#his bottom lip should be illegal!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avawritesthings · 23 days

Text

intoxicated with you | lh43

✦ word count - 2,247

✦ summary - in which the sacred sleepovers at the lake house turn into something more.

✦ warnings - smut, smoking & inaccurate descriptions of smoking, swearing

✦ ava’s notes - 100 followers. HELLO. thats crazy!!! thank you for the likes, reblogs, and interactions, means a lot, truly! <3

nhl masterlist

SLEEPOVERS AT THE Hughes’ lake house was a sacred tradition.

You and Luke had been friends since diapers; pulling pranks on his brothers, watching movies together, going out on the boat with his family.

So it came as no shock to Luke when you scaled the trellis under his bedroom window and hopped into his room. You heaved out a sigh, locking eyes with the lanky boy lying on the bed. The faint sound of Wicked Games by The Weeknd filled the room from his TV.

“Whatcha doin’?” You asked nonchalantly.

“Was ‘bout to have a smoke. You in?” Luke asked, even though he knew what your answer would be. He reached into his nightstand and pulled out a blunt, along with a lighter.

You shook your head. “No, Luke,” You recited. “You ask me every time, and every time my answer will be the same.” He whined. “Y/N, please? I’ll talk you through it the whole time, I promise.”

“I don’t know, Lukey,” You sighed, uncertainty present in your face.

Luke shot you a look, knowing that if he begged enough you’d give in. He held his hand to you, face up, and you grabbed his hand without hesitation. Luke tugged you onto his bed and you squealed, earning a shhh from Luke, knowing everyone else in the house was sleeping.

Sure, the two of you had shared a bed numerous times, and it was no different this time. …Right?

As you sat up on the headboard, Luke re-claimed the blunt. You eyed the rolled up piece of paper in Luke’s long, slender fingers. He flicked the lighter until it stuck, and lit the blunt. He took a deep hit, then exhaled, filling the room with the distinct smell of weed.

He offered it to you, a calm and reassuring look on his face. He’s here to help.

You gingerly took the blunt from his fingers and held it in your hands, inspecting it up close. You heard a chuckle and looked up, seeing a crooked smile appear on Luke’s face. Rolling your eyes, you spoke, “So, you gonna show me how to smoke this or what?”

He rolled his eyes at your teasing and shuffled closer to you. “Alright. Take it slow, okay? Start low and go slow.”

You nodded, fake confidence dancing across your face. Luke gestured his hands towards you, silently asking for you to take a hit. You brought the blunt to your lips, taking a slow hit then exhaling. A cough escaped your lips and he brought his hand to rub your back. “‘S okay, you did so good, Y/N.”

You managed to stop coughing and you were suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that his hand was still on your back, his thumb moving in soft circles.

“You okay?” Luke softly asked. You shook your head in an agreeing manner, your throat suddenly dry.

“D’you have some water?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. Here,” He grabbed the half empty water bottle from his nightstand and gave it to you. Smiling in thanks, you greedily drank the liquid. You capped the bottle and looked over to Luke, his eyes already on you.

He took the blunt from your hands and took another hit, a slight red hue to his eyes. After a few minutes of talking back and forth, you gestured to the blunt resting between his fingers. He smirked and handed it to you. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” You replied, taking a slightly longer hit from the blunt and exhaling. A woozy smile formed on your face and a calmness took over. You looked over at Luke to see his eyes already on you. As his deep brown eyes drank you in, your heart fluttered and surged as the sight.

The way his eyes darkened after making eye contact should have been illegal. The way his lips parted with heavy breaths. The way Luke-

Your inner thoughts stopped when you saw his eyes dip to your lips. You subconsciously licked your bottom lip and his hand darted out to rest against your thigh.

In a split second, Luke’s lips were on yours.

A quiet gasp left your mouth and his tongue took the opportunity to explore. Before you could bring your hand up to cup his face, he suddenly pulled back, his eyes darting between yours.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking! I-”

You smiled at his rambling and grabbed his face, smashing your lips against his once again.

Luke’s arms snaked around your waist, and he moved his body so that you were laying on the bed, Luke hovering over you.

His mouth trailed from yours and down to your neck, sucking on the newly found sweet spot. “No hickies, please, Lukey.”

You felt his smirk against your skin. “No promises, baby.”

Baby.

The new nickname echoed in your head while his mouth trailed from your neck to your chest, a soft moan escaping your lips. Luke tugged on the hem of your shirt and you sat up, raising your arms so he could undress you.

Luke’s eyes immediately locked onto your breasts, and his hands reached to knead them. His hands on your body had you clenching your thighs together, the feeling more sensitive than ever. Your hands clutched the back of his head, your fingers running through his unruly curls. He brought his lips back to yours while fumbling with your sweatpants.

You lifted your hips just enough so he could slide them down your legs, and he unattached his lips from yours to take his shirt off.

You had seen his abs plenty of times before, out on the boat or swimming, but not in this type of setting. As your eyes appreciatively raked down the ridges of his toned abdomen, he ran a hand up and down your thigh.

You locked eyes with Luke again and you could have sworn a low groan came from his mouth. His breathing was erratic and he was feverishly biting his bottom lip. His hand, the one on your thigh, skimmed along your stomach, leaving goosebumps everywhere his hands were.

The look in his eyes made your stomach flip. He looked so desperate…so needy.

“Can I touch you?”

The simple question snapped you out of your haze, and you stumbled on your words. “Yeah,” You coughed out. “Yes, of course.”

His fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, and you yet again lifted your hips to help him. The way Luke was looking at you had you shivering under his dark gaze.

His eyes locked onto your wet cunt, and he couldn’t help but run his two fingers up your pussy. Your hand shot to your mouth, muffling a squeak that left your mouth.

“Fuck me,” Luke whispered out, entranced with you and the way your body was reacting to his touch.

Luke shimmied down until his mouth was inches away from your already dripping pussy, his warm breath hitting your sensitive area. He hiked your legs on top of his shoulders.

“Please, Luke. Do something,” You groaned out.

As your fingers found his curls, his mouth met your core. Your thighs immediately began to quiver on his shoulders. He expertly moved his tongue in motions that had you seeing stars, and quickly.

You babbled incoherently as he lapped up your essence. He retracted his mouth from you, and you whined out. Luke quickly entered two fingers into you and you sighed in pleasure. His thumb expertly found your clit and you felt yourself approaching your climax already.

You pulled on his curls hurriedly, your orgasm on the cusp of release. He added his mouth to your heat and it sent you over the edge. You arched your back and bit into your hand to try and silence your moans.

Luke’s fingers left your now dripping cunt and he kissed your shaking inner thighs, working you down from your climax.

“Holy-“

“Yeah,” He breathed out. He brought his fingers to his face, wiping your juices onto his fingers and bringing them to your parted lips. You opened your mouth and greedily sucked on the slender digits.

His eyes locked onto your puckered lips. The sensation of your mouth on his fingers was euphoric to him.

Luke leaned over to reach the half-smoked blunt and brought it to your lips. You inhaled the drug and exhaled, a blissful smile on your face. The mind-blowing orgasm coupled with the blunt had your head spinning, in a good way.

He then brought the blunt to his lips and took a hit. The fog in the room only intensified. Luke had a hazy look on his face, the smirk on his face rhapsodic.

You sat up on your elbows and spoke, “Sit up on the headboard? Wanna ride you.”

Luke’s eyes widened at your words, momentarily speechless at your order. He nodded nonetheless and perched himself against the headboard. “Yeah,” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

You shifted from laying on the bed to your legs on each side of his, your slit slightly catching on his sweatpants everytime you moved. Your foreheads touched and your breaths blended together.

You reached under yourself and dipped your hand under the waistband and palmed his erect cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. He let out an embarrassing groan at the feeling.

As your hand worked itself over his dick, your lips met, teeth clashing and he sucked on your bottom lip. His hands reached to tweak your nipples and you moaned into each other's mouths.

When he had enough, he shoved his pants and boxers down as far down as he could, kicking off the rest. His hard cock sprung to his lower stomach and your eyes locked onto it for the first time.

“Is it gonna fit?” You embarrassingly asked.

Luke covered up his smirk with reassurance. “It’s okay, Y/N. Promise. We’ll make it fit, ‘kay?”

The question held heavy in the air and you nodded. You brought your hand to your mouth and spit, rubbing the saliva on his cock as lube. Luke shuddered and you lifted yourself off of his thighs to line up his dick with your wet entrance.

You slowly sank down on his dick, inch by inch. Luke’s hands met your waist, guiding you down his cock. Once your thighs met his, you both let out sighs of pleasure and satisfaction.

You started moving your hips against his, with help from his large hands. Leaning forward, you nibbled on his ear and neck, earning groans from the man underneath you. His hands lowered themselves to fondle your ass, squeezing the flesh.

“Fuck, just like that , baby. You’re doin’ so well.”

You pressed your lips together to prevent any moans from escaping while hiding your face in his neck. Luke kissed your shoulder and lifted you so you were hovering over him. He planted his feet on the end of his bed and thrusted into you, causing you to cry out. He set a steady yet deep pace.

He moved one of his hands to cover your mouth, and you did the same, adding to the intimacy in the room. With your eyes shut tight and fingers digging into his shoulders, you could feel your second orgasm approach just as fast as the first.

His other hand reached in between your thighs to rub your overly sensitive clit. You felt your breath hitch and your heart sped up, the heat pooling in your lower back spreading throughout your whole body.

You knew he was getting close to orgasm, his thrusts started to become slightly erratic and uneven. His hand left your mouth to run and hand up and down your back.

Reaching behind your body, your fingers found his balls and massaged them. Luke tilted his head back as far as he could and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, almost too overstimulated.

“Atta girl,” He managed to choke out. “Jesus Christ, keep doing that.”

His words only spurred you on, your walls fluttering around his cock as your climax washed over you in waves. The drugs heightening your senses, making your orgasm three times more intense. Your body sagged over top of him, too tired to hold yourself up.

Luke followed not long after, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises as he spilled himself into you.

The room fell silent, aside from your heavy pants and his sighs of relief.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to fuck you,” Luke whispered out.

You nodded against his chest, pressing kisses to his chest here and there.

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” You admit to Luke, your eyes slightly red. Raising your head to meet his eyes, you could see the love he held for you.

“I have too, sweetheart,” He hummed. You hurriedly pressed your lips to his, hoping to convey the love you held for him in one, passionate kiss.

Breaking away from the kiss left him chasing after you. You slowly got off of him, his dick leaving you. You sat beside him and plucked the blunt off of the nightstand yet again. Luke took it from you and took his final hit of the night, you doing the same before crushing it up and throwing it out. Your fingers reached out to intertwine with his and you smiled at each other.

“I’m intoxicated with you, Luke Hughes.”

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #x reader #hockey #fic #new jersey devils #nhl #luke hughes imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey smut #nhl fic #my writing!#smut

510 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 8 months

Text

Daryl was leaning over you, caging you gently beneath his body. Your arms were looped around his neck. He sighed and dropped his head, shutting his eyes for a moment, but you only smiled and leaned up to press your lips to his again.

"Mmm," he hummed through the kiss. "I gotta go..."

"But the kids are at their new school," you whispered. "And when else are we going to have this little shitty apartment to ourselves?"

He leaned down and kissed your neck, just below your ear and when he spoke again he was like a man in agony. "I know. I know... But 'm gonna be late to whatever stupid fuckin' training they've planned for today and that pumpkin orange storm trooper already dun like me. "

"Just be late," you begged him silkily. "I warned you that would happen if you came back over here and kissed me. This is your fault," you said through a smile.

"Oh, s'my fault, is it?" Daryl drawled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I thought it was yer fault for bein' so damn good lookin'."

"I gave you the disclaimer. I'm not responsible," you said, sliding one arm around to his back and finding his bare skin with your fingertips just above his waistband. You lightly raked your nails over it.

Daryl let out a heavy sigh and bit his bottom lip. "Fuck," he mumbled, shaking his head. "I gotta go. I really gotta go."

You pouted at him, but planted a final kiss on his lips and relinquished your hold on him with a sigh. "Alright. Go."

He looked pained as he stood up. "Should be illegal makin' a man leave this to go to work," he lamented.

You leaned up on your forearms to peer at him. "I'll... see if Carol can have Jude and RJ over for dinner tonight. It's been a while."

Daryl gave you a heated look. "I dun care whether she agrees or not, 'm droppin' 'em off at six."

You laughed as he rushed to you again and captured your lips in one more deep kiss. You playfully pushed him away with a hand in the middle of his chest. "Go on! I'll see you later."

"Later," he agreed, shooting one last look back over his shoulder at the doorway before he stepped out.

Prompt: "I warned you that would happen. This is your fault."

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

2K notes · View notes

witchywomanrunningupthathill · 11 months

Text

Prelude to a Pounding | 18+ Minors DNI

minors dni this is for ADULTS ONLY, so if you’re not 18+ gtfo.

Pairing: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is porn.

Word count: 1556

A/N: Yeah, um...so this is my first time writing smutty smut. I'm just gonna leave this here.

“Dittany?” Regulus says, peeking up from the parchment he was reading off of.

“Yep.”

“Horklump juice?”

“Enough to last for the next month.”

“Fluxweed?”

“Stems, trimmed.”

“Knotgross Sprigs”

“Check.”

“Peppermint?”

“Check.”

“Lemon juice?”

“Check.”

“Lavender?”

“Check.”

“Elderflower”

“Leaves and flowers. Check.”

Regulus winces, dropping his quill to the counter and gripping at his left forearm.

You frown. “Wiggenweld still not helping?”

“Nothing is,” Regulus says, defeat evident in his tone. He places his palm over the mark in an attempt to soothe it. He dares to give into feeling bad for himself.

You sit down next to him and commiserate for a moment. Then you grab his aching forearm and brings it to your lips, pressing a kiss to the Dark Mark like one would their lover’s hand.

“Why don’t you ever tell me when you’re hurting?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he just looks at you with that same sullen expression he’s been wearing for the past couple of months since he received the mark. You cradle his face with your hands, kissing his right cheek, then his left, and finally his lips.

You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, the both of you sitting in silence for a while, with only the sounds of the wind rustling the trees outside, the voice on the wireless saying to expect thunderstorms for the rest of the week.

Your eyes light up with an epiphany. “We could try a mint poultice! Hasn’t failed me yet.”

Regulus laughs. It comes out more as a huff. It’s good to see him smile. He never does these days.

“I’ll have to go pick more leaves though,” you say, your eyes on a sealed jar filled with water. The liquid had turned a faint shade of green from the herb you usually kept in it. You move to get up but regulus pulls you backward by your hips, spinning you around to face him once more.

“Not so fast, my little forager.” He can’t take his eyes away from your lips. He pulls you to him. You accept the invitation, straddling his lap and meeting his lips once again. It doesn’t take long for his neediness to take over. He captures your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

You manage to pull away from his lovely lips. “We can’t—your arm.” Regulus simply pulls you back to him for more. You don’t retaliate. He hungrily pulls on your bottom lip with his teeth, his hands wandering from your chest, down your back and then finally running across your ass.

Regulus’ mouth is on your neck in no time, licking, biting, and sucking at your sensitive spot. You moan and take a handful of his hair, pulling at the strands. He loved that. Regulus gripped your ass fervently, causing you to grind into him. He continues his assault on your neck before going lower, unbuttoning the oversized shirt you had on.

He frowns. “Take that off,” he says impatiently in reference to your bra.

His hands stroke across your breasts. He squeezes them, pinches your nipples lightly before bringing his mouth to them. He runs his tongue in slow circles around your areola before sucking your nipple into his mouth and letting out a moan that quite honestly should be illegal. He stares up at you, worshipping you. He hasn’t stopped grinding into you.

You wiggle around in his lap for a moment trying to give some relief to your swollen clit. Your hand travels down and under his waistband, stroking him from his balls up to the tip, which elicits the desired effect. He unlatches from your tit to moan some more. His eyebrows knit together and he bites his lip.

“Fuck, feels good,” Regulus says.

“Yeah?” you say as you play with the precum dribbling down his cock, teasing the head and working up and down the shaft.

“Love the way you make me feel. Always taking care of me.” Your grip tightens on his cock and his raven locks.

“Then let me. “I want you,” you say, rubbing your clothed lower half over his.

You yelp and giggle slightly as Regulus stands up, your head only a few inches from the low ceiling. He sets you down into the seat, helping you strip down to your panties. Regulus gets down on his knees and pushes your legs back. He licks his lips at the sight of the rather large wet spot on your clothed cunt.

He starts from your knee, working his way down your inner thigh, kissing and licking, alternating sides, just being the tease that he is, before finally placing an open-mouthed kiss where you want it most. You can feel his hot breath through the fabric, and you attempt to grind against him, but he pulls back before you can. You lift your hips so he can finish pulling off your knickers.

He licks up the string of wetness that the fabric threatens to take with it.

“So fucking wet for me, love.” He licks lightly up and down both sides of your lips, grabbing hold of your hips as he does so, earning your sounds. Regulus gets into a rhythm laving his tongue against you as you grind into his face, letting yourself relax into his grip and allowing the pleasure to flow through you. Then he pulls your clit between his lips, sucking it. Your hand immediate finds his hair once more. The lewd, wet, suckling sounds that now permeated the air only turned you on even more.

He doesn’t stop, and you fear you might climax already, not ready for his ministrations to end just yet. He goes back to licking you, up and down, in circles, fucking you with his tongue. He ate your pussy like it was his last meal on this sweet earth. Oh, how he loved tasting you. Your juices ran onto his tongue and down his chin as he continued alternating between circling your clit and sliding his tongue in and out of your entrance.

“Fuck, Reg.”

You weren’t ready for what came next.

Regulus resumed his earlier assault on your clit, massaging his lips and tongue around. Back and forth, back and forth. An intoxicating rhythm that had you moaning curses and something that sounded like his name. Then he inserted two of his fingers. They glided in effortlessly and curled perfectly up against that spongy spot inside you. You always preferred him fingering you than you doing it yourself. His fingers were longer, thicker. His lips sucked at you while his fingers probed that spot that had you screaming and shoving his head into you.

“Cum for me.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been stroking himself this whole time, working himself up along with you. You could feel the still fairly-new feeling of liquid building up inside of you, almost like you had to pee. You tense around his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling,” he coaxed.

You let out a chorus of moans more akin to an incantation than exclamations of pleasure as you let go. As your body spasms, Regulus keeps stroking his fingers inside you, his hot breath fanning onto your cunt as he watches you come undone. Warm liquid squirts onto his face and down onto his shirt, which only provokes him further. He laps at your pussy, drinking you in, and praising you how you like.

“Yes, my love.”

“Squirt all over me.”

“Feel good for me, baby.”

As you come down, Regulus lets out a guttural moan and quickly gets back to his feet, towering over you as he jerks his swollen, pink cock. You don’t miss the way his balls draw up.

“Yes, Reggie cum for me. I want all of it.”

His eyes roll back. “Oh, fuck,” he says, hunching forward and dragging his hand rapidly up and down his spasming cock shooting rope after rope of thick, white cum onto you. It lands just about everywhere, your hair, your lips, breasts, stomach.

As he comes back to reality, he settles back against the counter, his hands landing atop some of their herbs, the pain from his Dark Mark long forgotten, at least for now. He lets out a long breath and takes his eyes over your spent, cum-covered body.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says. You would try and say something witty, but you can barely think straight. The two of you share a chuckle at the thought of what you’ve just subjected the potions storeroom to. “C’mere” Regulus says. You get up slowly, checking that you can still stand. “Oh, come on, I haven’t even fucked you yet, darling. Your legs are fine,” he says as he wraps his arm around your waist. “D’you enjoy that?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder. You open your eyes to the herbs trapped under the Regulus’ hands.

“My elderflower leaves!” you yell, wiggling out of his embrace and taking his hand away from the countertop. Regulus just taunts you, earning himself a slap to the arm. “I have to go get the mint before it gets dark out,” you say, a hint of panic detectable in your voice.

“Love, I think I’ll survive a few more hours without your herbal treatments,” Regulus assures. You feel Regulus’ cock begin to harden again against your thigh. His fingers slide between your nether lips.

Perhaps the poultice could wait.

#regulus black smut #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x reader smut #regulus black fic #regulus black fanfiction #regulus smut #harry potter #hp #regulus black x oc #regulus black x ofc #regulus x reader

1K notes · View notes

sturnsiolos0 · 4 months

Text

Hottub-Chris Sturniolo

You walked back into the hotel suite and kicked off your shoes before you hung your purse up on the empty hook. The patio doors were wide opened, so you sauntered outside. The cooling damp wood under your bare toes caused goosebumps to decorate your calves.

Chris was reclined in the hot tub, eyes closed as he took a long drink. It should be illegal to use your tongue like that without intent. You were well aware of how talented that tongue of his could be when he had intent. You shifted on your feet as a rush of heat passed through your body, but you kept your voice casual. "Did you finally decide that this place isn't all bad?"

"I guess." He lulled his head to the side, glancing up at you.

"Is it okay if i join you in there?" You let a small smile pass over your lips.

"Plenty of room, Princess."

"I need to change."

He smirked and gripped your wrist tighter, "Just throw your clothes on the rail. No one's around."

"Nice try." You slipped away from his hold and ignored his overly dramatic sigh.

"I'm always trying."

You rolled your eyes as you moved back through the hotel suite and into the bathroom. You place your jewlery in a dish on the bathroom sink after you tossed your clothing over the hamper in the corner.

You bit your bottom lip as a wicked plan popped into your head. You paced back to the patio, a smile forming on your face.

"Hey," He attempted to hold your hand, but you didn't let him. He opened his eyes as you circled the hot tub, and they widened as he realized that you weren't wearing anything. The water sloshed as he started to get up.

"No." You stated plainly and he halted immediately. "Just sit back down." He complied without hesitation and a surge of power put a seductive smile on your face. Your fingers traced the edge of the hot tub as you positioned yourself directly across from him, letting the moonlight frame you from behind.

You ran your hands through your hair and held his gaze. Chris's knuckles were white as his grip on the rim of the tub hardened, "Y/n..."

"Shhh. Just relax."

Chris's eyes were nearly black with desire, he wanted you and nothing else mattered. You stepped into the hot tub and glided into his space as he gripped your thighs pulling you on top of him as he sought your mouth with his.

You placed a single finger to his lips. "No, no. Not yet."

"I'm not a fan of waiting." His tongue darted out and ran over the pad of your index finger.

"Really? I've never noticed." You settled yourself more firmly on him and rolled your body against his, feeling how hard he already was. You hook your fingers beneath his swimming suit before pulling it down just enough for his cock to come out.

He firmed his hold on your hips.

"Is there a reason i have to wait?"

"Because I say so." You leaned in closer and whispered, "Put your arms behind your head."

"Gonna be hard for me to touch you that way." He argued but still submitted.

"Harder is the idea, Handsome." You squeezed his thighs with yours as you reclined back into the hot water. You were giving him a show, hair fanning out beneath you. "This feels amazing."

"Yes, it does." His voice was graveled. You loved his voice like that, it was like you were too much for him to handle. "How long I am going to be your hostage?"

You wrapped your legs around his waist and tightened your stomach to pull yourself up into a sitting position. You pressed your chest against his, the friction making him hiss and heat to burn through you all over again. You trailed your tongue along the shell of his ear until you caught the lobe in your teeth. "Until I say so. You do what I say,when I say...and maybe I'll let you get off...maybe if you're really, really good I'll let you get off buried inside of me. Would you like that baby?"

"Y/n." Chris groaned into your ear as he pressed his face against yours, trying to get closer.

"What is it?" You shifted back a bit and grabbed his chin. "You didn't answer my question." You dropped your voice to that purr that drove him crazy. "Do you want to cum buried inside of me, Chris?" You ground yourself down on his cock, relishing the searing jolt that you felt all the way to the base of your spine.

Despite the fact that his muscles twitched, Chris remained frozen and focused on your face, "Y/n, you know how much I love to cum inside of you,"

"Ah-ah-ah." You tapped your finger against him, "You didn't say the magic word."

His eyebrow arched, "I have to say please now?"

"Yes,"

"Please, I need you."

"I'm sure you do." You finally succumbed to your own urges and pressed your lips against his. He responded instantly molding his mouth to yours, trying to devour you as you acquiesced and let his tongue battle with yours. It was exactly what you needed, that erotic stimulation that made your toes curl every single time. You were letting him get away with too much. "Not so fast, baby." You panted.

He aimed to catch you in another kiss, but you avoided it, instead leaning away again this time palming your hands up your own body. "Do you want to touch me Chris?"

"Yes y/n, I..."

You pressed your finger against his lips again. "You talk too much sometimes. Yes y/n will do."

His stare was heated, but he kept silent as you rolled and teased your nipples not attempting in the slightest to control your moan. "This feels so good,the cool air on my wet skin, the weight of your eyes, and how hard you are under me. I can't wait to ride you." You massaged your breasts, dragging your lower half against his erection. "The question is...can you be good, Chris? Can you be obedient?"

"Yes, y/n." The phrase was so simple, but it fell so sinfully from those wicked lips of his.

You braced your hands on either side of him, he watched transfixed as you lifted elevated herself to put your chest level with his face. "You can taste me. You can run your tongue over my tits, you can suck on my nipples, but you have to stop when I say and you cannot move your lower half. Do you understand?"

"Yes, y/n."

His mouth was on your flesh before you could prepare for it. He sucked your right nipple with ravenous enthusiasm, it was akin to the way he kissed you, passionate and filthy. He switched the other breast and you whined as your body flushed. You couldn't help but slip one of your hands down your own body. He persisted in his ministrations drawing out another moan as you teased your throbbing clit and his cock in the process. He shuddered at your touch, but didn't thrust beneath you.

You always marveled at the things he could do with his tongue. You wanted him, but on your terms. The torment you were putting yourself through would be worth it. "That's enough." Your voice wavered.

He released your nipple with an obscene pop.

You slipped away from him and though he didn't move he was devouring you with his eyes, it was almost overwhelming. You dragged your nails up his chest and he bit down on the inside of his cheek as your pussy brushed against where he needed you most. His cock pulsed, but other than low moan, Chris remained compliant to your command to be still.

"Do you want me?" You asked coaxing another moan from him as you stroked him slowly.

His teeth were clenched, "Yes, please."

You worked him harder, you were so wet and achy that you wanted to take him in all at once. You were going to ride him hard and having him at your control was all the more intoxicating. You spread your legs a little wider as you moved over his lap. "You're going to keep your hands where they are and stay still."

You shamelessly crashed your body down onto him letting him penetrate you completely as you arched your back cursing at the magnificent thrill of the connection. He hissed and dropped his head back, since he wasn't allowed to do anything else and whimpered your name out like an obscene prayer. You flexed your internal muscles around him and gripped his shoulders. You used the leverage to impale yourself on him over and over as your blood pounded in your ears. You could feel your body already starting to tremble and the sweat start to gather on the nape of your neck.

"Kiss me." You ordered.

His mouth skimmed yours before drawing you in completely with searing desperation. He shifted beneath you to get a better angle it was like he lit a damn match to your nerves. You could feel your cunt convulsing around his cock and you threw your head back to scream out his name with a plea for him to finish with you.

He released his hands from behind him and yanked your hips to give him some measure of control. He kept you over him, but pounded into you at a brutal pace. Instead of coming down from the high of your orgasm, you felt yourself re-climbing towards that peak. "Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop."

He snarled and bit down on your shoulder as he fucked you mercilessly, his hand dipped between your bodies claiming your clit and pinching down, flinging you over the edge a second time in a matter of moments. You were barely aware of his convulsing as he emptied himself into you.

"You are so fucking amazing. Fucking incredible." He kept you enfolded in his arms as he twitched with the last remnants of his orgasm, breathing heavily into you hair. He sounded spent, but still managed to question, "And no complaints, but where did this all come from?"

"Just felt like it. I've got a few things that I'm still wanting to try. I have to keep you on your toes." You placed your hands on his chest, "On that note, we should go to bed."

He chuckled, "Sure thing, but give me a minute, you may have broken me."

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolos #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

458 notes · View notes

andy-clutterbuck · 1 year

Photo

7x12 | Say Yes

#Rick Grimes #*#rg #S7 #that was a good shirt #we should have seen it more #hot suburban dad in the backyard #angry richard #yes pleas #N E C K #oh...there's bram stoker knocking again #rogue neck fuzzies 💙#his open collar would a nice place to rest your face #im just sayin #that bottom lip is illegal #even in the apocalypse

209 notes · View notes

amnesique · 10 months

Note

Hi! Can you write a possessive Nick Leister imagine?

oh, mami — nicholas leister

the music was roaring in the speakers, people were whistling and cheering, so that the sound of the car wheels accelerating on the asphalt could barely be heard in all this chaos.

this is how one of the illegal car races was described. the car races where all the four gangs of the city used to be present, with the well-known son of a billionaire, nicholas leister, and the dangerous ronnie being the centre of the attention.

nicholas revved the engine, and the members of his gang, the red one, whistled for him once more.

you rolled your eyes, and fed up with the lead the leister young man had on your gang member, the blue ones, you placed your hands on the cheeks of another member of your gang and pulled him into a sensual kiss, just as the red car of that one rival passed by you, causing him to clench his jaw and lose his concentration. nicholas leister would never admit it, but he let you, a member of one of the opposing gangs, get under his skin.

you continued to kiss him and and cling onto his body, under the watchful eye of nicholas, who barely managed to get back on track, only after losing his lead.

his jaw was still clenched and he imagined how many ways he could kill the one you had the courage to kiss and touch him, as he pressed the accelerator without a second thought.

meanwhile, lion, his right hand, started yelling at him, cursing, trying anything, just to get his attention. and all in vain.

after all this time, the blue gang had managed to win a race with the famous leader of the red gang, and that was only because of you.

you pulled back, grinning satisfied with your plan, and walked away from the boy in front of you, walking away, not before giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder and a playful wink.

you took a walk by yourself where you knew you'd find a toilet, and after you got out of it, you were suddenly pulled and pressed against a wall by a much stronger and better-built body than yours, a man's body.

and before you could make any sound or see anything in the darkness that surrounded you, a hand made contact with your lips, blocking your cries from being heard.

the man you were glued to moved his mouth to your ears. "i don't think this was the smartest move on your part, what do you say?" he whispered to you.

at the sound of his voice you shuddered to the core and your toes curled involuntarily, feeling your knees weaker than they were minutes ago.

you knew that voice all too well.

when he realized you had no intention of yelling anymore, the man freed you and he took a few steps back, looking down on you due to the height difference.

"nick," you whispered his name in disbelief.

"in the flesh, love," he said, full of himself, and moved closer to you again, enough to put his hand on your waist and press lightly. "how did you allow that loser to kiss those lips that belong to me?" he asked you, his free hand casually touching your bottom lip.

you quickly turned your head, making him withdraw his hand. "i wear the blues bandana, nicholas. you have no right to mess with me."

he chuckled, amused by your remark, and glared at you. "that hasn't stopped me in the past," he began and moved his head to the area between your neck and collarbone, leaving soft wet kisses at the base of your neck, "and it won't stop me now either."

a faint sound, like a silent plea, left your lips as they felt his other hand on your waist as well.

"it should," you said in a weak voice, weighing the option of pouncing him and walking away from him or the option of begging him to make you feel pleasure again, as only he had managed to do.

he moved away from your neck, only to make a disapproving sound, then to moving from your neck to your lips, like a hungry lion getting its food after a long time.

you kissed him back far too quickly, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth, while you would've barely stayed on your feet if his hands on your waist hadn't held you against the wall behind you.

his kisses were maddening, knowing how to soften any girl just the way he wanted to, and you weren't the strongest fighter against those.

he broke away from your lips as quickly as he approached it, making space to give you both time to breathe as he lifted your legs up to wrap them around his body. "did he kissed you as well as i do?” he asked you, his breathing heavy.

you were silent, going crazy with the desire you felt, as your area was throbbing against his because of the position you were in, and you threw your head back, parting your lips.

"tell me," he whispered in a more serious tone, pressing you into that wall, against his hard chest, as you did with that guy. "did that loser manage to get you as wet as i do?"

"no," you murmured, way too fast, before you could stop yourself.

"what you said?" he asked mockingly as he slipped a hand over the space between his body and hers, fumbling with the button of the illegally short jeans you were wearing. "i don't think i heard you," he added, making his way under the fabric of your jeans to cover the area where you needed him the most through the material of your underwear.

you took a deep breath, bitting your bottom lip, and you could swear you could feel how he was getting harder and harder by any action you managed to do. "he couldn't get me as wet as you do," you managed to say, while his hands could feel you even better. in this case, you wouldn't have had a chance to lie to him.

"that's what i wanted to hear,” he said with a smirk on his lips and removed his hand as quickly as he suddenly put you down, you sighing involuntarily at the lack of your body being so close to him. "now," he said as you glared at him as deer in the headlights of his car, "i hope i don't have to make sure no one comes near you with my fists, because, love, you know very well that i'm capable of doing that too."

he walked past you, winking at you, letting you yearn for him, just like you had done before with that guy.

#culpa mia #my fault #nicholas leister #nicholas leister fanfic #nicholas leister x reader #nicholas leister x y/n #nicholas leister angst #nicholas leister smut #nick leister #nick leister fanfic #nick leister x reader #nick leister x y/n #nick leister angst #nick leister smut #culpa mia movie #culpa mia fanfic #my fault movie

961 notes · View notes

a-lilypad · 1 month

Text

@jegulus-microfic | march 31: body hair | 876 words

regulus calls the fire station when a strange burn mark appears in his house and fireman james comes to investigate (cw: mentions of sex and someone nearly gets set on fire but doesn't get hurt)

Barty is laughing. Regulus is in the middle of a crisis and Barty has the nerve to laugh at him. He knows he must look ridiculous, pulling at his plaid pyjama bottoms, zipping and unzipping his ratty hoodie, and adjusting his hair using every reflective surface in his house, but how was he meant to know the local firemen had become hot?

He’d called the fire station earlier in the day after finding a mysterious hole burned into his downstairs carpet. Stumbling downstairs in a desperate search for coffee at 7 am he’d spotted it from the corner of his eye. It was quite small and in an odd place, just in front of a cupboard he barely used, and it looked almost as if some acid had corroded his floor.

Regulus had hounded Barty, his best friend and current roommate, but Barty swore it wasn’t him. Though he didn’t quite believe him, it was too big to be a cigarette burn which did, annoyingly, put the blame on something else.

However, what that something is he still has no clue, and it’s been driving him a bit insane. He had sat in front of the hole cradling his massive mug of coffee with his chin resting on his knees just..glaring at it. For hours, until he’d been dragged away from it and forced onto the sofa instead.

The fire brigade had taken forever to get there, he’d thought they’d forgotten him and was about to phone them again (third time’s a charm) when the doorbell echoed and he jumped up, tripping over his feet in the rush to get to the door while flipping Barty off for laughing at his urgency.

He’d yanked the door open, flushed and breathing heavier than normal and proceeded to immediately choke on his words because the man standing in his doorway was the fittest person he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Messy brown hair, big hazel eyes framed by gold wire, and soft rosy lips. His brain short-circuited and all he could think of was what those lips would look like wrapped around him. He was screwed.

Now the hot fireman (James, he’d learned), is on his hands and knees inspecting the floor, and Regulus is lost for words. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling actually. His arse….dear lord. You could end world hunger with it. Regulus wants nothing more than to dig his teeth into it. Maybe take a chunk out of it and bring it with him wherever he goes as a reminder that the world is a beautiful and wonderful place.

James chooses that exact moment to sit up and take off his jacket, revealing the sluttiest shirt he’s ever seen. This uniform should be fucking illegal. It’s so tight that Regulus can see every single curve, every dimple, every line of the man’s body, it barely fits him, he is bursting out of it, the material squeezing the top of his arms. He wonders how the seams haven't burst yet.

His arms. Wow.

They’re huge and covered in black ink, two full sleeves of intricate patterns and whenever he moves they flex, golden brown skin glinting in the light. He’s definitely drooling now. Barty has to lean over and shut his mouth for him.

“So, James is it?” Barty says, smirking, and Regulus has never turned his head so fast, glaring at his soon-to-be ex-best friend, right eye twitching. He wouldn’t fucking dare…oh who was he kidding of course he would, he lives to make Regulus’ life a living hell. He should have kicked Barty out the minute James got here.

James hums in affirmation as he goes back to probing the hole in the carpet. Regulus wishes that was him.

He can see Barty’s smug smile and his eyes twinkling and starts slowly approaching, moving into hitting distance. “You got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend of course, there’s just no way a hot guy like you is singl-ow fuck!” he breaks off as Regulus elbows him sharply in the side while hissing at him to shut up.

James turns around with a cocked eyebrow, smiling, and lets out a chuckle, “Nope, no girlfriend,” then looks straight at Regulus, gazing deep into his soul as if he’s searching for something, “or boyfriend,” and he winks. HE WINKS. Regulus cannot handle this man he feels a bit faint.

As he flops down on the sofa he sees James stretching, his arms reaching above his head looking like some form of God, his shirt lifting and revealing a strip of soft skin and a line of thick black hair leading down and down and down…his eyes follow it, he’s unable to look away. Regulus loves a guy with body hair, but happy trails have always sent him crazy.

He picks up a pillow and holds it over his crotch hoping he’s being subtle, but by Barty’s sudden cackle, he guesses not so much. Although he doesn’t have to worry about it for long as James goes back to poking around, chuckling a bit under his breath until a huge fucking white spark bursts from his floor effectively stopping the laughter but also setting his carpet on fire.

Huh. That’s probably not a good sign.

#i wrote most of this in the middle of a church service #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #marauders #marauders era #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #fireman james potter #james x regulus #dead gay wizards #sunseeker

274 notes · View notes

suna-cerely-yours · 2 years

Text

Harder ft kiyoomi

warnings: fem!bodied reader, 18+, fingering, clit slapping, degradation, unprotected sex

pairing: sakusa x reader

To be fair you hadn't meant to fall asleep. Wanting to get ahead of your work to spend a weekend in peace, you had decided to stay back late. This was clearly why people didn't do that. You should have just finished your work and headed home.

Because now you were stuck at your office at 10:30pm, no at 10:34pm- with a major snow storm raging outside.

Leaning back in your chair you groan, cursing your luck. Powering down your computer, you immediately shuffle through your rideshare apps hoping there would be at least one cab available. Unfortunately it looked like everyone had been smart enough to check the weather forecast ahead of time.

Worrying your bottom lip you wrap your coat around you and pick up your bag, making your way past the glass doors and into the dimly lit hallway. Barely had you stepped outside when the lights flickered once, before plunging the hallway and attached rooms into darkness.

"Fuck fuck fuck, this is not good," you mutter, turning on your phone's flashlight, only to be hit with a low battery notification.

You blink twice in disbelief. What were the actual odds of everything going against your way today. Clenching your teeth you turn towards the elevators, hoping the generators had them working at least, only to crash into a warm, solid wall.

Panic shot through you for a few heartbeats, before a low, familiar voice filled the silence.

"A little late isn't it?" Sakusa intoned, his hands still wrapped around your waist, from where he had grabbed you to prevent you from falling.

"Sakusa? What the hell?"

"How do you plan on getting home exactly?"

"Wait what are you- hold on."

You step back and straighten yourself, taking a breath to steady yourself.

Holding your phone between the two of you, Sakusa's sharp features come into focus, dressed in a tailored suit and a black mask.

" The power's been cut due to the storm. They're only keeping the elevator running as of now, so unless you want to be stuck here in the cold I suggest you go home."

"Right, uh I'll just go," you pause awkwardly, unsure of what to say. It's not like you dislike Sakusa, per say, however you certainly don't have many kind words to say about him either.

Unless of course you consider the numerous late night fantasies you've had about him bending you over on his stupidly large desk, still wearing his stupidly crisp suit- kind words. Then perhaps yes, you occasionally do speak kindly of him.

His eyes seem darker in the dim light as he raises an eyebrow, presumably waiting for you to go leave.

"So uh you're planning to leave too right? We can go home together! Not home together, what i meant was take the elevator down together-"

"Yes, i was planning on doing that."

The two of you step into the elevator, silence stretching awkwardly. You’re almost at the ground floor when he speaks, “The subway’s not working right now.”

“ I am aware.”

“ There’s not going to be any cabs around either.”

You swallow, clenching your teeth.

“ I am aware of all of this, Sakusa.”

“So how exactly are you planning to get home?”

The elevator dings as the two of you get off on the ground floor, the usually brightly lit atrium dark. Tonguing your cheek, you look up at the stupidly tall man.

“I appreciate your concern, but it is clear I’ll be looking for a hotel tonight.”

“ In this storm? Do you even know what the nearest hotel is?”

“It’s not my fault my phone decided to die tonight, of all nights. Besides, I will be fine. I’m sure you have much more important things to worry about. Off you go.”

He fixes you with an incredulous look, before unhooking his mask.

Son of bitch, that kind of face should really be illegal.

“ -and, are you listening?”

“What? Of course I am, but you should really be more clear and concise you know. Why don’t you say it again?”

He raises an eyebrow, before swiping his tongue over his lower lip.

“Okay, to be concise, I live 10 minutes away and have a guestroom.”

“Sakusa, with all due respect, are you bragging about living in an elite neighborhood now? I really, really don’t see how that affects me- oh. You’re offering to uh-”

He sighs impatiently, “ Yes, so come on. The storm’s only going to get worse.”

You flop onto his absurdly soft bed, dressed in a t-shirt Sakusa had left outside the bathroom, forgoing pants. Well this certainly wasn’t how you had imagined your night going. He had led you to his posh apartment and even offered dinner, and now you were in the guestroom of the guy you had been thirsting over for the past couple of months.

Rolling over, you grab your phone, only to find it dead. Sakusa should have a spare charger, and he probably would only roll his eyes twice.

You pad through the hallway, to his open bedroom door.

“Hey do you have a-”

There is a naked Sakusa in front of you. Well, not naked, but that towel does nothing.

“Do you need something?”

“Right, yeah um do you have a charger?”

“Bedside table.”

You walk over to grab the said charger, trying very hard to not notice the neatly made king-sized bed.

“Did I not give you pants?”

“Everything that needs to be covered is covered, isn’t it?”

You turn to catch him rolling his eyes, before he’s walking closer.

“Are you forgetting that you’re alone with a man? Do you walk around half-naked with all men you know?”

He’s standing right in front of you know, the smell of his bodywash surrounding your senses.

“You’re harmless Sakusa, even I know that.”

He presses his lips together momentarily before moving even closer, causing you to step back. Except there is no where you step back and you fall in his bed. (The bedsheets are as soft as they look, you notice.)

“Am I really?”

He’s moving over you, pressing his knees on either side of your thighs, grasping both your wrists in one hand above your head.

“I, uh you are-”

His other hand slides under your, his, shirt, touch teasing, as his fingers skim over your breasts.

“Use your words princess, am I still harmless?”

“Sakusa, you should-”

“Should what?”

“Should touch me like you mean it, you assho-”

He has you flipped on your front, ass up and shirt pulled up before you can even finish your sentence.

“No panties either? Are you just a slut then?”

Your words are lost as he pulls your knees apart, slapping your pussy sharply before pulling your folds apart and spitting.

“Sakusa, oh Kiyoomi-”

“ But you’re my slut so it’s fine I suppose.”

He strokes your clit, pressing against it, and slips a finger inside you. Shallowly fucking you with one finger he slides his other hand up your body to press against your stomach.

“You look so pretty like, you know, could watch this all day.”

“Kiyoomi please just,” you roll your hips trying to get more friction. He grips your stomach, easily flipping you on your back, pushing your legs apart. His finger returns to your cunt, rubbing slow figure eights on your clit now, agonizingly slow.

Tears cling to your eyelashes, as you pant, desperate to cum.

He scoffs, leaning back palming his own bulge, “ You look like my perfect little whore, I wish you could see yourself right now.”

You whine as his length inches into your folds, hands gripping your hips, tilting them up- forcing you to arch your back.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groans, thrusting in and out, hitting your sensitive spot.

“Kiyo, wanna cum please oh please-”

“Yeah? I got you princess.”

He rubs tight circles on your clit, thrusting faster as you reach your peak, cumming immediately. Your walls clench around his cock, feeling him fill you up moments later, groaning your name.

The two of you lie still for a moment before Sakusa sits back, pulling you into his arms.

“That was not my intention when I invited you back.”

“Mhm, I see.”

He pauses, dark eyes locked on yours.

“But you know, I still think you’re kinda harmless, maybe you should fuck me a little harder next time.”

#sakusa x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu sakusa #haikyuu smut #hq sakusa #hq smut #hq #msby #sakusa kiyoomi

4K notes · View notes

hungharrington · 11 months

Note

*clears throat* okay!!!!

but imagine the next time you two are apart (probably a day or two but it’s enough), imagine you decide to be the one that jumps him and kisses him all over and make sure you’re the first to say how much you missed him? you use his “how dare you get prettier” discourse on him and kiss him first and call him sweet names before you drag him home. poor boy would be flustered and with his cheeks on fire / pink and breathless and i bet he wouldn’t be able to form words 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

oh just y e s - 1.4k, gn!reader i believe, this fic describes a blowjob and as always, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

He's not expecting it. It makes it that much better.

When you sneak down the aisles of the Family Video and spot a certain ass, in a pair of tight jeans that should be illegal, bent over to reach the bottom shelf, your heart sings. You let Steve straighten up, watching him closely as he dusts off his hands and then places them on his hips, leaning into one. Classic Steve pose. You can't wait any longer.

You strike.

Striding down the aisle as quickly as you can, you reach out and grab his shoulders, using the momentum to propel yourself up and cling onto his back - like a piggyback he's given you a thousand times before. Steve startles, but even then, he catches you. Hands come up under your thighs and his face is holds a smidge of that bitchiness you love.

It wipes away in an instant when he realises who it is.

"Baby!" He exclaims, his grip on your skin tightening. Excitement lights up his features- softening when you grapple closer, kiss him on the cheek, and say, "surprise!" with your best grin.

"I thought you weren't—“

"—Coming back til the weekend?" You interrupt. You smother kisses along his jawline, anywhere you can. You're beginning to feel a bit breathless by the time you pull back to speak again and Steve's eyes look oddly misty in their fondness. "Missed you too much. Came back early."

Steve lets go of your thighs and without his support, you sink down his back sluggishly, hands still tangled around his neck. He's turning quickly, his hands seeking out to tug you closer. They slide up along your jaw, cupping it sweetly. "Can't kiss you when you're back there, c'mere,"

It's maddening, the way he kisses you. Plush lips capture yours, soft and sweet, his fingers creeping along your jawline. His fingertips slide into your hair, tightening to pull you even closer.

When he pulls back, his pink cheeks give away his delight. You beat him to the punch on his own spiel. A frown knits together your brows as you reach up to hold his face, palms to his blushing cheeks.

"Hold on," You say. Steve's face flickers with concern. You turn his face in your hand, side to side, just an inch. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to get any prettier?"

Steve's cheeks darken from pink to crimson and try as he might, he can't hide his giddy smile with you holding his face between your hands.

"Stop," he chuckles, rolling his eyes lightheartedly. You shake your head and try to deepen your frown; your smile peeks through.

"I'm serious, Steven—"

"—Not my real name—"

"—I thought you were gonna tone it down, pretty boy. " You pout, reaching up to dot a peck on his nose. Steve looks at you unbearably soft, his grip growing slack as you continue with a grave nod. "You're doing a number on my heart."

"You're being dramatic." Steve says and it makes you grin wider.

"You love it."

It only takes one disgusted bleh! from Robin, who witnessed most of your strangely heartwarming reunion, to send Steve home early. Steve doesn't push his luck, just sheds his vest and blows a kiss to her as he leads the way out the door. You call your thanks over your shoulder, hands on Steve's shoulders, ushering him with a quick little go-go-go!

He doesn't ask why you're in any kind of hurry. There's no need to ask. When your back into your apartment, the door snicking shut behind you, you're upon him. Hands pressed against his chest like a panther sinking its claw into its prey.

Your lips find his skin, hot and heavy kisses along his neck and you can feel the way he pulls you close, pressing you up against him. You can already feel the shape of his hardness against your thigh. Desire flares hot in your tummy.

Steve huffs a breathy laugh, "Always against the door, huh?"

"Can't help it," you whine between your kisses. You give his neck a little nip, then soothe it sweetly with your tongue, basking in the sigh Steve gives. "Missed you."

"I-" He inhales sharply when your teeth scrape in just the right way. "Fuck, I missed you too, honey."

Your hand creeps on his chest, traveling down, down, til you can feel the waistband on his jeans — and then you keep going, fingers wrapping around the shape of him. Steve gives a soft groan, his hips pushing forward in your hand.

"Can I show you?" You say, putting on that sweet voice that just kills Steve every time. Peering up at him through your lashes, you watch his breath catch and his cheeks stay that glorious ruby red colour. "Will you let me show you how much I missed you, Stevie?"

You pair your words with a soft rub of his cock and Steve moans softly, eyes screwing shut. You're already sinking to your knees by the time he's remembering you've asked him a question. "Yes, yes, please, yes, you can."

The zipper scrapes audibly as you pull it down, shuffling clothes enough just to free his cock. Your mouth salivates just a little at seeing it again, even if you had only been gone for a total of three days. It's already leaking for you.

"Oh," you say softly, your hand wrapping around the girth of him. You move slowly, gently, thumb coming up to rub over his slit and spread his precum. A string of curses and moans escape Steve's throat. His hands clench tightly at his side. "So hard for me already?"

You're teasing him, just a bit. It works exactly as you planned — Steve shivers, his cock giving a little twitch in your hand. His voice sounds strained already when he speaks, "Didn't —ah— didn't touch myself when you- you were gone."

Surprise blooms in your chest and sets a fire in your belly, thinking of him waiting for you when you were away. Determination licks at its heels. You give his cock a more purposeful squeeze, adoring how he whines in response and lean up and give the tip a kiss, then a soft lick.

He moans again, raspy and long as you wrap your lips around it, your mouth hot and wet and perfect. You drool on his cock, letting yourself get it soaked as you suck on it gently — not taking him as far as you can. Teasing. Steve’s breathing is beginning to sound jagged, little whiny noises seeping into every breath.

You pull off with a slurp and use the slickness of your saliva to jerk him, your hand twisting perfectly on his cock to pull the most sweet and pathetic little noises out of your boyfriend. Your pace is nearly cruel how slow it is. Steve doesn't even dare complain, especially not when you whisper his name so he opens his eyes— and he sees you looking at up him from your knees. Beautiful.

"S’missed you so much," you say again, rubbing over his slit as you do, and Steve feels that familiar flare of heat in his cheeks as he chokes out a whine. You nuzzle against his cock, soft lips giving the smallest of kitten licks to the head of it and Steve can’t help it, he keens, giving a loud whimper. His lust is equally entangled with adoration.

"Missed this cock too," you say, beginning to pump your hand a little faster. Steve’s breath catches. "Missed hearing all the noises you make when you cum, Stevie— y'gonna let me hear them again?"

"Yeah," He whines loudly, hips chasing your grip, fucking his cock into warm, wet hand. It feels fucking amazing. Pleasure claws at his chest, rising rapidly.

He doesn’t even sound like himself as the next string of words pours from his mouth, all high and breathy— he must be so wound up from being away from you, "Yes, yes, gonna- fuck, gonna give you anything— anything you want."

Slowing your hand, there's only a moment for Steve to whimper before you take him back in your mouth and start sucking, cheeks hollowing. Your hand on his cock trails up, giving a soft rake of nails along his thighs before giving a soft rub on his balls.

Steve shudders violently, a gaspy moan warbling out his chest and the only warning you get is his hushed whimpery whispers of, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," before he's spilling down your throat with a loud moan.

It drips from your mouth as you pull off, giving yourself some air as you take in the state of your boyfriend. It makes your feel down right carnal the way his looks slumped against the door, cheeks still coloured pink and pleasure written all over him.

You give him a minute before taking his softening cock back in your mouth, soft slow motions — Steve seizes up and whimpers loudly, hands reaching to pull you off him.

"Sensitive, christ," He pants a bit, gazing down at you. "S'too much, sweetheart."

You pout, turning to give his palm a little peck and give a little huff, then repeat your words from earlier. "Just missed you, baby. Won't you let me show you how much I missed you?"

Before you, Steve's cock twitches. You smile. It's going to be a long night.

#have.... this <3 #i would indeed like to pin that man to a door let him know i missed him and then give him a blowie that melts his brain #jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x gn reader smut #steve harrington x gn reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #wait this actually starts off with fluff #lol in that case i will not be surprised if she flops #ah well! tehe

979 notes · View notes

abibliophobiaa · 10 months

Text

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

What’s that saying?

Woman down.

Abort mission.

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one.

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times.

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it.

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal.

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter.

The reason why?

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal.

The deal. The arrangement. The rules.

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now.

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny.

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight.

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be.

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?”

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is.

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room.

The plan works.

For all of five minutes.

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses.

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does.

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench.

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill.

Except yours do.

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe.

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality.

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee.

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?”

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.”

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting.

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls.

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway.

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there.

“Just…tripped.”

“Just a little spill?”

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours.

Only you don’t.

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now.

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh.

Dangerous.

He’s verging on dangerous territory.

“My music was pretty loud.”

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?”

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?”

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen.

And then he’s flexing.

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low.

Woman down.

Dead on arrival.

The jig is up.

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips.

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.”

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat.

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.”

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking.

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man.

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep).

Changing.

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet.

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart.

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late.

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.”

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island.

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit.

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek.

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city.

Steve’s foregone his shirt again.

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating.

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband.

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening.

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.”

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him.

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.”

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym.

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.”

He lowers until he’s in the proper position.

Pauses.

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.”

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack.

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you.

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks.

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout.

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace.

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?”

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck.

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders.

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise.

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror.

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar.

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do.

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings.

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging.

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging.

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight.

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air.

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains.

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom.

And you…well, you want to explore it.

Heart be damned.

——

Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements.

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky.

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder.

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly.

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day.

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place.

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you.

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.”

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own.

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?”

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.”

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell.

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down.

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike.

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like.

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

“Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.”

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world.

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party.

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over.

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now.

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings.

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?”

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.”

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala.

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same.

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale.

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass.

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause.

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back.

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand.

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom.

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly.

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.”

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy.

——

The gala passes in a blur.

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity.

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it.

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations.

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty.

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender.

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives.

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments.

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.”

Simple.

Curt.

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent.

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight.

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl.

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.”

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin.

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis.

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head.

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there.

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?”

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.”

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away.

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve.

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.”

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds.

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background.

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it.

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what?

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head.

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.”

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here.

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same.

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly.

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now.

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again.

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now.

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you.

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart.

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it.

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him.

And that’s more than enough.

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #modern!steve harrington #fake husband!steve harrington

480 notes · View notes

eddiesleftbuttcheek · 1 year

Text

Charles Smith NSFW Headcanons

So in my last post I said there isn’t enough nsfw headcanons of Charles on here so I decided I would write my own 🤭 this is incredibly fluffy btw (also we’re imagining you sleep naked with each other in this)

I think it’s a fandom shared headcanon that this man is such a gentle, passionate lover, like he can absolutely have rough sex with you and loves fucking you every time you both need it. But most of the time this man does not fuck you, he makes love to you.

His kisses are soft, tender, he knows exactly how to kiss you to make you swoon, your heart beat faster, your knees weak, head empty, butterflies in your tummy, legs clenching, arousal brewing, goosebump causing. You know, those kind of kisses.

His touches are feather light, caresses all over your body, looking at you with pure admiration in his eyes, if there was a god somewhere, he would believe it was you.

When you’re both in bed at night he kisses you slowly, starting off with innocent little pecks between giggles and sweet nothings shared between you which progress into open mouthed kisses, getting a little hot and heavy but still not needing to go anywhere if you didn’t want, his hands either holding your cheek or nestled in your hair to bring you impossibly closer, little moans into each other’s mouth to say ‘I love you’ and your hands on his chest rubbing at the muscle sensually, so incredibly attracted to this man it should be illegal. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip lightly, so lightly that you would’ve missed it had your head not been so empty of everything but him. You meet his tongue with yours, rolling them together softly and adding to the quickly heating up atmosphere of the room. Your hands slide up his chest and around his back to play with his hair, massaging his scalp as he lets out an appreciative groan, one of his hands starting to wander, sliding from your hair to your neck and down your chest until he reaches your breasts, gripping one in his hand softly and you let out a little gasp into his mouth as he starts gently squeezing it.

You grip his hair a little tighter than before and as he rubs your sensitive nipple with his thumb you start to gently grind your hips up into his, feeling his semi-hard cock against your bare thigh, a very pleasant and welcome surprise.

His lips leave yours and start to trail kisses down your neck, sucking as he goes leaving little red marks that you know will turn into bruises through the night until he gets to your breasts and latches his mouth around the nipple his other hand isn’t busy with, he goes between sucking them and licking over them, switching between them so they get the same attention. He could gladly do this all night, he loves playing with your boobs, even more so because he knows how sensitive they are and how wet you get just from him touching them.

The longer he spent at your boobs, the harder you were starting to grind up into him, you were leaving a big wet patch on his naval but neither of you cared, it turned him on so much to know how easy it was for him to make you feel good and it felt too good for you to be embarrassed about it.

‘Charles’ you whisper into the air, hoping he gets the hint that you were starting to get needy, that you wanted more. He just kept doing what he was doing and as he lightly nipped at your nipple you almost whined his name this time. ‘Charles’.

You feel him smirk against your skin as he takes your hint and restarts his kisses again. Going down between your breasts, leaving feather light kisses and touches on your ribs, his touch so soft trailing down your waist you almost squirm from the tickling sensation before he finally gets to where you need him most and he starts kissing and leaving little marks on your inner thighs.

Now I know for a fact that Charles would be a massive giver, like, wouldn’t even think about his pleasure first and giving you pleasure literally gives him pleasure, seriously he could cum from eating you out. (Yes he has before). You know. One of those types.

So when he finally leans in and gives your clit a little kitten lick, this time you do whine and it’s that little noise that drives him up the wall as he begins to devour you. I’m talking sloppy, messy, mind blowing, toe curling head. It’s one of his favourite things to do and in your opinion it’s one of the things he’s best at.

He has his tongue inside of you, greedily lapping up your juices and sucking them out of you, his eyes closed in concentration, opening every so often to look at your head thrown back in pleasure, one hand gripping his head and the other clutching the pillow beside your head. How you look during sex always makes him fall even more in love with you, how your head rolls back, hands grip to anything they can (especially his muscles oooooh how you both have a kink for his muscles 😩), your mouth making the perfect silent ‘o’ as you struggle to take a breath from the pleasure your feeling, only being able to focus on him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock, anything about him that is bringing you closer to the edge. (So literally his entire being lmao)

When he finally slides a finger into you it immediately goes to the hilt, you’re so wet and needy that he’s able to add a second one to join it with no resistance immediately, he watches as your eyebrows and nose scrunch, your mouth falling open as you let out one of those delicious noises, reminding Charles of his very obvious hard on. He scissors his fingers gently, slowly getting you ready for him. (It’s canon that this man is huge have you seen that picture at the top of this post? Oh my lordddd so yes he absolutely has a big dick argue with the wall.)

His tongue attaches back onto your clit and the pressure of him lightly suckling the bud and slowly opening you up for him is too much for you to take and you cum for the first time with a gasp and a loud moan, grinding your hips again as your pussy twitches and tightens around him as you ride it out.

The orgasm makes you relax enough that he decides it would be enough to take him and with a quick look up to you, you nod and he immediately gets up and settles between your thighs. He runs the head of his cock through your folds, getting him lubed up and slowly dragging over your still sensitive clit as you let out little moans and mewls at the touches.

Finally he lines up and slowly pushes into you, groaning as he does, you’ve been together a while but he will never get used to the feeling of filling you for the first time during your sessions, you’re so warm and wet that it makes even a man like him with insane self control struggle to hold back.

As I said before this man is gentle and passionate so although his thrusts are slow they are pretty hard, filling you up perfectly and it is just the right mix of gentle but passionate that it has you moaning immediately, already knowing you were going to be able to cum more than once tonight.

He’s a very romantic man when he’s in love I think so he would be full of praise for you, constantly reassuring you during sex and making you feel so good about yourself you feel like a god with the way he talks to you.

‘Oooh that’s it baby. You’re doing so well for me. You feel so good. So good for me my love’ (holy hell I’m not okay 😩)

You couldn’t hold in your moans even if you wanted to, every single thrust is angled so perfectly, the rhythm is delicious and the power of his thrusts make your eyes roll back and goosebumps rise all over your arms from the pleasure of it.

‘Fuckkk, you feel so good baby. You feel good?’

You can’t even answer him as every single thrust he makes hits your g spot perfectly, you can’t contain your noises and you involuntarily clench around him every so often as he hits so deep inside of you that you forget your own name; your mind only being filled with one thing. Charles. Charles. Charles.

One of his hands grips your thigh with a bruising but pleasurable grip, the other going back to your cheek as he leans down to kiss you, it’s mainly just teeth clashing together as you moan into each other’s mouths but it’s intimate. So intimate.

He moves his hand from your cheek to trail down your body again, rubbing over the marks he left softly and going further and further until he reaches your clit again. He rubs it with the right amount of pressure, speed and intensity, knowing exactly how to make you mewl so the only thing you can think about is the pleasure you feel, not any problems outside of this room, just how this man is making you feel.

He gathers wetness from your thighs and goes back to rubbing your clit, the added wetness giving you exactly what you needed to tumble. No. Full force pelt off that edge again. You cum around him, clenching on him so hard he almost gets pushed out, he can feel you cumming, how even more wet you get as your cum mixes with your other juices, he watches you as you cum, panting into his mouth and moaning loudly, your eyes roll back further than they had before, only able to see the whites of your eyes, your jaw fell further open, head thrown back as you let out those sinful noises, you can see stars, feel yourself throbbing around Charles as you come back down from the high, seeing that he was watching you always makes you blush.

‘God you’re so beautiful like that. I almost came on the spot just watching that.’

You giggle a little before you let out another moan as he starts to thrust again, going after his own pleasure now that he knows you won’t be able to cum again for a while after an orgasm like that. His groans and moans get even louder the closer he gets. His muscles flex and tense, his eyebrows furrowing as his mouth too falls open to let more of the sounds out. He looks so beautiful when he cums, eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched, mouth open and making the most obscene, sexy noises you’ve ever heard a man make. You feel him throbbing inside of you as he cums inside of you, only stopping his thrusting as he too comes down from the high.

With a final moan he pulls out of you and lays down on the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms so your head is on his chest, your hand running across the scars there as he rubs your back soothingly.

‘You done so well for me. Always do so well for me.’

You blush slightly and your heart swells from the praise of your lover.

‘I love you, Charles.’ you say, throwing a leg over his, bringing you too even closer. He plants a kiss on your head before replying.

‘I love you more. My angel.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~

WOOOOOOOO good lord this was hot and heavy I can’t believe I wrote this 🤭

Let’s ignore the fact it basically turned into a one shot pls.

I enjoyed this way too much. Love ya byeeee <3

#charles smith x reader #charles smith smut #charles smith #red dead redemption screenshots #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 charles #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption imagine

823 notes · View notes