you get a promotion and Eddie wants to show you how proud he is :-) with his mouth :-)
18+ minors dni! fem!reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), gross amounts of fluff, lots of swearing lol. not proofread in the slightest
3k
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Is it possible to smile any wider?
Your cheeks ache with wonder, smile lines deep and eyes sore. It’s a feeling like no other, and yet you daren’t think about how it’ll feel when you tell him.
You’re eager and light on your feet, quick steps up the concrete stairs. You climb three flights like it’s nothing and almost slip when you reach the door. It takes you one, two, three goes to get the key in before you’re wrenching it open to find Eddie sitting lazily, reclined and dozing, on the couch.
He perks up when you drop your bag and kick off your shoes, eyes opening slowly as he lifts himself to sit upright. You shuffle, tugging your scarf off and your coat along with it. Where you’d ordinarily hang them carefully by the door, above the rack for your shoes, you drop them, far too elated to think about anything else.
“Hi,” Eddie sings, a dopey smile creeping in. He’s in his sweats, and the smell of pot lingering in the room, despite the open window, is proof enough that he’s enjoyed his day off.
“I got it,” you say, breathless, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. You watch as his eyes widen, smile dropping only for a second before he’s beaming just as much as you are.
“You’re serious?” he asks. His voice is louder now, as though you’d slapped him awake.
“Serious,” you respond, “I got it.”
He’s up quicker than you can think to expect, crossing the room in bounds to wrap his arms around your middle and lift you effortlessly off the ground. He’s squeezing you, spinning you, laughing like a mad man.
“No fucking way!” he’s shouting, and the elation in his voice alone could keep you feeling like this for weeks.
You’re giggling, happy noises squeezed out of you as he rubs his face into the pretty silk of your blouse. He lets you down slowly, softly, your socks hitting the carpet as his hands come up to hold your face. His palms warm your frosty cheeks.
“You,” he says, using his grip to look you square in the eye, “are so amazing.”
He kisses you on the mouth, hot and heavy and possessed by joy, and then begins an assault on the rest of your face. Each kiss is sweet and lovely and makes you giggle, and he dots them between gasping declarations: you are incredible, I love you, I love you so much, I am so proud of you.
That last one is what does it, sends your knees weak as you buckle. His arms are swift and secure, pulling you up and across the room to the couch. He’s still kissing every part of you he can reach: your temple, forehead, the crown of your head, and finally your nose. He lays you on the cushions and his fingers move quicker than his hazy brain, still a little cloudy with the remnants of the afternoon’s joint. He unbuttons your blouse, deciding it looks far too pretty on you to risk popping any buttons. His lips aren’t far behind his hands, dotting kisses over the skin between your collarbones as he tugs the shirt down your arms and pulls it out from underneath your body. He’s warm and lovely and your fingers can’t help but take root in his hair, tugging softly but never too rough.
“You’re amazing,” he repeats, breaths filled with love. “So amazing.”
“Eddie,” you whine, squirming under his hands and mouth, your insides bubbling with pride and love. You’re delirious with it, still giggling and humming contentedly when the pads of his fingers brush over the lace of your bra.
He’s riling you up in every way he can. With your shirt on the floor he can make quick work on your chest, tugging material down so he can dote on the swell of flesh. He leaves reckless marks, blooming purples of pride, and as his warm hands inch around your back to the clasp you arch into him, against his hip and the ghost of the way you’re making him feel.
“I know,” he coos, light and airy as his breath hits your face. “Shit, I know.”
Swiftly, he pulls the bra off and out of his way, but it’s too much - why are you like this while he’s bundled in a sweatshirt? There’s too much between the two of you, too many layers, and your skin is burning and you need to know that his is as well.
Your impatient fingers paw around the bottom of his sweatshirt, where the hem of his t-shirt peaks out. With a kiss clearly aimed at your nose - he misses by an inch and lands an awkward one beneath your eye - he leans back onto his knees, eyes tied to yours, and tugs both tops off in one quick movement.
You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself if you tried. You press tough palms against his stomach, fingers splayed over ink and skin, pawing at flesh like you’re dying. He laughs at you, a smug and breathless noise, as he tosses the material across the room. You hear it land with a thud just as he kisses your jaw, lips leaving a hot trail down your neck.
You wriggle, hands back in his hair, mewling at his kisses and this reaction to your own hard work. Eddie couldn’t be prouder of you, you knew this anyway, but to feel so appreciated, so acknowledged, and for him to feel pride for you, sends you dizzy.
“You’re amazing,” he tells you again, words scattered between more kisses to your sternum, stomach, waist. “Worked so hard, y’deserve all of it.”
You hum as he looks up at you from under his lashes. He kisses a straight line from one hip to the other, over the waistline of your trousers, which he pulls between his teeth. You laugh, reeling from his softness and his silliness, and wriggle your hips impatiently. He scrambles to get the button and the zip undone, and you writhe around as he pulls the fabric over your thighs, knees, calves, finally pulling it off your feet and throwing it to join the mess already scattered across your living room floor. His hands leave goosebumps in their wake and you cave for him, body drawn to his carnally.
“G’na show you how proud I am,” he tells you gently, his hands framing your hips. He tugs at the faded cotton of your underwear and you nod for him, desperate for whatever he’s about to give you. There’s a chill from the open window and it distracts you from whatever he does with your pants - you squeeze your thighs together to hide from the cold and he tuts, tinged with something condescending but entirely playful. Prising your knees apart, he leaves kisses on his journey, up the warmth of the insides of your legs and past where you want him. He kisses your hip, and then the other, and when he looks up at you, he says, “Good girls get rewards, hm?”
You keen, whining again, eyes squeezing shut because he’s taunting you, teasing, and it’s unfair. But then his fingers find yours and he holds your hand tight, squeezing, as he kisses between your thighs.
The moan that rips from you is ungodly. You feel him echo it and the vibration is just as sweet. His mouth is everywhere at first, uncoordinated and frenzied, until he settles where he always does. His tongue makes tender shapes around your clit, drawing whimpers from you, and then you feel the fingers of his free hand.
It’d been around your thigh, rings twinkling in the light of the lamp on the sideboard. Now, though, it’s slinking underneath and joining his mouth. He prods gently until he finds what he’s looking for, and breaches you with two cautious digits. You’re fussing, a darling mix of giggles and whines, fingers pulling less than kindly at his hair now, moving him as you please. His fingers curl in a come-hither gesture inside your walls, encouraging the precipice; his mouth, his tongue, is kindling flame with obscene noises that you’re quickly going deaf to as the blood pumps quicker, thicker. You can feel him trying to dirty talk against your wet, but it’s no use. You couldn’t hear him even if your eardrums weren’t buried beneath rushing, because he’s too preoccupied to make himself audible. He’s doing his favourite thing, and he’s so nearly got you there.
“Eddie,” you moan, “please.”
He hums in response and adds a third finger, slow and attentive just in case, but you’re loving it. The electric current is sizzling around your centre, your stomach tightening in knots, and god, you’re nearly there.
Eddie lifts himself from you and your displeased whine is interrupted by his thumb replacing his tongue. He pushes deft circles there, in rhythm with his fingers.
“You’re so good,” he tells you, “So smart and strong, you’re such a clever girl.”
He shifts up the couch to your level, his hand still busy.
“‘M so close,” you tell him in a whisper. He kisses your cheek and the corner of your right eye, where a tear has broken loose and is making a run for it down your temple. “So close, Eds.”
“I know, baby. I’ve got you, hm? Gonna come for me?”
You make a gorgeous, strangled noise as you do, riding his hand and chasing his mouth with your own. You taste yourself and lingering peppermint until you can’t kiss him back any more because you’re gasping for air and telling him Eds, enough, please.
He retreats gently and brings his hand up to his mouth. You look at him from under drooping eyelids as he goes all salacious and dramatic, all three fingers in his mouth like it’s nothing. It’s stupid, because he’s winding you up again, but he’s so damn good at it. The sight is downright erotic and you keen, eyes widening in want.
“Hm?” he hums, pulling his hand away. “What d’ya want, pretty girl?”
You say nothing, choosing instead to open your own mouth, tongue sitting happily on your bottom lip. He smiles down at you and relents, laying two fingers on your tongue. You take them between your lips happily and suck, eyes fluttering closed, as you feel him shifting beside you. You take your cue, using your free hands to tug at his sweats. He’s hard as stone, prodding you through the soft jersey, and you’re desperate to feel it for real.
He moves to help you as you pull them down to mid-thigh, low enough that you can get your greedy hands on what you want. You hear him suck in a breath as you wrap around him and slide up and down, up and down, pleasantly humming around his fingers.
“Shit,” he hisses, “gotta- Shit, gotta stop, I gotta get inside you.”
Never one to deny him, you let him have his hand back so he can rest himself over you. He takes your thigh in one, lifting it up to his hip, as you continue to reach down and line him up.
“You ready?” he asks quietly, mouth by your ear.
“Mm-hmm,” you hum.
Eddie decides here, as he pushes into you, that he’s going to treat you like you’ve just had a promotion every single day for the rest of your life. He concludes that this is what you deserve, to be handled tenderly like this, and nothing less.
“Christ,” he pants, “I- fuck, I’m so proud of you, god-”
“Eddie,” you whimper, “please move, fuck, I-”
“You’re so good,” he repeats. It doesn’t stop, the praises - he calls you every word he can think of: amazing, incredible, smart, clever, pretty, tight. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, high on his devotion.
“Good girl,” he says as he pulls back. He thrusts in quicker and rougher, but his words are too kind to think he’s anything but a boy in love. “How’d I land you, huh? Amazing girl, so clever.”
You’re going dumb on him, mouth agape, so he seizes his chance. He taps your cheek lightly, just once.
“Open up.”
You open your mouth wider, knowing what’s coming and greedy for it. You stick your tongue out again and he replaces his two fingers, but you’re too far gone to suck, so he leaves them there, heavy and grounding.
It riles the tightening in your stomach and you arch your back into him as he thrusts in, out, in, out, a steady rhythm that matches the pretty grunts he’s making above you.
“Eddie,” you breathe, “I’m so- I’m close again, fuck-”
“Can feel it,” he says, “so tight, shit, feels so good.”
“You’re so deep,” you whine, “can feel y’in my guts, fuck.”
He groans at this. “Shit, sugar, y’can’t say shit like that, g’na come.”
“Please, wanna feel it, Eds.”
He’s stuttering, hips faltering, the fingers in your mouth unsteady so he removes them and uses the wet from your tongue to ease the friction on your clit. His hand travels down and when he finds purchase there, he moans, feeling you tighten around him at the contact.
“Fucking hell-”
“G’na come, Eds,” you manage.
“Come on,” he encourages, “Come again, fuck, y’can do it. Know you can.”
It’s getting hotter, hotter, hotter, winding and winding and snapping before you can warn him. You come hard and quick, limbs going limp and teeth biting deep into your bottom lip as you moan. He keeps going, eyes opening to check over you for any sign that he should stop but he finds none before he goes, too.
“Shit, Eds-”
“Christ-”
You feel him stiffen and rest on you as he paints your insides. He’s panting just as hard as you are and your skin is slick with sweat and spit.
He pulls out gently, easing you through it when you whimper at the feeling, and settles with his face at your chest. As you heave breaths, you stroke the damp hairs away from his forehead.
“Fucking hell,” he says again. You giggle.
“Thank you,” you say softly.
He shifts so his chin rests on your breastbone. “For what?”
“For being so lovely.”
You see his already flushed cheeks brighten with a new redness. “Shut up,” he says, smiling and resting back on his cheek.
“I’m serious.”
“Just proud of you ‘s’all.”
“Thank you,” you repeat.
After a few minutes of quiet, save for your breathing and the hum of the fridge on the other side of the wall, he lifts himself up to rest on his forearms.
“How’s a celebratory takeout sound?”
You open your eyes and look at him. He’s staring down at you, wide, brown eyes like ebony. His cheeks are still flushed pink and his hair’s a state.
“Chinese?”
“Anything you want.”
He leans down and gives you a quick kiss before he lifts himself off the couch. He’s only gone for a flash, and returns wearing new sweats and a t-shirt. He brings you your favourite pyjamas, fresh out of the wash, and a damp cloth. After he’s cleaned you up, you hop to the bathroom to pee.
The clothes are gone from the floor when you return. You pull on thick socks and listen to Eddie on the phone in the kitchen, reciting your order to the kind lady at the local Chinese restaurant. It arrives quickly, with a bottle of wine you didn’t know about, and you eat noodles and drink with him on the couch while you tell him about your meeting.
“Here you go,” he says, handing you a small foil package.
You tear it open and he does the same. You look at him and he nods, so you crack open the cookie to pull out the paper inside.
“The one you love is closer than you think,” you recite. Eddie looks up at you.
“How can I be closer?” he asks, brows furrowing, looking down at where your legs are resting on his lap. “You’re practically sat on top of me.”
“You were just inside me,” you say, smiling at the way Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, what’s yours say?”
He looks down at the paper held between his fingers and grins. “Before you receive, you must give.”
You laugh, loudly, and he looks back at you.
“Well,” he says, leaning over to put his plate on the floor, “I did give, so…”
You gasp and swat at his arm, but you can’t help grinning. Your cheeks are aching again, your chest glowing golden with love. He holds your calf with one hand, squeezing, and reaches the other up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“I really am proud of you, y’know.”
“I know.”
“You deserve it. I’ve never known anyone who works as hard as you do.” He curls a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you give, leaning into his palm and letting your eyes close. “Wanna go to bed?”
“Mm-hmm. Will y’carry me?”
“On one condition,” he says through a sly smile. You open one eye and narrow it, glaring at him.
“What?”
“You make my fortune come true in the morning.”
You bite down a smile and close your eyes again.
“Nice try, hot stuff.”
-
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╰─▸ ❝ Levi Ackerman ❞ ˋ*ੈ*⁀➷
content - gn reader has passed out (unspecified reason), levi is worried for them + cares for them when they wake
words - 700
"look at me." levi whispers, his voice strained. he presses a cold compress to your head, beads of water trickle down his hands and his fingertips feel numb from the iciness, but he hasn't dared to move since you fell. the fear for your wellbeing eating him alive, rooting him to the spot next to you.
your eyes flutter, barely open long enough for you to get a glimpse of the man above you.
"angel, please, i need you to look at me." levi pleads, his free hand is clamped down on your upper arm, hard enough that you'd feel the need to scold him if you were more awake.
your eyes flutter again, but this time you manage to force them to stay open. the light floods your sight and you try to move a hand up to block the bright beams that hit you, but you find that your arms are achy, and when you try to move them they feel more like dead weight than something attached to your body.
"wha—" you begin, but levi cuts you off before you have the chance to say more.
"don't speak. i need you to take a sip from this glass of water, angel. can you sit up?”
you hum, but when you try to follow through on levi's request your head spins. you had managed to sit halfway up by yourself, but you fell backwards again as soon as you reached level head height with levi—who was still knelt next to you, the compress discarded and his other hand pressed firmly on your lower back.
“it's okay, it's okay, take your time.” levi’s voice soothes your racing thoughts, but you can hear the worry slip through the cracks, the recognisable signs of tension on his face are noticeable now that you have your eyes trained on him, and it makes you feel unreasonably guilty.
“im sorry.” you whisper, your voice small. but levi isn't having it, he shakes his head at you, gently pushing your back upwards and towards him so that you can lean your body against his for support.
“don't be silly. now drink this.”
levi brings the glass to your lips, and you shakily rest your hands on top of his, taking small sips of the icy cool liquid. you hear gentle whispers of encouragement from the man next to you, which brings a slight smile to your lips.
levi brings the glass away from you after only a few sips, not wanting to overdo it, and he places the glass on the ground next to his leg.
he wraps his arms around you, pulling you slowly towards his chest. his mind is beginning to settle now that you are conscious and talking again, but he can still feel remnants of his anxiety clawing its way through his head, the terror not yet subsiding completely, and his need to have you as close to his body as he can overwhelms him.
he presses a hand to your forehead, testing your temperature. when he finds that you're not burning up he takes a small breath of relief, and he allows himself a minute reprive from worrying as he buries his face in your hair. while taking your hand in his, he begins to rub circles on your thumb, and you hum at the contact. levi welcomes this reminder that you're okay, and he takes another breath of relief.
“you scared me for a moment there.” levi murmurs against your head. you feel his arms tighten around your body, and your eyes squeeze shut at the comforting contact. you bring the hand still clasped by levis upwards, and place a soft kiss to the back of it.
“i know. I'm sorry.” you whisper in return.
the two of you sit like that on the floor for what feels like hours, levi doesn't dare move you and you can't bring yourself to ask him to, since he seems wracked with his own guilt and worry. so you sit, wrapped in his embrace, occasionally taking sips of water—the ice long since melted.
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HELLO I don’t know if you take requests but I LOVED that post you made today from the ask so if you do, I was thinking about what Eren would be like if reader called/texted him while he was at work and teased him over the phone by touching themselves? YOU ABSOLUTELY DONT HAVE TO DO THIS IF YOU DONT WANT I just love how you write Eren you are one of my favorite writers for him
hehe i wouldn't say i often take requests but i'll entertain if something tickles me. i'll always say yes to you though, especially because you asked so nicely🤍
content: ~1.5k word count. husband!eren x female!reader. nudes, phone sex, semi-public masturbation, light degradation, 18+ only.
eren didn't want to go to work, believe him. who actually wants to go to work, anyway? despite his convincing, you were still acting as if he wanted to leave your side, pouting in bed when he wouldn't spoon you for 'just one more minute' because he knew it would turn into ten.
as much as he wished he could stay home and spend the day with you, he couldn't. he couldn't even risk running behind this morning because his day was to start at nine o'clock sharp, stacked full with back-to-back meetings. but based on the look you shot him on his way out the door, eren had a feeling you were about to make his long day a whole lot longer.
he had only been at work for about an hour before you texted. enjoying your day without me? the message, though it made him roll his eyes, was innocent enough. but that didn't last long.
during his second meeting of the day, already dragging by slower than the first, eren felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. he didn't need to look to know it was another message from you, especially after it buzzed again, taunting him.
just a peek wouldn't hurt, he thought, i don't even have to reply right away. the meeting was being held over video call; no one would even know if he checked his phone.
face trained straight ahead, directly toward the monitor, he slipped his phone from his pocket. in short bursts, he flitted his eyes down to unlock his phone, then again to swipe to your messages. he tried his best to be subtle with it.
miss me yet?
below it, in a separate message, a photo of you.
yes, he tried to be subtle with it, but he failed. big time.
eyes widened in shock, eren darted a hand out to shut his camera off. he hastily blamed it on technical difficulties, all the while, he was responding to you in frenzy.
baby, you cannot be doing this to me right now. you know i’m in an important meeting!
he watched—more like gawked at the image—as you quickly typed out, call me after ♡
by the look of it, you were still lounged in bed, right where he had left you. the only thing that changed was that you now wore next to nothing. barely covered by your thin bedsheet, eren admired your form.
he had seen you like this, countless times. he had learned every curve beneath his fingertips so intimately that he could draw you off memory alone if he had the knack for it. but there was something different—perhaps something more special—about the sight when you had captured it on camera for him. knowing you settled back into your shared bed, the one he devotedly fucked you in near-nightly, spread your pretty pussy, and snapped a photo with no one but him clouding your thoughts.
eren couldn't help but stare for a minute, maybe longer. the meeting had fizzled into nothing more than white noise. if someone were to call his name right now, he doubted he'd hear it. he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so flustered, but even after all the years spent together, you still managed to have that effect on him whether he liked it or not.
it was obvious you were up to no good—practically asking for trouble, except he was the one who'd inevitably take the fall for it. he didn't have the time to call you unless he wished to have his boss chew him out. even so, he found himself stumbling into your trap. he was only human, after all; he wasn't above thinking with his dick from time to time. so he rang you between meetings, justifying it by calling with only a single earbud in, foolishly convinced he could multitask while on the phone with you.
after a few rings, you answered. at least, eren was pretty sure you answered. the line was silent. there was a split second where he thought the call had dropped. as he started to say your name, he was interrupted. he heard soft breaths on the other end of the phone. tiny noises, like hums and huffs through your nose. eren's mouth ran dry.
"ah—i need you," you breathed, gasped. "i couldn't wait for you to get home."
you feigned innocence as you said it, your voice sweetened up as if you were truly helpless. but your husband knew you better than that; he knew he didn't have a demure little wife waiting for him at home, but fuck, did he find it hot. so he'd always fall for the act anyway.
caught up in it, eren's fingertips ghosted over his keyboard with a slight tremble. his eyes were on his computer screen, but the documents were blurry and out of focus. everything was blurry and out of focus, except you of course.
he needed to know what you were doing to yourself. did you have your vibrator? if so, which one did you choose? or had you decided to use your fingers, circling the pads of them against your clit? maybe you were fingering yourself, knuckles deep but whining for more, growing wetter by the second as you dreamt of his fingers—how they could reach places yours couldn't.
before he could ask—discover if you were grinding against your hand or his pillow—the door to his office flew open.
“jaeger, i—"
eren jolted, almost to a comical degree, and his co-worker rightfully laughed, offhandedly commenting how he didn't seem the type to startle easily. eren spoke with him—well, tried to speak with him. it was a challenge because he still had you in his ear, moaning now, louder than before. you were asking where he had gone, begging for him to talk you through it—to tell you every dirty thing he wanted to do to you.
eren couldn't repeat a word his co-worker had said to him. he only waited for him to finish, cleared his throat, and told him to close the door on his way out. eren then marked out for lunch, hoping it would buy him some time.
whether it was his sense of decency or self-control that snapped first, eren wasn't sure. but when you cried out his name, he could no longer stop himself from reaching for his cock, throbbing to be touched by you. his hand would have to suffice for now.
cursing both you and himself, he tugged his slacks down to the middle of his thighs, just low enough that he could touch himself, too. eren thumbed over the leaky tip of his cock, hissing in a tangled mix of relief and utter humiliation. he couldn't believe you had brought him to his knees like this. succumbing to jerking himself at work had to be a new low, even for him.
"what a needy little thing you are," eren spoke into the phone. his voice was quiet but guttural and deeply authoritative. "thinking you can interrupt my workday just so i can help get you off."
he made it sound like a burden, but he only fisted his cock faster.
"yes," you moaned, drawing out the simple word as if it were longer than just the syllable. you were babbling now, talking to him exactly how he liked. "fuck, i'm your needy little thing—your needy little slut."
his brain short-circuited then and there, incapacitating him to the point where he could only mutter on about how fucking hot you were between breaths, squeezing his cock as if his hand could ever compare to you.
you were close; he could hear it when you whimpered, "eren—"
“that’s right," he cut in. he was right there with you. "only think about me when you come. think about coming all over my cock like a good girl."
with his free hand, eren pulled up the picture you sent him, staring at you while your moans became strained and choppy on the other end of the phone. such a perfect pussy, he thought, like it was made just for him.
your breath hitched in your throat, the final tell-tale sign that you were coming undone.
“that's it. come for me, baby." he needed to finish when you did. he stroked himself, not minding the squeak in his chair as he quickened his pace. "i wanna hear it—god, i need to hear you."
one last sob, ripped right from the pit of your lungs, and eren came with you. his stomach tightened, eyes screwing shut, as he toppled over the edge of his release. he pumped himself through it, even when it was nearly too much, until he knew you had stopped twitching and were blissfully lazed in bed.
only then did he come to his senses again, swearing under his breath when he realized his situation—the mess he made across his phone, not to mention on his slacks.
you were giggling into the phone now; eren could hear your breathless smile in it. there was no returning to work now, was there?
"fine. you win," he surrendered with a sigh. he logged out of his computer. "i'll be home in thirty minutes."
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rating: R18+
cw(s): 18+ content/MINORS DNI. sub! izuku, dom+gn! reader, izuku is into being called your wife, everyone is sort of a freak here
wanna make a housewife outta IZUKU.
i mean, it’s all just teasing at first. the occasional comment meant to pull that rosiness out of his cheeks whenever he makes you dinner or does your laundry for you.
“you’d make a good wife, izuku.” paired with a laugh that grows with the way his face blooms afterwards.
it’s all jokes, and he knew you didn’t mean anything by it, but slowly the jokes become more and more frequent. calling him your trophy wife, cute little housewife, telling him how pretty a ring would look on his finger.
when you have him laying against your chest, comfortable between your thighs, the jokes keep coming, even after you’ve already fucked him tender and dumb.
“y’could be my cute lil’ wife, you know.”
the soft feel of your lips against his skin has him shuddering a bit. the feeling only just feathers along his neck, then below his ear, until eventually your pressing kisses trailing across his temple.
“just stay home and look pretty f’me. never have to do all that horrible hero work.” your finger slides down from his soft cheek to his chin, turning his head to face you, all the while he’s staring into your eyes with a glazed over, fucked out expression that has a smile spreading across your face. “wouldn’t you like that, honey?”
“uh huh,” he nods, though the words aren’t reaching his brain. there’s only the light post-orgasm buzz warming him up inside, not a single thought can come through. he’d say yes to anything you’d propose right now, because in his eyes you’re divine, and he is nothing if not devoted to you. “please…”
“sweet thing,” you coo, “of course you would.”
“i’d get home from work n’ you’d be makin’ dinner while wearing that pretty ring i’d get you. as a present, i could bend you over the counter and fuck you on it, just like that…wouldn’t that be nice?”
the blood is starting to make its way back into his cock, and all he can do is stare wide eyed and stupid.
“could dress you up all nice and introduce you to my boss ‘n coworkers. And when we leave the party i’ll screw your pretty brains out in the backseat of the car for being so good f’me.”
you giggle a little, and it’s a sound so delicate and innocent he can hardly wrap his head around the filth coming out of your mouth. but that doesn’t stop the way it twists him up inside and leaves him squirming against you.
“bet you’d love that, huh baby?”
“Y-yes…yeah…oh—,” he groans. “please.” his face is starting to get hot, the rest of his body is already beginning to ache with the need searing in is cock. your words paint pictures in his mind that almost leaves spit trailing under his chin, and he’s not quite sure what to do. beg, cry, whine, it’s horrible, the way you toy with him. “please!”
“what’re you sayin’ please for?” Your fingers trail over his bare chest and teas across his pert nipples. “c’mon angel. use your words.”
“f-fuck…fuck me….!” he gasps. “please! make me…make me yours I—I wan’ it! i wan’ it! wanna be y—yours! please…please…please!”
“yeah? you wanna be mine that bad?”
“yes! oh…oh fuck—! yes!”
“but you’re already mine.” you press a kiss to his cheek. “tell me what you really want.”
his breath catches in his throat and it comes out a strangled whine, one that forces another shade of pink across his face.
‘what you really want’ it’s absurd, it’s embarrassing, but the longer you tease him the more he unravels, and he can feel himself slipping. “don’t—“
“oh c’mon angel…humor me won’t you?”
his lips press together tight as he stares at your hands, which lay on either side of his hip bones, thumbs tracing light circles against his skin. it’s a tantalizing feeling, a dull ache forming in his chest that threatens to bubble up into his throat, and he’s trying with the last threads of self control he has left to keep it at bay.
“do you hate the idea that much?”
“no!” he cries, shaking his head like he’s desperate. “n—no I….I��.”
it’s too much. this feeling is too much, your touch is too much, the idea is too much.
But he loves it. he holds onto it like a secret he’ll only share with himself, but with you prodding this way, he’s worried he’ll spill.
He just can’t admit that he loves the joke a little too much.
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