.”

The words resonate. Matty’s fingers dig in your waist, impatient. He breathes suggestively,  “George has a guest room.”

Your smile breaks your face. “Let’s go.”

—

You burst into the guest room. The door slams against the wall as Matty devours your lips. His hands are in your hair, pushing the leather jacket off your shoulders, falling down your back, gripping your waist, clutching your hips, drumming up your ribs. A savage, desperate tempo takes your flimsy bodies. He licks into your mouth with a hungry tongue. Your heart races, thrill buzzing up your legs. 

You sneak a hand under his black shirt, clawing at the skin of his back. You trace the ridges of his spine with your fingertips, up and down, and Matty shivers in answer. You fall to his waist, gripping his side, pulling him into you more. You hope your handprints will brand him somehow. 

He pushes you against the wall. A moan resonates from you that he hurries to swallow up. His hand grabs a handful of your ass over your skirt. Another low sound slips from you. You part your legs; his knee settles in instinctively, like a return home. It hits your clit, denim rubbing faintly, and a hot coil of pleasure swoops in your belly. He bites your lip and tugs it. 

“Pretty girl,” Matty whispers roughly at your whines. He leans away from your mouth to stare down, catching an eyeful of your heaving breasts. He smirks, teasing as he says, “But what’s a good girl like you doing with stains on her top? Let me fix you up, darling…”

Cheeky, he slips under the hem of your camisole. Calluses dance on your skin; your hair rises, hyperaware of him. He gets near your first rib, showing off your midriff, before you push his hand down. 

You know what it would lead to if you let him take it off. He’d lick at your tits, kiss down your sternum, and fall to his knees for you. He’d lap and nip and fuck until your brain was putty in your skull and coherent, multisyllabic words were a faraway concept, and then he’d wipe his chin and drive you home. Which would be good, of course, and you’d go to sleep tingling and happy, bone-deep satisfied, but you wouldn’t have touched him. 

That’s what you want— what you need. For all the little fears and insecurities that the idea brings you, the desire to please him, to say thank you, to learn is greater, beating in your chest. You want to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had, want to blow all the other girls he’s met out of his head. Be the one, the only one. 

Matty is too enthralled in you to catch your subtle hint, leaving wet kisses on your neck as he now trails his hand up your thighs. He starts at the lace of your socks, finding your smooth skin and stopping at your underwear. His hand palms the wet patch with a pained grunt, lazily rubbing at your clothed clit. You bite your lip, panting in the quiet of the room. 

The floor shakes from the speakers downstairs. Music lulls under the floorboards, a strange background to the quick and hot breaths filling the room. You push Matty’s hand against all your screaming, begging judgements. Curse him for always being so talented at driving you wild. 

“Remember that fantasy I had? I want to do it,” you say, pushing off the wall and walking into him. He steps back to leave you room, frowning a little. “I want to see you. To feel you.”

The back of his knees hits the desk chair. You push him on it, falling neatly on his lap next. You stare him down, confident, certain.  “I want to suck your dick.”

His hands find your hips easily. Matty’s dark eyes devour you. They linger on your swollen lips, leveled with him, practically inviting him. His breaths quicken. You brush two hands through his hair, pouting, blinking condescendingly in mock-act of him. “Will you let me do that?” 

He makes a choked sound from the back of his throat. “Fuck— Yeah. Yeah, whatever you want. Please.” He catches your lips again with a groan. 

You kiss him back eagerly. It’s safe, to be in his lap, to grip his hair, to tilt your head and meet his mouth. Known. A learned and practiced thing, so inherent you could close your eyes and make up the shape of his lips from memory. You would know; you think of them on your late nights when he can’t sneak out, hot and sweaty and bothered, two fingers dipped inside of you. You imagine his lips, and his tongue, and his fingers, and all the spots of your body that miss them, and it’s so real you’re almost surprised he’s not smirking up at you when your eyes part open after an orgasm that’s just not quite what you needed. 

Matty slips under your skirt, grabbing a fistful of your ass again, dragging you closer in his lap. You grind against his hard-on; a moan falls from your mouth and plants down his throat. He smirks against your lips, does it again. 

“Matty,” you trail in warning. Though it transforms into a groan as he puppeteers your hips just so while you say it, losing its edge.

“Just a bit,” he promises, but there’s something cheeky in his tone. Your head falls back as he bucks you on him. Pleasure drums up your ribs. 

You’re hot and buzzing and ecstasy sweeps inside of you. A low, known thrumming resonates. Your clit rubs against him, over and over, and you know the mind-melting orgasm you can get from it. It’s been your favorite recent activity: the closeness, the reciprocity, the power, the moans he makes, the fact that it’s almost, seemingly, more. A veil of sex, with half the damnation. 

Matty’s fingers twist in the band of your underwear, clenching around it as he moves you faster, harsher. There’s a focused look in his eyes and you know he doesn’t really mean it when he says just a bit. 

You take his wrists, ripping them away from you and in the air. Matty holds them palms up, a virtuous sign of innocence, with the smug, amused look to contradict it. You pant. Your body bemoans, your betraying hips tingling to move and chase that pleasure again. 

“You’re not very good at listening,” you chastise. 

Matty clicks his tongue. “I’ve always been a do-what-I-want guy.” 

An idea prickles at the back of your head. You stand up from him slowly, ignoring your uncomfortably wet underwear. He pouts at you. You take a step back, and he tries to reach for you again, but you hold him away by his wrists. 

“I’ll just have to make you listen, won’t I?” 

Matty loses his smirk. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even procure another cheeky comment. He waits, the moment hanging in the air. Waits for your next move. Waits for the new game board. Waits for a footing of some kind. Tension sparks between you. 

You let go of one hand, reaching up to your own hair and pulling out the left pink bow. The satin tickles your skin. You smirk at him. 

“What are you gonna do with it?”

“What I want.”

You round the chair, bending down to your knees. You draw his wrists together behind his back and wrap the satin ribbon around them. You tie a pretty bow, perfect loops and tails, all proportionate. You smile, wishing he could see. 

You crawl on your knees around the chair, back in front of him. Your eyelashes flutter at him. “Fuck,” he whines.

He pants, staring down at you unblinking, as though each second missed would kill him. As though he’s engraving the sight in his brain. You smile. Your hands graze his thighs. He shivers, makes another low noise. 

You know that he could take it off easily. It’s flimsy material, and it’s a poor knot, and it’s a ribbon. But he stays there, hands in place, giving you free range, and there’s something about the vulnerability to do so that makes you want to please him even more. Give him some sort of reward, a worthy thank you. 

He’s always honest, and open, and willing. You guard your heart fearfully, hold your thoughts under your tongue like your mom always told you to do. But he waits, open-palmed, throat-bared, hands-tied. 

It’s a tragic story. Almost biblical. 

But as much as you want him —in your hands, in your mouth— you still— you don’t really know how to do any of it. Your knowledge of blowjobs stops at a stupid, graphic joke Jake Finn made sophomore year and Matty showing you on the balcony just now. 

Your lips twitch. Your head falls on his thigh, an innocent look he should be able to see right through in your eyes. “Father,” you whisper with a hint of mischief. Matty’s breath hitches. “I need guidance.” 

Matty breathes from his nose harshly. He attempts to gather himself. Gravelly, he says, “Get me out of these.” His wrists tug on the restraint, though not enough to break it. 

You shake your head, scrunching your nose at him. “I can do it alone.” You raise your head, tilting it to kiss his thigh. His head falls back with a pained noise. You giggle. “Please, please, Father. What should I do?” 

He looks back at you with dark eyes. You smirk. You’ve got him. 

There’s an implacable sense of authority in his voice. For all his rebellions, he plays the role quite well. Grand and solemn and holy, of all things, he says, “Are you gonna be good for me?” 

A spark of excitement hits you. You lick your lips, nodding at him eagerly. “Yes,” you assure. You shift on your knees. “The best, Father.” You mean it in more ways than one. It’s pride, and it’s hubris, and it’s a grandiose speech. But you need it nearly as much as you need him, need to blur all those other girls from his mind. 

“Good girl,” Matty coos, and the praise hits true. You clench your thighs, biting back a low moan. Matty smirks knowingly as he adds, “Always so devout.” There’s a sick thrill at being called pious when you’re kneeling for a profane man. The juxtaposition slicks your underwear, spins your mind. You’re anything but, but he manages to make the words true by saying it. He reinvents the universe from the flick of his tongue; maybe he really is a God.  

“Take me out,” Matty says. It rings as an order, sure and lashing. You shiver.

You climb your hands to his hips, unbuttoning his black jeans. Your fingers shake as you do so, sloppy and imprecise. Your heart beats in your skull, the knowledge of what is coming knocking at your brain. You draw him out. 

His cock stands hard and up in front of you. You’ve seen it before, of course, but never from so close. Your lips part in fascination. Precum leaks from his tip and there’s something filthy about the sight. You want to catch the drip with your finger and suck in your mouth, but you don’t dare do it. You’re not sure what the next move should be, what ways to touch. 

You flick your eyes back to him, silently asking. This time, he’s much more gentle when he offers, “Wrap your hand around the base.” 

Your fingers fly to his cock. You circle his length. You’ll replay in your mind the gasp he lets out as soon as you make contact for a long time. Oh, you decide suddenly. You’ll have fun with that. 

Before he suggests anything else, you draw your hand up. A tantalizing, torturous pace. Matty twitches in your hand, moaning. “Start slow,” you whisper. You jerk back down. “I know that.” It’s a knowledge engraved in the back of your mind, reminded in the raspy sound of his voice when he first said it. 

“Yeah—” He nods for fault of finishing a sentence. You pass your thumb over his tip like you’ve seen him do. His hips jump, a hiss slipping from his mouth. “Fuck, that’s—”

“Father, you shouldn’t swear. It’s not godly.”

Matty meets your eyes, seeing right through the teasing smirk you offer him. Here you are speaking of God with his hard cock in your hand. “You’re right,” he breathes. “What example am I giving my— Shit, fuck.” You’ve sped up your movements at the most inopportune time, it seems. 

You tsk. “You’re just not learning your lesson.”

“I’m a bad example.” 

“If you keep going, I might come out of this unholier than when I came in.” Mischief tacks your tongue.

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” Matty tries to volley back, but it’s more a pant than a taunt. You lick your teeth, satisfied. 

You stroke him with a sure hand. The precum glistens, spread down his length. His curly hair flaps over his forehead, sweaty and flowing wildly. He pulls his face down with furrowed eyebrows as you jerk him. Your mouth waters. Every choked moan he makes for you makes you shift on your knees, try to quiet the growing need inside of you. He’s too pretty. 

You’re decided, desperate. You need him, a sick, demanding thrill hazing your mind. Your head bends down, narrowing in, but he tuts, “Ah ah.” You freeze, flicking your eyes up at him in question. He’s cocky as he presses, “Shouldn’t you say Grace?”

Your eyes fall to his dick, understanding. You don’t even have the time to think that you already let go of him. You join your hands together, resting your elbows on his knees, closing your eyes as you recite, “God is great and God is good. Let us thank Him for our food; by His blessings, we are fed. Give us Lord, our daily bread.” You open your eyes, meeting his hot gaze. He watches you, heavy breathing. A smirk hints on your lips. “Amen.” 

Before Matty has time to retort a cocky quip, to regain control of the situation, you bend down again and wrap your lips around his tip. A gaspy, choked sound comes from the back of his throat. His hips jump, pushing into your mouth. You suck on it. His head throws back as he moans. You giggle, licking the tip, finally circling your hand around his base again. 

“What now, Father?” You whisper, stroking him with a lazy hand, kitten-licking him. 

“God,” Matty whines as his head slams back forward, watching you with disbelieved eyes. 

You hum. “Mmh, what does he want?” 

Matty makes a breathy laugh. “Open your jaw more.” Dreams of him pulling your chin down, readying your mouth for him flash back to you. You shake your head, keeping focused. You know if you free his hands, you’ll lose control. 

“Is that his holy message?” 

“Yeah.” You open your mouth as wide as you can, thrusting him deeper and deeper with each bob. You try to remember the feeling on your fingers, try to imitate his droolful explanation. You run your tongue on the underside of his cock like he did, grinning proudly at his groan. “You look so fucking hot.” 

Your eyes lock with his, happy to your bones. It can’t be true— you feel spit and precum run down your chin. Still, you double your efforts eagerly, trying to be the bestest and prettiest girl for him. 

His breath is labored, coming out in whiney huffs. “Move your hand—”

He hasn’t finished his sentence that you’re already stroking him lazily. You pop him out of your mouth, saliva stringing to your lips, to ask, “Like this?” 

“In synch with— Fuck.” You suck him back into your mouth, moving your hand in tandem with your head. He pants harshly. His hips rise to meet you, and you gag, releasing him. He throws you an apologetic look. “Sorry.” 

“Should I go deeper?” 

“Yes— Yeah.” You laugh, bending back to swallow him up. His shoulders flex, as though he aches to touch you, pass a soothing hand through your hair. Instead, he says with wonder, “Whatever you want, angel.” You moan around him, shifting on your knees. Matty smirks. “You like when I call you that?” His eyes flick down to the mess of your mouth. He groans from the back of his throat, choked as he revels, “While you’re swallowing my cock?” You smile at him. You do like it, no matter what you usually argue. 

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you widen your jaw. You keep your hand at the base of his cock, trying to fit him even deeper in your throat. He hits the back of it and you gag again, pushing him out. You jerk him quickly as you catch your breath. 

“You’re drooling everywhere,” Matty coos. You laugh, wiping your chin clean, spitting the rest on his cock. You jerk it down his length. He moans. “Shit. You’re like a fucking wet dream.” 

“I want to be good for you.” 

“You’re always good.” It’s not true. You’ve been nothing but immoral these days. But the way he says it, sure, flicked off his tongue like there wasn’t even a place for debate, makes your head spin. His hips rise again, this time no apologetic look as he begs, “Deeper.” 

You suck on his head, giggling. “Magic word?”

“Please.” 

You hum. “We might make a decent man out of you yet, Matty.” He laughs, but then you open your head wide and take him into your mouth, and now he’s more whining than anything else. You try to keep your gag reflex under control, stroking what you can’t fit with your hand. 

“That’s it,” he moans, rolling his eyes back in pleasure. “My perfect girl. I like you like this.” His head dips to look at you properly. “Do you like it? Like being on your knees for me?” 

“Yes.” And it’s true, no matter how filthy it makes you. There’s power to it. There’s a strange lust to see how much it affects him. You affect him.  You flutter your eyes at him, licking his tip. “Father, I fear I’ve been corrupted.” 

He laughs. “Yeah?”

“There’s this boy,” you say teasingly. “He just won’t stop making me naughty. You’d be ashamed of the way I act for him.” 

“I hardly believe that.” His hips thrust up into your hand. “Not when you’re so pretty like this.” 

“I’m being a very dirty girl,” you shake your head, and for once, there’s none of the usual guilt about it. Being forsaken is a faraway concept. In this room, the only thing that matters is the shade of your knees when you’re done. 

“Good. I think you should be even worse.” 

You giggle, swiping your thumb over his tip. “Is that your penance?” He nods, out of breath. You tilt your head, cheeky as you tease, “And how do you suggest I do that?” 

“Suck me again,” he demands, but you stare at him unimpressed, slowing your hand down in warning. He jumps. “Please.” 

You hum, licking across his length, then sucking indulgently on the tip. “Like that?” His eyes are dark. He flexes and unflexes his arms, reminding himself of the bow tying them. You snicker. For all his usual teasing, laughing and cooing at you, he doesn’t seem to enjoy his own medicine. “Use your words,” you taunt just to add oil to the fire. 

“In your mouth, please.” You could keep going, speed up and slow and lick and never give him what he wants until he’s shaking under you, but you miss him in your mouth, too. Greedy and starved, you push him past your lips. 

You bob your head quickly, suddenly eager to see him unravel. For you. Because of you. He hits the back of your throat over and over, but you breathe through your nose, blinking away the prickling tears. Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. One hand settles on his knee, gripping it. It shakes under your fingers. 

“Ah, shit,” Matty cries, meeting you halfway. He can’t seem to look away from you, dropping his head back then being jolted with realization of what is going on, immediately dipping to watch you. His lips are swollen from licking them so much, his cheeks flushed. He looks ready to burst from his skin. 

You giggle, sucking your cheeks in like he did on your fingers, maintaining a steady pace. He bucks into you wildly, spilling pretty noises from his mouth shamelessly. They burrow in your ears, strike directly to your burning core. Your knees are sore but you continue, undeterred, focused on undoing him completely. Make him feel what he does to you. 

He twitches in your mouth. “Fucking hell,” he says, sloppily fucking into you. “I’m— Shit, I’m close. I’m gonna—”

You pull away from him. He cries in protest, looking down at you with a pained frown. You lick from his base to his tip. “Beg for it.” 

Matty doesn’t even think. “Angel, please, I need—”

“No,” you smirk, and there must be mischief written all over your face because he stares apprehensively. “Not to me. To God.” 

“Are you—” Disbelief is written all over his face. “Are you kidding me?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, letting your lips trail back and forth over his tip. He makes another pained noise, blinking to keep from being overwhelmed with pleasure. “Ask Him.” 

Matty breathes harshly from his nose. He considers you, considers your mouth just an inch away from where he desperately needs it, and throws his head backwards. “God,” he starts. You laugh again, delighted. He ruins your faith, you ruin his. It’s only fair. “Hi, God. Sorry I don’t talk often. Can I please fucking come? I’m gonna fucking burst if you don’t let her— Oh, my God.” 

His head throws forward as you swallow him up. Your bobs are sloppy. You’re tired and sore deep in your bones, spit and drool and precum spilling everywhere between you. Your hand is drenched, your cheeks red with runaway tears. Still, you dedicate yourself to please him, running your tongue on his underside until he cries. 

“Oh, my God, fuck!” He repeats, shaking, and then comes with a scream. 

You’re surprised when he spills, pulling away with a gasp. The ropes of cum hit your chin instead, landing on your chest next, spreading down your skin. Only when he’s done, moans quieting slowly, do you kiss his tip just like he showed you. You put him back in his jeans. 

You look down at the mess. Your pretty camisole is stained again. Between your collarbones, your golden cross is coated in white. 

Matty catches his breath difficulty. You stare up at him. Catching his eyes, you take your cross between your lips, licking it clean. It’s salty on your tongue. You spit it back out glinting, drool dripping from it. Spotless. Cumless. He whines at the sight. 

“I wish you could see yourself,” he whispers. “You did so well for me. My best girl.” 

His best girl. You grin proudly. “Was I really the best?” 

“Yeah, you fucking— You’re like a fucking dream, angel.” 

You tsk. “I just had your cock in my mouth and you’re still calling me angel.” 

“Only because you like it.” Well, you can’t argue with that. 

You stand on trembling legs. Your knees crack, thighs burning in complaint, sticky and wet with your juices. Now that you’re free to think just a little more clearly, you realize how much you need him. To your core, to the beating muscle in your chest begging for him. 

“Let me show you how good you felt,” Matty says lowly. “Get me out of these.” His hands pull on the bow, still careful not to break it. 

You smirk, climbing your hands up his shoulder. “I remember you saying you wouldn’t even need them.” 

His eyes grow dark. “C’me here.” He spreads his thighs, leaving you a pretty perch to settle on. 

You straddle one, wasting no time to rock on it. You’re wet and needy, so fucking turned on you think you might boil under your skin. You won’t last long at all. 

The leg and the soft material of your underwear is heavenly on your swollen clit. He flexes under you and you moan, dropping your head on his shoulder, panting. Everything in you buzzes. You feel like you’re going insane. 

“Doing so well for me, baby,” he coos. “Fuck yourself on my thigh. Use me.” You whine, rocking faster. 

He’s warm under your fingertips. He’s tough, and real, and you miss him even when he’s right there. You want to seep under his skin, sleep tightly between his heart and his rib. You lick at his neck, kissing and nipping. A red splotch looks back at you once you pull away. There. Your mark on him, like a delible I was here. There’s a possessive thrill shooting up your spine. Maybe you finally understand why he bruises your thighs so much. 

Your movements speed up. You straighten, throwing your head back. Everything is intense, but nothing is enough. Matty dips to your chest. He licks and sucks at your cleavage, cleaning the cum off your skin. You moan at the feeling, at the knowledge. “Matty—”

“You’re so close,” he promises, nipping right above the hem of your camisole. You’re overheating. “Just a bit more.” What a lie. 

“It’s not the same,” you whine, bucking on his thigh desperately, finding growing need, but not release. Your eyebrows furrow. Your hips grow sloppy. “I can’t do it like you.” 

“Let me out.” He’s deadly serious. You vaguely shake your head. You’re in control. “Please, please, angel. Let me out. Let me please you. Let me make you come.” He makes a noise of frustration, flexing and unflexing his thigh underneath you. “I’ll make you scream. I promise. You know I will. Just let me out. I’ll give you what you need.” You pout, mulling on his suggestion. He narrows in on the weakness. “I need it. I need to see you. Come on, love. I just want to please you.” 

With a huff, you bend to your side, reaching behind him to undo the bow. The ribbon falls to the ground. Matty grips your hips the next instant. 

It’s fast and hard in a second, a delirious pace he settles you on. Your cunt drags over his thigh, wetting his jeans. You can’t stop moaning and, for once, you let the sounds leave your mouth freely. He seems eager to hear them, licking your chin and catching your lips for a head-twisting kiss. 

Matty pulls away to reach for your camisole. He pulls it down to uncover your chest, bending back to continue his artwork, sucking and licking at your nipples. You cry. Your hands bury in his hair. 

“Fucking drench me,” he begs. His hand sneaks between your legs, pulling your underwear to the side. He moves his fingers away quickly after, as though he had something to prove. 

Your clit hits the rough denim directly. It’s a sharp strike of pleasure each time. You buck wildly, trying to find that ravaging euphoria you need. Each furious stroke gets you closer. His hand burns your hip. Everything in him makes you hot and sticky. 

“Matty, I’m—”

“Come for me,” Matty pleads, running his tongue on your hard nipple. Ecstasy threatens the edges of you. “Fuck, come on my thigh. Fucking make a mess.”

“I’m—” Your mouth drops open with a silent cry and you come. You shudder against him. Pleasure waves through you, unreleasing that aching need. It hazes your mind more than the alcohol you just drank, more than a hit of cigarette, more than listening boredly in church. You’re tingling from your very tips, alive. 

“Oh, God,” you say. You blink the blur away, finding him grinning at you, sweaty and flushed and fucking delighted. 

“Told you I only needed my thighs,” he bites, cheeky. You grin. It was entirely true. You regret turning down his pleading request that day in church. You laugh, holding both of his cheeks with glee. 

“I can’t believe I did that,” you admit. You lower your thigh-high socks just to see the bruise on your knee, prove it’s real. You gasp suddenly, worry seeping in, “Oh, no,” you breathe, hand covering your mouth. “Will George be mad?” 

Matty laughs, throwing his head back. “He’s done worse in my room.” His hand rubs at your hip, soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I can’t let you walk out with wine and cum stains on your top. That’s too much bad, even for me.” You giggle, nosing his cheek, then stand up. There’s a wet patch on his jeans and you flush when you spot it, though he only grins proudly. 

You’re jelly on your feet. You’re sticky-happy. Matty’s hand warms yours as he tugs you out of the bedroom and into a bathroom.

—

The road comes to a stop. A single street lamp lights you, drooping over Matty’s car. You stare up at it, then at him. His dark curls falling wildly around him, his red cheeks, his plump lips; everything invites you in, draws you to your doom. There’s a lesson to learn, to memorize, humming faraway. You prefer to indulge, to be caught red handed and shamed. As long as the before thoroughly drowns it out. 

Matty’s taste faintly lingers on your tongue.Your legs are loose and slack from another thunderous orgasm. He’s everywhere, and still you want him closer, deeper, longer. 

The identical houses stretch on infinitely. You recognize yours by the broken step you fell on when you were five, a vestige of you, a way to prove you exist. Matty kills the gas. 

“I hope you had fun,” he declares. You give him a purposeful onceover, smirking. Matty rolls his eyes, though pride still hangs in them. “More than that.”

“I had fun,” you agree. “I like your friends.”

“I like them too.” It’s so easy for him, so inherent. He loves his friends and he doesn’t even have to question the meaning of it, doesn’t have to overanalyze every interaction and how safe it can be to question a tweak of sentences. He gets to declare it, gets to mean it. You’re envious, faraway somewhere. 

“I like you,” you say, because you mean it, because vodka and wine still linger somewhere inside of you. Matty flushes.

“I do, too.”

You grin at the whisper, at the confirmation. He hasn’t known you for very long, yet he means it all the same. A friend, a more than. How you like him. 

Emotion overwhelms you. Your heart races, beating and beating against its bone prison, begging for something you can’t quite figure out. You don’t try to, instead listening to the familiar thrill fluttering inside of you. You unclasp your seatbelt, throw a leg over the console, settle on his lap. 

Matty doesn’t seem surprised that you straddle him, instead resting his hand lazily on your waist. It swallows your skin, big and sure, meant to dip and dig and curl. You shiver just at the thought, at the possibility.

I like you, hangs in the air. And more…

You give him a fiery, needy kiss. There’s a burning desire to consume him, to keep him firmly lodged in your throat as you walk the path to church. You kiss him like it, gripping his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, his hair. Anything you can get your hands on, anything to make him tangible. 

Your tongue is hot as it meets his. You tug on his hair, tilting your head, meeting him better. He tastes like cigarettes and you, and the knowledge makes you burn. You want him so deeply you might choke from the lack of him. He needs to be closer, deeper. You make an unsatisfied groan, dropping your hands to his belt. 

Urgently, you paw at his pants, trying to get it off with shaky fingers. Your insides throb and clench around nothing, pleading for him. You’re tired of fighting inherent instincts, of battling guilt and morals. You want to feel good— great. Want to eclipse any doubt. 

Matty breaks from your lips, but you’re undeterred, licking down his cheeks as you unbutton his jeans. You bite and suck at his neck, leaving your very own purple bruise, marking him the way he always seems to do you. Different. Changed. 

Matty’s head drops on his seat. He sighs desperately, makes a low groan, and pushes you away from him. You pant, hungrily pulling at the hem of his shirt. He stops it with a heavy hand. 

“Not here,” Matty says, shortwinded. His dark eyes almost seem regretful to say so. “Not for the first time.”

You catch your breath slowly, deeply. You wipe at your mouth. Nod faintly. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no—” You laugh. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t—” You grimace. “I wouldn’t want to do it in a car. For the first time.” Matty nods. 

“Soon, maybe?” Matty whispers nonetheless, a promise and a beg. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Maybe soon.” The words hang in the air, meaningful. 

You open the driver’s door, falling out of it gracelessly. You straighten with a proud smile, flash your teeth at him. Your white outfit is still stained; an opposite mirror of his. “Goodnight, Matty.”

“Night, love,” he says, amused. 

You turn around and run to your house. The trellis ivies up terribly— terrifyingly— far up. You stare at it convinced, taking a step with a purpose. 

#YES IT'S HERE #sorry NOT sorry for gaslighting yall for weeks<3333 #pray for my soul #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #imagine #writing

[matchamiko]

lol neuvillette just sucking ur nipples or smth is enough to have u going a bit insane right??? RIGHT????

Giggling so hard rn

Warnings: breast worship/play, dry humping, mentions of masturbation, mentions of penetrative sex; previously established relationship.

If there’s one thing Neuvillette is, it’s thorough. You ask him about one of his trials after he returns from the Opera Eclipse, and he’s talking for hours about every piece of evidence in the case; you shyly ask him to brush your hair and he’s producing several combs and brushes and an oil to massage your scalp; he decides to take you on what humans call a date, and you’re trekking through the purple fields in the countryside to the most darling little picnic spot and dining on pastries until dusk, and then returning to the city to stroll about the fountains and gardens arm in arm with the promise of a mightily thorough kiss at the end.

And he’s no different when playing your body like a fiddle. He's got you folded into his lap, office door locked, blinds only half drawn but there's no danger of anyone looking in, not when he's so wrapped around you that it's hard to seen even a glimpse of your bare skin. It started as a visit for tea, the leaves you brought from your village in the Vale fresh and still warm from being dried over a fire, chatting idly in the way you two did that Neuvillette found so refreshing and simple. Then it led to you shyly asking for a kiss, having missed him so dearly and so wantonly, shown in the way you gripped his lapels and leaned further into him with a questioning sigh and an answered grunt. And now, you're half dressed spread over his thick thighs, his coat strewn next to the two of you and his gloves somewhere with it.

"Let me taste you," he murmurs against the column of your throat, hands running up the length of your back and down again, squeezing your hips into a dizzying grind. Your breasts press deliciously against the cotton of his shirt, nipples slipping and rubbing over his chest and every time you shudder with pleasure, Neuvillette basks in the way you arch harder into him like a cat. You feel wonderful, writhing over his groin and trying not to let your darkest desires overtake you like you so often did. The precious little tea farmer he'd befriended and then courted and then decidedly and silently pledged himself to; you're full of dirty secrets and filthy wants that has him spiralling into territories he'd never even thought about before. And your tits were one of them, to put it frankly.

He's fucked you before, numerous times, to your hearts content and more often than not, to your dictation and command. It wasn't surprising that your precious Iudex wasn't particularly well versed in human seduction, and you bravely stood up to the task you had completely made up, of showing him everything you desired and introducing him to everything he desired. But today, in the secrecy of his office, the knowledge that just outside the doors, people mill about and wait for an appointment with him; Neuvillette steps away from his duties and demands the feel of your supple skin against his teeth.

"I admit," a hand grasps the fat of your breast, squeezing roughly with the whoreish rhythm you have going on with your hips, "I've been thinking often about having you like this, desperate and desiring me all from the touch I give you here," fingers pluck at your nipple before he dips his head and takes it into his mouth. He's done this before, too many times to count, but with him being fully dressed and you an absolute mess in his lap; it feels different, raw and unfiltered in the wavering sanctity of his office. You can feel Neuvillette's tongue flattening over your nipple, swirling and curling like he does between your legs and it sends you arching into him, further into his reclined figure and deeper into his lap. A dizzying moan leaves you chest when you feel the hot, hard press of his cock through his trousers, confined in such a way that it's mind numbing when you grind against it. He pulls back for a second, looking up at you with hair strewn about his face, cheeks red and ears redder, panting hot and wet against your skin.

"Don't stop, please," he doesn't care for your politeness, doesn't care for your request, doing as he pleases with your body; one hand gripping your bottom and urging you to grind against him, and the other grasping meanly at your tit. Neuvillette seems positively ravenous this afternoon, though it should have been obvious in the way he allowed you to push him over to the settee and mount him without asking.

"I'm plagued with thoughts of you during matters that I should be attending to, important matters that garner my fullest attention and yet -," he suckles a bruise into the swell of your breast, held firm by his hands, squishing them together and nuzzling into the crevice between, breathing deeply enough to shudder, "All I can think about is you, what I want to do to you the next time we are alone, the next time you allow me to have you in such undignified ways," you're shaking when he regains his focus and takes your nipple into his mouth, tugging and nipping and gnawing like he does on his bottom lip when he's concentrating, suckling hard before letting go with a pop - allowing you to take a gasping breath and to look down at how positively enthralled he is at he taste of your doughy flesh,

"You don't need to be so formal while you're playing with my tits Neuvillette," you've always been more straight forward, more brash and crude, than him; having grown up in the countryside, in another nation, a whole other life to the one he leads. He leaves a wet trail from his tongue over your nipple, catching it between his sharp teeth and tugging enough to make you whine lowly, "I - can't stop thinking about you too, 'specially when I'm on my own," the implication is implicit but Neuvillette surges up into you, hips strong and knocking into yours with a grunt. He's filled suddenly with images of you writhing in your bed, hand stuffed between your thighs, fingers wet and slick in your cunt - the same he can feel pulsing and purring over his lap.

"Tonight, I've cleared my last appointment so I can spend it with you," he gasps, lips swollen from their assault on your breasts, eyes unfocused and pupils blown wide with want "After supper, after I spoil you like I have promised; you are showing me everything you do when you are alone and desperate for me,"

#neuvillette x you #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #neuvillete x reader #neuvillette smut #you're he tea farmer gf he met in the court of Fontaine that he's fascinated and enamoured by #and you make him visit Chenyu Vale and he falls in love with the freedom you live in everyday #he love u #miko.muses

[msgexymunson]

Forbidden Fruit Part 4

Description: Your relationship with Eddie is all consuming. How will you deal with the aftermath? 

A/N: I love this series, this Eddie, and you lot. You're beautiful and I love you. My God, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood, please comment, please reblog. I’m not always responding due to my mental health but I see you and I love you I promise. 

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, this isn’t for you babies, p in v unprotected sex (surely you know this by now) Age gap, Eddie is 43, reader is 21. Violence, I’m not saying more I don’t want to ruin it ;) 

4k words 

Masterlist   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3 Part 5

Light dapples through the hotel curtains, uncovering swirling dust motes in the air, dancing in front of your vision. Yawning, you feel warmth and safety; Eddie's side flush with yours, your legs entwined in a sleepy embrace.

His breathing is slow and deep. As your hand rests lightly on his chest, you can feel it. In, and out. It's comforting, a comfort that reaches into your bones and warms them from the inside out; your entire being at peace. The skin on his chest is soft, a slight spackling of chest hair lays under your hand. Unconsciously, you're already running your hand through it, fingers stroking his inked chest. 

Hair splayed on the pillow underneath him in an angel's halo, his lines are finer, relaxed. He looks so peaceful and content that it makes your heart swell. A smile plays at your lips, one that touches every part of you. A perfect moment. 

The steady breathing changes, and he moves beneath you, a rough hand reaching up to stroke your shoulder.

"Mornin' sweetheart." 

His voice is gruffer than usual, enriched with sleep, the deeper cadence unknown to you before this moment. God, you would do anything to hear it every morning. 

"Morning baby." Returning his greeting with a croaky one of your own, he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost possessively. 

"This is nice." 

You purr your approval, tightening your own grip around him. 

"So, breakfast?" You ask.

"Five more minutes." He replies, pulling you on top of him to deepen the hug. 

********************

The day was spent together, being the couple you never got to be in the real world. Breakfast at the hotel was delicious, you held hands until it got in the way of eating. Then a drive, where he took you shopping and bought you a dress just for you to wear tonight. You told him you'd pay for it but he insisted. Lunch at a quaint cafe in town was just perfect. Then a walk, arm in arm as you explored the place. 

Back at the hotel, you were taking advantage of the suite he'd booked, soaking in an enormous bubble bath you're pretty sure you could do a few laps in. You had invited Eddie to join you, but in his words, 'if that happens we're never gonna eat dinner sweetheart.'

Drying off, you get ready for your date tonight. The other bra and panty set you bought just for Eddie resides under the beautiful purple satin dress he had bought you, along with your own hold ups and heels. Piling your hair high on your head in the fanciest updo you can manage without a team of hairdressers, you frown at your reflection. Not perfect, but good enough. 

Mascara, a soft eyeshadow, and a lipstick to compliment your skin tone completes the look. Transfer proof, of course. You were going to dinner with Eddie after all. 

As you're spritzing perfume, you hear Eddie's deep muffled voice from the other room. 

"You ready princess?" 

"Yup, coming." 

Breathe, it's Eddie, why the hell are you nervous? 

But this is the first date you've been on with him really. Butterflies flutter in your stomach in expectancy. Exiting the bathroom, you lock eyes with your date. 

Eddie looks good. Ridiculously good. He's handsome, that's a given, but seeing him in a suit? Fucking hell. 

The black suit jacket he's slung over his shoulders looks expensive, clearly tailored to him, with matching dress pants. A black shirt with a slight sheen to it clings to the muscles on his torso, it might be satin, or silk. He's even wearing smart shoes; they gleam in the light. No tie, you notice. Not that it surprises you, he doesn't look the type to even consider a tie, even for the most formal occasions. Not that you miss it; the top buttons of the shirt are undone, showing off his chest tattoo and a thick silver chain. 

"Eddie, you clean up good." You smile. Real good. 

"Sweetheart, fuck me…" He's frozen, staring at you. 

"Eddie, you've seen the dress!" You laugh, walking towards him. 

He stumbles back, holding his hands to his heart as if you shot him. 

"But I didn't know you'd kill me when you put it on!" He exclaims, dramatically falling to one knee. 

"Eddie…" you laugh, walking toward him.

"I don't know… if I can… go on." He breaks down on the floor, hand outstretched in a silent dramatic plea. 

"Eddie you idiot!" You giggle, grabbing his hand and pulling him upright. 

You're impossibly close now, bodies an inch from touching. All joking forgotten, he grabs you by the waist, pulling you close. Hot breath fans across your face as his lips nearly touch yours. 

"We better go to dinner. You look so, so, sexy, that if we don't…" a kiss is forced onto your waiting mouth, full of longing. 

"I'll hike this dress up and fuck you against," stopping to look around, he points, "that wall." 

Your fingers wrap around his, bringing them to your mouth. 

"Maybe later." 

"Hmm, promise?" 

"Promise." 

Tugging him toward the door, he huffs dramatically, flinging his head back like a toddler. 

Making your way to the door, you turn around suddenly. 

"Wait. We need to play the part, right?" 

Eddie looks at you, amused.

"Yes? What you thinking sweetheart?" 

A plan comes to mind, making you shiver with anxiety. Hoping against hope that Eddie doesn't run a mile, you take his hands in your own, sizing up a likely candidate. That ring looks perfect, the backing is a straight band. Taking it off his finger, you place it on the ring finger on his left hand, backwards. You do the same with one of yours. 

Holding your makeshift wedding bands next to each other, you look up at him. 

"See? Playing the part." 

He surveys them for a moment, a moment that has your heart beating in your throat.

"Perfect." Bringing your fingers up to his lips, he kisses the makeshift band. 

"Dinner?" 

Shoving your feelings down as far as they'll go, you swallow the lump in your throat and grab his outstretched hand so he can lead you downstairs. 

Arm in arm, you enter the dining room together. 

"Mr and Mrs Munson, here for dinner?" 

Your heart skips a beat at his words. 

It's just a part we are playing, that's all. Don't let it go to your head.

"Of course, please follow me." 

After being ushered to a table, you order food and drinks. Then you talk, and talk, and talk. He's really opening up to you finally. All about high school, his love for music, his life. The conversation continues as you eat, about him becoming a mechanic, finally opening his own shop and building it from the ground up. He's charming, and funny; each piece of information gives you just that little extra insight into the man you've come to care for so much. 

You start to tell him about your own life, some things you've never told anyone before. You speak about school too, your qualification in English Literature that you are working towards which you'd mentioned before, and looking to train as a teacher after that, which you hadn't. Or, you thought you hadn't. 

"I know sweetheart, you told me that." 

"Did I?" Racking your brains over the last couple of months just leaves you coming up empty. 

"Yeah, about six months ago. We were in the kitchen, I was helping out, fitting the stove. You were wearing that blue skirt with the flowers on." 

Oh.

"You remember that?" Wide eyed, you pause from taking a sip of your wine and stare at him. 

"Yeah. Sorry, that came out really creepy." He smiles but doesn't meet your gaze, as if he's ashamed. 

"Eddie, how long have you had a crush on me?" 

"Honestly? Nearly a year. I remember seeing you all dolled up for your 21st and thinking I was being a fuckin' pervert." 

"Well, that makes me feel a little better. I kinda had a thing for you around the same time. Dressed up a bit when you were around." Admitting it is embarrassing, but also freeing. A weight you didn't know you were carrying is lifted, flying free to the heavens. 

"Ah, so that wasn't my imagination. Why'd you think I helped out around yours all the time? I gotta admit, that bikini you got, the red one. Fuck, that was when I knew I was down bad" he smirks, reaching over to hold your hand. 

"I got it for you." You whisper, touching his outstretched hand. 

"Naughty girl." 

Your thighs clench under the table. A rush of blood to your cheeks aided by the wine you've drunk makes them burn hotly at his words. 

"Sorry to interrupt." You both turn to see your waiter looking very awkward. 

"Would you like any more to drink? Or the dessert menu?" 

Eddie looks at you for confirmation. 

"No, no we're fine. Can we take the rest of the wine upstairs?" Eddie's eyebrows raise at you, fingers stroking the hand he's still holding. 

"Of course, have a pleasant evening Mrs Munson." 

As the waiter departs, you stand up immediately. 

"Oh it's like that, is it?" Eddie's grinning, the devil dancing in his eyes. He palms the bottle and pulls you from your seat so fast you may have whiplash, guiding you to the elevator. 

Once the doors close you are on each other like a rash sharing an urgent, messy kiss. One of his hands is in your hair, pulling you toward him greedily as your tongues fight for dominance. You pull at his shirt, silky material bunching under your desperate hand. 

The elevator doors ping open and he throws you over his shoulder like a caveman, landing an awkward smack on your ass since he's still holding the bottle of wine. You shriek as he practically runs down the hallway, placing you down gently to fumble with the room key. 

Throwing your arms around his neck as he does so, you press needy open mouthed kisses to him, hitting any skin you can reach. Eddie's breathing is laboured, from his impromptu sprint as well as your attention on his neck. 

"Sweetheart, I can't get the damn key card in the thing when you do that!" 

Laughing, you suck a bruise in his neck making him groan as he puts the card in the slot. It flashes red once, twice, then finally green, the door swinging open taking you by surprise, so much so you nearly fall. 

Vision sliding sideways as Eddie drags you in the room; he kicks the door shut with his foot and reaches for you once again, slamming your back against the wall. 

"Was it this wall?" He asks, voice a throaty growl as he undoes his belt with one hand and whips it through the loops at lightning speed. 

"Huh?" Thoughts are impossible right now, unable to see through the alcohol and lust that clouds your judgement. 

Eddie's hand reaches and grabs you by the neck. All you can focus on is his rough grip, squeezing at the sides of your throat, and the heartbeat hammering in your cunt. 

"The wall I was gonna fuck you against. This one, yeah?" 

Nodding emphatically, you reach your eager fingers to his pants, palming his rock hard length. 

"Fuck." Letting go of your throat he pulls your dress up and over the curve of your ass, exposing the tiny thong you were wearing. 

"These new too?" 

"Yeah." 

As you answer he rips them off, the flimsy lace falling apart. 

"I'll buy you a new pair." 

His mouth is on your neck before you can protest, teeth biting harder than usual as he unbuttons his pants to push them hastily down. 

Calloused fingers seek your pussy, rubbing through your folds. 

"God, you're already soaked sweetheart." 

You whine, back arching against the wall. 

"Just fuck me Eddie, please, I need you." 

The tip of his hardened cock runs through your seeping wetness as he lifts you up. Legs clamping around him instinctually, your fingers grasp the lapels of his jacket, tearing it down his arms. It's flung off and away, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

He plunges his throbbing length into you then, large hands grabbing you by your ass, helping him to fuck up into you at an unforgiving pace. 

The sounds of your conjunction are slapping through the room, your slick making dirty squelching noises that would make you cringe if you had any thoughts in your head. All that's echoing in your brain is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. A heartbeat.

He's pounding into you so hard your head starts hitting the wall, the thunk echoing. 

"Fuck, sorry, just hang on," he says, gripping you harshly and carrying you over to the bed. He throws you down, making the air force out of your lungs with an 'ooft' noise. 

Then he's pulling your knees up, giving you no time to breathe as he pushes into you hard, hitting that spot inside that makes you quiver and beg.  

"Eddie, Oh God!" 

His grip, his thrusting movements, his harsh demeanour has your head spinning. You're on the brink of unravelling. 

"Eddie, please, can you- fuck, can you hold my throat again?" You plead, voice hot and raw from moaning. 

"Sweetheart, anything for you." Gravel in his voice. His lips curve into a smile, but there's no mirth in it. His face is hard, and something about it is setting your insides on fire. One hand glides its way up and over your curves, coming to rest on your neck. Rough finger pads squeeze onto your throat at the sides, not too hard, though enough to make your head reel and your pussy clench. 

The string holding you to this reality snaps then as you gasp for air, fibres flying free. You unravel, entirely and completely, dissolving into a mess of tangled threads. 

Eddie merely grunts his appreciation, fully lost in the depths of your cunt, beast mode well and truly activated. Short fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, ass, thighs, hard enough that you're sure he's drawing blood. 

He releases into you with a bloodthirsty groan, nearly collapsing onto your fucked out form. 

After a few breaths, he manages words. 

"Sorry princess. I get a bit… rough when I've had a drink." 

"Don't apologise. That was… Just, need more of that." 

"Now??" His eyes widened impossibly at your words. 

You giggle at the incredulity in his voice. 

"Maybe in like, ten minutes?" You pout.

"Twenty." 

"Done." 

********************

The time had come. You had both had to rid yourselves of the fairytale, the fantasy, and drive back separately to your real lives. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, a lemon rind of reality soaking onto your tongue, sour and unwelcome.

Saying goodbye was a sickening experience that you'd rather forget. A brief hug and kiss in the hotel car park, making you feel cheaper than you ever did. Like some sort of prostitute. It hurt, more than all of this put together. 

Driving away with tear stained cheeks, you sought solace in the roads of tarmac ahead of you. That, and the last words he spoke to you which echoed your head, 'soon, sweetheart, soon.' 

You pulled up to your family home and noticed your mom's car in the driveway. Walking in and dumping your bag at the foot of the stairs you shout out in a feigned cheery voice. 

"Hey, I'm back from Stacey's house!" The lie you had told them. One of many.

"Hey honey, we were just heading out! Tell us about it later, we'll see you soon!" 

Your mom rushes by you in a cloud of perfume and smiles, your dad in her wake. A kiss is laid on each of your cheeks as she waltzes out. 

The house is silent and still. You move to the kitchen to fix yourself a drink. 

A knock startles you for a moment, making water slosh out of the glass in your hand. Looking up, you see the vision of your desire silhouetted in the patio windows. T-shirt tight across his frame, hair dishevelled, and his usual bright face frowning with discomfort. 

You open the door and he stands there, looking you up and down, like he hadn't seen you for a week, even though it had only been a couple of hours. He makes no move to join you however. 

"Your parents, they gone?" .

"They just left. Why?" Your eyebrows tighten in confusion but widen in surprise when he strides inside, grabbing you by the ass and lifting you up. 

He drops you unceremoniously onto the counter top, your nearly bare ass on the hard granite. His lips are on your neck, but instead of hot kisses, warm breath is breathing life into you.  

"This weekend, it was supposed to be it." 

"What do you mean?" You ask as your stomach drops. 

"This." He gestured to the air between you both, "was it. I was going to say goodbye." 

"But, Eddie-" 

He interrupts your heart burning to ash, stopping the flames with a simple wave of his hands. 

"I said this was supposed to be it. But I-I can't." He lifts his head to look you in the eyes, hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs desperately. 

"I care about you too much. We need to come clean, fuck the consequences." 

His mouth is on your jaw, nipping at you harshly, hands groping at your flesh as if this were the first time, or the last time. 

You moan, throwing your head back as your fingers grip at his shoulders, feet digging into his back to force him between your legs, closer to your expectant heat. 

"Honey I forgot my purse-"

The world freezes. Your mother, still as a stone, stuck in between shutter speed frames. Her keys have fallen to the floor, splayed on the floor in her shock.

"What the fuck!" 

Your dad stands behind her, face twisted as you've never seen it; volatile, angry and red. A vein is popping deep in his temple, cheeks nearly purple in their rage. 

Eddie steps away, body shielding you with his hands held upward in supplication. 

"Mick, look, we can explain-"

"Explain? Explain why you've got your hands all over my daughter??" 

"Listen, I-" 

"You fucking listen, get out of my house!"

Eddie steps away from you, hands still outstretched to the heavens as your mouth falls open. You're in shock, limbs refusing to respond to the impulses you're sending via your brain to move, damn it, move. 

Eddie exits the front door, your mother and father behind him. 

Finally, your legs find it in their muscles to listen. You shakily follow, finding your lover standing on the grass on the lawn, your father in front of him, clenched fists at his sides. 

It's not long before your fathers fist strikes out, landing on the side of Eddie's face with a glancing blow. Eddie staggers and stands firm, eyes flashing defiance, but hands making no move to defend himself. 

"Eddie, what the fuck do you think you're doing? She's half your age!" 

"Mick, just listen, I know what this looks like, I'm sorry, but-" 

"No, there's no sorry, she's my fucking daughter!" 

The other fist lands, hitting Eddie square in the eye. This time he falls backwards onto the well manicured lawn, hands still reaching to your father, begging. Neighbours are beginning to edge their way outdoors, drawn by the carnage.

"But I love her!" 

The words you never thought you'd get to hear were spilling from his soft lips, not a doubted syllable between them. The words you begged for silently, in the dead of night. Time stands still, at least for you. Your mom is frozen in time with you, hand hovering over her mouth. Your father, however, breaks the spell. 

'Get the fuck off of my property." 

As Eddie stands, you remember your voice. 

"No! No, Dad, I love him too. I love you Eddie!" Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to spill over your cheeks at the slightest blink. 

"You, inside. You don't even know what love is!" His angry fist is outstretched toward you, giving you a frightening glimpse of your father that you've never known.

"Mick, calm down, we should listen-" 

Your mother is silenced with a violent glance. 

"Inside, both of you. We'll talk in the morning." 

There's nothing you can do but witness Eddie getting up and walking to his house without a backwards glance. 

********************

Three days. It's been three days since that fateful encounter; three days since you knew your feelings towards Eddie were reciprocated. Your mother and father have practically kept you under house arrest during that time, holding some unknown shift pattern in order to keep you there. 

As far as you're aware, your father has lost it. It was never in him to discipline you as a child, but it seems he reached his limit that day, threatening to incarcerate you until the end of your time on earth was spent. 

Your mother is softer about this, but no amount of talking seemed to sway him. You'd even tried to sneak out of the house to find him at the foot of your window. 

It was early. Sunlight was seeping through the folds of your curtains as you lay there, cheek fastened to your pillow as it has been for a while. Bed sores were a real threat; not that you cared. Nothing mattered anymore, apart from the fact that Eddie loved you, and you loved him, and you were never going to see him again.

A distant noise reverberated outside, one you barely cared about. Footfalls then, on the landing. Familiar footfalls. 

As your door flings open, you look up with bleary eyes.

"Did you mean it sweetheart?" 

It's Eddie, your Eddie. Flinging your body off the bed, you envelop him in an urgent embrace. 

'Oh Eddie, I'm sorry, I didn't know that-' 

'Shh sweetheart, it's OK. Just… did you mean it? Do you love me?" 

"Eddie, I love you more than anything." 

His lips press against yours, hard, firm and brief. 

'Good. Pack a bag. We need to be quick."

"Why, where are we going?"

"Vegas."

Masterlist

Tag list (if you want to stay please reblog my sweethearts!) 

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @hollster88 @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @daisyridleyyyy @lolalanaie @dandelionnfluff @latedawnsearlysunsets92 @luv-flor7777 @topaz1983 @pixxie2004 @harmfulb1tch @findmeincorneliastreet @eddies-puppet @fertilitygodkiszka @freshsagegarden

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #older!eddie #older eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie my beloved #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x younger reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

PLS EYELESS JACK SMUT PLS PLS PLS I HAVE BEEN CRAVING😭😭😭

Can i request an ej x fem reader where ej saw reader in the woods and followed her back home so he could eat her but got attracted to her instead and wanted to eat her in an different way😏

you can add any kinks man i just want ej😕

ps. thanku and drink water👺

FIRST MEAL - EYELESS JACK

Fandom: Creepypasta

Word Count: 933

Plot: Jack was hungry and when he finally got a taste of you, he realized he didn't need to kill you to feel full.

Warnings: SMUT, stalking, oral (female receiving), honestly pretty vanilla

You and your friends had been exploring the nearby woods since you moved into the neighborhood a couple months ago. Which was absolutely perfect for Jack considering he was getting quite hungry. He had quite the selection between you and your four friends but none of them smelled quite as good as you. To others your scent was regular, average, unnoticeable. But to him, he could smell you from miles away, you were absolutely delicious and it was getting harder and harder to keep himself out of your sight. He kept his distance, following you home, following you throughout your day, watching you and your friends hang out, go to school, work, the works.

At first it was for stalking and killing purposes only. But as he continued he couldn't help but want you for himself.

The neighborhood was quiet, it was a fall night and you often leave your windows open when it's nice weather. He loved how easy you made it for him. Sneaking up and through your second floor window he made his way into your room, making sure to keep quiet as to not wake you up. You slept peacefully in your small bed, your pajama shirt raised just enough so he could see your stomach. He felt his mouth begin to water as he stared. Your soft skin would be a breeze to tear through, and he was sure you'd taste delicious.

In more ways than one.

He looked around your room, rummaging through your belongings, closet, and finally... Drawers. The bottom one had quite the surprise for Jack. A rather large purple dildo with a nice vibrator to match. What a dirty girl you were and he didn't even know. He supposed he hadn't watched you enough... Missions had become quite frequent after all.

It wasn't long until he heard the rustling of your blankets shifting and a soft groan that followed a stretch. Dinner was served.

He turned to look at you, his smirk hidden behind his mask. Your eyes were wide with fear as he pressed his finger to where his lips would be.

"W-who-" You had no words. You couldn't even get out the sentence you wanted to. Who are you?

"No need to worry about that darling." He assured as he moved closer, watching you sink into your pillows trying to get as far away as you could.

You were scared, terrified even. You'd never expected to have a masked man stand over you in your own bedroom.

"I just wanted a little snack. Considering you're close by, convenient, beautiful, and quite the dirty girl... I figured you'd be the one." The smirk was evident in his voice even if his mask hid his expression.

You were frozen, trying to process everything that's just happened in the span of a minute. Wait- Did he just call you beautiful?

He slowly pulled off his mask, placing it on your bedside table and pushing your covers aside. "Now if you'd lay back for me and take off those shorts, I can get to work." He smiled, showing his razor teeth.

"You- You want me?" You asked in disbelief. You felt the fear slowly subside as you realize what he wants. You haven't gotten any since you've moved here and here's a man practically throwing himself at you.

He nodded, looking you up and down as he spoke, "it would all be for you."

You let out a deep breath as you pulled your bottoms off tentatively. The 'all for you' part sold you. Regardless of the black substance oozing from his eyes and his sharp teeth, you did as he said. Leaning back and opening your legs.

You watched him take a deep breath and lick his lips before he leaned down and gave your wet pussy a lick. You tasted better than anything he's ever had before. He knew that he wouldn't be able to kill you, just after the first taste. He was hooked.

He quickly got to work, using his long tongue in ways you'd never experienced before. It was pure bliss as he worked you over. You grabbed his hair harshly as you moaned, pulling him in closer. He let out a low growl at your pull, letting you know that he was in control. He was acting as if he hadn't eaten in years and you'd be his last meal.

Your back arched as he slipped his tongue inside, finding that perfect spot that made you cover your mouth to keep quiet. Your parents were sleeping down the hall after all. He loved the way you reacted to him, to only his tongue. He loved how easy this was. How easy he could get just what he wanted. It wasn't long until he could feel your orgasm coming, the way your thighs squeezed his head and your hips bucked against him.

He licked up every last drop when you came, making you shiver as he pulled away. He stood tall, looming over you as he slipped his mask back on, moving towards the window.

"Wait!" You called breathlessly, probably louder than you should've. "Who are you?" You wanted desperately for him to leave his number or at least a place to find him.

"Whoever you want me to be." He replied, halfway out the window. "I'll be back for another meal soon darling."

Just as fast as he got in, he was out and making his way into the woods as you reached the window. You watched the man go, hoping he'd come back soon to please you once again.

Yes yes yes I love this kind of EJ. Thank you for the request! Also I think this past week has been the most water I've drank in my life, so I hope that makes you happy 😊

#creepypasta #creepypasta requests #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #eyeless jack smut #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack creepypasta #eyeless jack #jack nyras #smut #request

[godlyrots]

𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄.

PAIRING — college!jasontodd x black!femreader

SYNOPSIS — you choose dare.

WORD COUNT — 1498 words.

WARNINGS + CONTENT — biting, very very sloppy making out. dry humping. pet names, doll, angel, pretty. little praise. super short for my standards. some jealousy. mentions of weed and drinking or alcohol. implied hook up with roy. a bit scattered. little hair pulling. no use of y/n. a little bit awkward cause i hate writing dialogue. might be ooc but let me have this. lots and lots of marking.

you're sat in roy's apartment all in a circle on his dingy carpet that was once a bright orange but turned into a dark brown. his place smelled like stale beer and weed which was obviously roy's doing. he and jason sat on both sides of you while your other friends filled up the remaining spots. both roy and jason go to your university but you don't understand how they even work as friends.

"truth or dare?"

music was soft in the background as some song from roy's playlist was playing to remove the silence from their hangout.

"dare." you shrugged as you took a sip from your cup and roy took some time to decide on what he wanted your dare to be. he knew deep down that jason's chest filled with a warmth when he looked at you, or talked to you or thought to you. his feelings weren't all innocent however, all filthy, filled with thoughts of you pressed against a wall with his hands in fistful of your braids as he rutted his hips against you in a feverish glow. it was seemingly obvious to him but he and jason were best friends so if anyone would know it'd be him.

roy knew jason better than he knew himself. he always kept a mental note of jason's reaction when he saw you walk out of their shared apartment in the early morning before classes with your clothes put on haphazardly, braids a little messy and a dreamy look in your eyes with your neck littered with little purple marks. he just looked at roy with a piercing stare after he left the room shortly after with a white shirt being pulled on quickly after you left. jason already connected the dots as his jaw ticked at the idea of his best friend having a chance with you before he did.

"i dare you to. . ." roy began and somehow you and jason ended up in his room, you on the edge of his bed and he might as well be a galaxy away from you as he's sat with his back against the headrest. you'd be lying to yourself if you thought jason wasn't attractive, with his light eyes and minimal facial hair that made him look absolutely delicious. not to mention the little dimples he had just below the apples of his cheeks. he was just so him and that was so attractive to you and just about anyone with enough sense and eyes.

you chewed on your bottom lip, strawberry flavoured lipgloss making it's way on your tongue and mixing with the slight taste of beer. "i like your shirt." you said and looked at him as he spoke. "thanks," he said and he slowly shifted closer to you but that wasn't even evident to you. he placed a hand near your thigh, you looked down at his hand and noticed the scars. he had one that went across his palm and it filled with callouses and you instinctively took his hand in yours. you knew he was into working out from what roy told you and it showed, his taut muscles were prominent as his shirt clung to his biceps and it made you a bit dizzy. you saw as his veins protruded from his arm, pulsing with each rush of blood through his limbs. god, he was so perfect.

"what are you doing?" jason asked with a laugh that racked though his chest, a deep timbre that you'd never noticed before. had he always been so. . . your type? you didn't even know and maybe this had been a sign that you should've spent the night with him instead of roy, but he was a whole nothing story.

you let out a slight puff of air, "i don't know, lookin' at you i guess." you told him honestly, "you're just really pretty to look at." you admitted to jason and continued to study his features, all of them from each scar to imperfection and how his irises sparkled with a tinge of blue in the dim warm lights of his bedroom. he gave you a little smile before he eyes flashed a darker shade of ocean blue.

"yeah? ya' think i'm pretty doll?"

you nodded with a little smile and jason was nearly pressing against you now, his breath hitting the side of your neck and your hand ended up on his thigh as he took in your scent of vanilla body wash and shea butter location. it was addicting to him.

"you're real pretty too." he said and you reached forward to kiss him, he was even more in love with the way your lips tasted, the sweet strawberry made him quietly moan into your mouth. he pulled your only his lap and left feverish, hectic kisses as he left sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your lips you tried to match his pace and kissed back harder. he's so him. you feel your pulse hammering in your body as he whispered praises to you.

"you're so perfect angel. should've done this ages ago." you feel his heartbeat as your chest is pressed against his and he's so much more desperate now. he rutted his hips into yours as he held your thighs down so that you had no room to squirm or wiggle out from his hold. you gasped as he brought his hips to meet yours with the added barrier of both your clothes. "jesus christ—" his lips met your neck and his pearly white teeth nipped at the flesh of your neck and he left marks that would resemble the purple hues of a painting that belonged in a museum and he wouldn't stop until you were his beautiful piece of art. "you're so needy doll, you want me just as bad as i want you." he chides against the crook of your neck and moaned as you rocked your hips against him working in tandem with his feverish ruts into your clothed cunt. you could feel each movement he made and your body ran hot with each passing minute. yours hand found itself in his beautiful head of hair and you pulled at his espresso locks with every single move he made.

he keeps your skin between his teeth and lips. jason is so desperate to leave his mark on you so that in the morning you won't be able to hide any reminder of him. you feel the ache between your thighs climb to your abdomen as he continues, his lips are stuck to your skin as he grunts with each whimper and moan that leaves your pretty, swollen lips. jason's so obsessed with each sound that leaves your beautiful mouth, they sound like a saccharine melody he can't get out of his mind. "i love all your pretty noises. gotta record 'em so that when i'm missin' you. i'll have something to listen to." he whispered against the shell of your ear and nipped at your ear.

you struggled to get the words out, the coil in your abdomen wound tight as he praised you. "heard you," you gasp as the words as stuck in your throat and he found that sweet spot that made you eyes roll as he took control of your already sporadic movements. "that night when i was with roy— we both did. i know you heard me too, sounded so desperate like you wanted us—me." you corrected your mistake but jason didn't exactly disagree with you. he continued to spur you on, he ignored how careless he was being and was only focused on getting you off.

jason didn't respond, he heard each word you said as they found their place in his mind, always in his memories. he wouldn't lie to himself and fight the fact that he thought about that night often, he laid in bed at night and imagined that he was the one that made you feel that good. he got his lick back though. "probably so close f'me doll. no one else should make you feel this good."

he hummed against your skin, the heat was radiating off of you and he felt the same, his skin was slick with sweat and he was so close. you only nodded and he could feel whatever resolve he had left leaving his body. "do it. cum f'me angel." you felt it come down on you, the fiery hot feeling leaving you to catch your breath as your chest heaved with each move jason made underneath you. you bit down on the flesh of jason's shoulder underneath his shirt to subdue your cries and he moaned lowly as a result. he followed soon after and released in his boxers not embarrassed in the slightest.

"come over tomorrow morning." he nearly demanded, chest unstable as his normally perfectly imperfect hair was a little wet with sweat but he still looked incredible.

"we have classes."

"skip 'em."

#red hood x black!reader #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd #jason todd x reader #first post #dc smut #roy harper #—☆ lock your phone. #—☆ musings.