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jarofstyles · 1 month ago

Text

Teach Me?

Hello love bugs, we've got a huge one shot here. I see a lot of writing where the guy helps the girl out with inexperience, but I thought I'd like to write something where he's the one asking for help. I had a lot of fun putting this together so I hope you guys like it. I may do more but I have a lot of other stuffed planned but let me know your thoughts!

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WC- 12.3k

Warnings- mentions of insecurity, anxiety, oral, soft!Dom H, soft!Dom Y/N, switchy vibes but mostly Dom!H, Y/N pokes fun at him for being nerdy but she loves it,

"Hey..." Harry began casually, wiping his hands on a towel after washing. Her best friend had invited himself over for dinner, which meant he was going to do the dishes. It was an unspoken rule of their friendship. If you invite yourself, you clean up. But seeing as Y/N was the one who cooked nine out of ten times, it had become a normal to see him at her kitchen sink. Her eyes peeked up at him from her phone, giving him a look to continue. "Can I ask you something? It's a kinda...weird request." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, looking at her with an attempt at puppy dog eyes. He wanted something and it made her narrow her eyes.

“I’m not going to the convention with you again, Har. It’s not my scene, I told you. I’ll watch any series of movies until our brains leak out our ears but if I have to sit through panels and Q&As where they ask what the characters favorite food is again I may lose my mind.” She knew it was coming up… but apparently that wasn’t his point. Thank God.

"No! No. Adam is going with me this year. Rude. But besides that…” It made her a lot more curious as to what it could be because he did genuinely look nervous. “It's a weird question, actually." He sat down next to her on the couch, twisting his hands together. "And you can totally say no... but..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Would you... maybe..." The hesitance had her sitting up a little straighter, raising her brow higher to urge him forward. "God..." He muttered softly, trying to find the words. "You promise not to judge?" He saw her raise an eyebrow. "I mean it. No making fun of me." He watched as she slowly nodded, waiting.

“I make fun of you for a lot of things, but if you’re asking me not to, I won’t. Are you okay?” Y/N asked softly, unused to his behavior. He was usually playful and could take any joke, so it wasn’t exactly like him to ask her not to do it.

"I'm okay." He assured her, but still had the nervous look in his eyes. "It's just... I've recently realized... kinda an embarrassing thing about myself." He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don’t think… I don’t think I’m actually making girls finish properly when I hook up with them. At least not every time. And I feel like shit about it.”

That was a surprise to her. Harry had the whole hot and nerdy thing going on, and he pulled plenty. Not that he always attempted or took them up on the offers, but he’d had a few girls he had hooked up with that she knew of. Usually he kept pretty quiet about it, but that didn’t bother her. Y/N had assumed a lot about him because… He did have some big dick energy going on. He had really nice hands too. The idea of him being unskilled in bed didn’t feel like it was right, but she was hearing him out. “What’s making you think this?” She asked curiously. “Did someone say something?”

"No, no one's ever said anything. Not to my face." His face flushed slightly pink as he shifted again, trying to get comfortable. "I just... well. Sometimes I noticed they'd tense up or seem kinda disappointed later. Like they were expecting something else. More? I dunno. And they don’t usually text me again, which is fine and all but I hate thinking I let someone down. It’s embarrassing." He avoided looking at her while he talked, staring at his fidgeting fingers instead. "I don't want to be one of those guys who only thinks about themselves. That’s the last thing I want to do." He trailed off, clearly embarrassed. So unlike him that it made her heart hurt a little bit. Harry was a happy guy and seeing him not like that was like seeing a wet puppy in the street. She had to fix it.

“Well the fact that you even care at all is really good. I know, the bar is on the floor but, unfortunately a lot of men don’t give a shit if we finish or not.” Y/N knew plenty of men- had experienced them herself- that didn’t care if it felt good for her. They wanted a quick nut and go. Harry never seemed to be the type. Honestly, he was very thorough in most things and she’d assumed that would properly bleed over to sex.

“Wanting to be better is half the battle. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. The first time I sucked someone off I gagged really awfully, the sound made him go soft.” She laughed at her own bad time. “We all start somewhere.”

He laughed softly at her story, feeling a little more at ease knowing he wasn’t the only one. Y/N was far more experienced and open about being a little freak, so it felt better to know even she had some weirder experiences. It wasn’t just him. "Yeah, I can imagine." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Gagging on dick is not the most pleasant experience, is it?" He turned to look at her, his eyes serious again. "But, um, thanks for listening and all that. I just... I want to be good at it. For them, and for myself." He looked down at his hands again, picking at his fingernails nervously. He needed to paint them again so he would stop doing it. His pink polish was chipped. "And that's why I was wondering…” He bit his lip, his heart racing as he tried to work up the nerve to ask his best friend a very personal favor. The most personal you could probably get.

"Would you... would you maybe let me practice on you?” The silence lingered for a moment longer than he was okay with, panicking slightly as he continue. “I promise I'll listen to everything you say, and we can stop anytime you want. We don’t even have to! You can say no, obviously.” The man was babbling as he tried to untwist his tongue. “But I really trust you and I think you'd give me good feedback. Honest feedback." He looked up at her with pleading eyes, his cheeks flushed a darker pink that she hadn’t seen before- all the way up to his ears.

“Me?” That… was not at all what she had expected. To be fair she hadn’t been sure what to expect but that would probably be lower on the list. “You want to… practice eating pussy or something, on me? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.” Because she sure as hell didn’t know if this was some sort of dream or delusion.

Harry nodded quickly, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. "Yeah, you. I mean, if you're comfortable with it. I know it's a really fucking weird request and all, I swear I’m not trying to make anything weird with us but... you're my best friend, and I trust you. And I know you'd be honest with me." Y/N was known for being honest even if it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be. He looked at her with those big, hopeful eyes, his bottom lip worried between his teeth. "Please? I promise I'll do everything I can to make it good for you, if you let me. I just really want to get better at this."

It could fuck up the friendship. Y/N knew that, because it was every sort of cliche thing that tells you do not, under any circumstances, hook up with your best friend. But… it had been a while. Harry didn’t ask much of her besides her dinners and to go to some events with him so he wasn’t alone. He listened to her rants and brought her food when she was hungry and didn’t want to go out. He made her bed for her sometimes just because he was near and tidy like that. He swept the kitchen after dinner. He bought tickets to movies and concerts on his card and told her to pay him back whenever she could. He protected her if people acted weird at the rare chance they went out to the bar. Harry was a really fucking good friend, the best she’d ever had.

She also couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t think he had a spectacularly pretty mouth and even better hands. They had always been really nice. Soft, long fingers, big palm. The tattoos that trickled down… Fuck. She was going to say yes. Fuck it. “Okay. I guess we can, but I’ve got some rules.”

He blinked, surprised but trying to hide it, his heart racing faster at her surprisingly quick answer. "Rules?" He nodded, leaning forward slightly, completely focused on her words. "Of course. I mean... I'll do anything you say." That came out a bit too smooth, and they both caught the double meaning. He cleared his throat, trying to appear casual and failing miserably. "What are they?" His eyes were fixed on her, his hands folded in his lap to stop them from shaking nervously.

“I mean, I’m being a little dramatic. It’s only a few.” She laughed, leaning back on the couch. “One being we don’t tell anyone. Our friends are already weird about how much time we spend together. Two, you don’t touch me and then another woman. If you find someone else that’s completely fine, but I don’t want her germs and shit on me.” That was not something she liked at all. “If you’re practicing on me, it’s me. I won’t fuck around with other people either, but I don’t fuck with STIs and all that.” It was doubtful he would need to be reminded of that.

“I’m assuming this is going to be a couple times because the way you get good at stuff is practicing. I won’t complain if I get a few orgasms out of this.” She shrugged as if this was a normal thing to be discussing. Best friends having sex. “But the last one is you don’t make things weird after you’re all good with your skills. Don’t make stuff weird.”

"Those are..." He cleared his throat, trying to process everything she had just said. "Those are actually very reasonable rules." He nodded, making sure to emphasize each point so she know he heard her loud and clear. "One: Not telling our friends is smart. Two: Of course, no cheating. We aren’t dating but I’m a one woman type of man. My mother raised me better than that. You know she would kill me." He managed a small smile. "Three: I, uh, plan on practicing. A lot, if you let me." His eyes lingered just a moment too long on her lips, then quickly flicked away.

“Good.” Harry was efficient in most things. It’s exactly why she understood how much it probably bothered the hell out of him to not really be able to get a woman off, or so he thinks. She was just being a good friend, right? helping him out. “So walk me through what you usually do when you bring someone home. We start there. I can tell you if something you’re doing is weird.”

He swallowed nervously, trying to collect his thoughts as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Well, uh... usually I'd start by kissing them, ya know? Get them a little worked up before moving down." He gestured vaguely with his hands, as if physically trailing kisses down an imaginary body. "Then I'd kinda... kiss around the area, maybe use my fingers first to make sure they're wet and all..." He trailed off, wincing as he realized how clinical it sounded when he said it out loud.

“That sounds decent, but kind of like a routine.” Harry was like that, she knew, but sex wasn’t. “Not all women are the same, though. We’re all different. You don’t experiment at all to see where her sensitive spots are? Do you keep kissing to the lips and her cunt?” The question was blunt, but she usually was.

"Well... No, actually. I kinda just do the same thing every time." He ran a hand through his hair nervously, realizing how basic that sounded compared to how she spoke about sex. "And yeah, I guess I do stop kissing once I get down there. Why?" He was listening intently, genuinely curious about her approach. For all his perceived experience with women, he was suddenly feeling very inexperienced in this one area. Something about the way she talked about sex was... different. Confident, like it was no big deal.

“Because women are sensual creatures, Harry. Sure, we have similar biological things that happen but the way we get horny is with our minds. Teasing a little. Dirty talk, if you’re good at it, ease into it. Kissing places that aren’t just the obvious.” Shifting to face him, she grabbed one of his hands and put it on her shoulder. He was definitely nervous. It was a little cute. “I’ll give you a cheat sheet for me. I really like to be kissed under my ear, over my throat. Sometimes a lick or a suck. A bite, if I’m in the mood. I like to be kissed over my stomach, tops of my breasts, inner thighs, hips. They aren’t necessarily obvious, but the exploration is nice.”

Taking his hand, she moved it to her neck and then dragged it down past her tits, down her stomach to the waistband of her joggers. “You can have a general path, but you need to be comfortable deviating from it when that’s what she responds to.”

"Fuck..." The curse slipped out quietly as his breath caught, noticing how comfortable she was with his hand on her body. His fingers lingered at her waistband, acutely aware of the sensitive skin just inches beneath. "I never really thought about it like that. I always just went straight for the pussy." He cleared his throat, realizing how crude that sounded coming out loud. "I mean..." She chuckled at his flustered state, finding it endearing. "So you're saying I should take my time? Like, really tease her out?" He moved his hand slightly, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her lower abdomen just beneath her shirt hem. "Kiss other places, see what makes her squirm?"

His gaze flickered down to where his hand rested, then back up to meet her eyes. There was a new spark of understanding there, like pieces clicking into place. "And if I find somewhere she likes? I should... explore that?"

“Yeah.” Her stomach had jumped as he moved his hand but didn’t say anything about it. “Every person is different. I’m sure you have places you like to be touched that people haven’t tried yet either. Being in tune with your body and hers, being able to read the cues that’s what could be your strength.” It was something a lot of men didn’t bother to take into consideration.

"Like, if she makes a certain noise or tenses up?" He was genuinely intrigued now, his mind racing with possibilities. "What if she pulls my hair or digs her nails into my back?" He shifted his hand lower, fingers splaying out on her stomach curiously. "Does that mean she likes it?" He was so focused on the hypotheticals that he almost missed the way his hand resting on her stomach made her stomach muscles twitch slightly beneath his palm.

“Yes, exactly that. Sometimes you’ll be able to feel her pulse if you’re holding her wrist, or.. Well, if you’ve got your hand around her throat. We’ll talk about proper choking another day, but you can see if her pulse jumps from that.” His hands were perfect for that, honestly, and she shouldn’t let her mind wander. Nope. “The noises she makes, if she pulls you further in, bucks her hips, those are all good signs. Not everyone is extremely vocal, but checking in to make sure she likes it, if she wants you to give more, it can help.

"Checking in?" He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tried to wrap his head around the idea. "You mean like... asking her if she likes it?" He shifted his hand lower still, fingertips brushing the hem of her joggers. "Like, 'is this okay?' Or 'do you like this?'" He could see how that might be helpful, especially with quieter partners. "But wouldn't that ruin the moment?" He looked up at her, genuinely curious and seeking approval.

“You don’t have to ask in such a sterile way. You can just say something like ‘does that feel good?’ or ‘that’s nice, baby?’ and see her response. You’ve got a nice voice, Har. Use it.” She gave him the compliment easily. He did need a bit of confidence boosting, that much she could already tell. “Checking in shouldn’t ruin the moment. It’s safe, it’s a sign of a good partner. You’ll figure out how to check in in a less… abrupt way.”

"Right... fuck me." He muttered under his breath, actually feeling slightly embarrassed about how little thought he'd put into this before. "I've been a clueless fuck, haven't I?" He sighed, running his fingers along her waistband more deliberately now, testing how she responded. His heart stuttered slightly when she complimented his voice."So like..." He traced patterns on her lower stomach with his fingertips, almost unconsciously. “Feels good?” Testing out the way she had suggested.

Y/N swallowed, feeling a bit of a shift. He had seemed to be having a good time touching her stomach, the light tracing on her skin making her heat up a little bit. She wasn’t blind- Harry had most definitely gotten hotter over the years, and he was just attractive in general. Though she hadn’t allowed herself to look at him as anything but the quirky best friend he was, getting to see a different side of him was something she was intrigued by.

“Mhm.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “See? It doesn’t have to be straight into it. Just touches like that can get a girl wet.” It was starting to get to her, weirdly enough. “Tell me about kissing. How do you usually start it?”

"Kissing..." He trailed off, his mind briefly distracted by the way her skin felt beneath his fingers. "Uh... well. I usually start with a simple peck, just to see if they're into it." His other hand came up to gently tilt her chin, exposing her neck to him. "If they seem like I have the go ahead, I'll press my lips to theirs more firmly- it’s kinda hard to explain with words." Being a little bold, he let his thumb brush over her bottom lip absently as he spoke, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

“Well if you’re going to eat me out, I don’t see why you can’t just show me.” Kissing Harry had not been something she had anticipated actually doing, really ever, but she can’t say she hadn’t thought about it. The man had an incredible mouth. Soft looking lips, deep pink, the cute little birthmark, all of it was appealing- it was just that it wasn't a possibility for her prior. “Show me how you do it with them.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip again, his breath hitching slightly at the idea of kissing her. It was just an exercise, he reminded himself firmly. This was just a dry run, to help him figure out his technique. But as he slowly leaned in, his heart rate picked up, eyes flicking between her lips and onto her eyes. "Like... this." He whispered hoarsely, sliding his hand back into her hair to tilt her head further. His lips pressed to hers gently, just a soft brush at first to test the waters. His lips were soft and warm against hers, the kiss gentle at first. He waited for her to react, to see if she would pull away or lean into it. As she didn't, he took it as his sign to keep going, slowly increased the pressure, his lips molding to hers in a soft, sweet kiss.

Feeling emboldened when she began to press her lips back to his, Harry peppered her lips with a series of short, sweet kisses. His lips brushed against hers once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each kiss a little firmer than the last. He could feel her starting to relax into it, her lips softening beneath his own. Encouraged, he let his tongue flick out briefly, a teasing taste before pulling back slightly to gauge her reaction. She tasted like the lemon lime soda she’d had with dinner, a sweet surprise. All of this had been. He hadn’t been sure if she would say yes and if this would potentially make things weird, but thankfully Y/N seemed at least a little receptive to it. His hand remained in her hair, holding her gently as he studied her face for any signs of discomfort or approval. “Okay?”

Y/N knew he would be a good kisser, but he was playing it safe. However, even with the safety still on, she knew he had it in him. He wasn’t as shy as he had been before and that had surprised her a bit when he had gripped her to keep her in place. That had been exceptionally hot. At least to her. “Yeah. You did well.” She cleared her throat to rid herself of the rasp. “You’re playing it safe, though. Here.”

Swinging her knee over his lap, she pushed him back against the back of the couch so his posture was more relaxed. “You’re stiff. Pun not intended.” She snickered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve got to relax a little bit. I don’t know if it’s just me or you get anxious when you kiss other girls too. The thing you did holding my face still? That was hot. It’s gonna depend on the girl but you seem to have an idea on what to do.” Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she settled her weight on top of him. Hm.. he really had been doing well at the gym. “You okay with me on your lap?”

Harry blinked in surprise, trying to catch up to the fact that she was currently in his lap. Closer than she usually got to him, voluntarily hopping on up. “Y-yes! I mean, yes, please. Go on." His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying his nerves. He wasn’t sure if it was from the unexpected closeness or just the sudden shift in dynamic between them. Her weight felt nice on his lap, but besides a cuddle or two this was definitely the closest they’d ever been. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nervous.”

Y/N nearly cooed. His frown was precious, really. He was precious. Sliding a hand over his jaw, she tilted his head to meet her eyes. “It’s okay to be nervous, but it’s just me. I’m not going to judge you. You asked for my help, and I’m gonna give it to you.” Slipping her fingers in his hair, she made herself familiar with touching him. They hadn’t been super touchy to begin with but she knew Harry liked physical touch. He was clingy with their other friends physically, but he had always respected that Y/N typically wasn’t the type. Now though? It was free game. “You can touch me how you want. Get familiar with me.”

Y/N wasn’t the type to truly judge if you really needed her and he knew that. Hell, that was why he had come to her in the first place- but she was intimidatingly beautiful. It set him off to be even more nervous. His mind briefly wondered if this was how he was in bed- overthinking everything- maybe that was why he didn’t get calls back.

“Shit.” He muttered softly, then snapped back to attention as she told him to touch her. He wanted to do that, he had always wanted to but Y/N only really liked to be cuddled when drunk. When she was, she would be giggly and happy, hold on to his hand and swing them back and forth, especially when he helped her get into the car. It had always made him feel special, but this? It was a privilege to touch her. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms loosely around her, testing the waters. “Like this?” He spread his fingers out slightly on her back, his thumbs nearly brushing the bottom of her bra strap under her top.

“Yeah, that’s nice.” Leaning into him, she let her fingers run over the rims of his glasses. “These are cute. I like them.” His new glasses suited him. They were a little bit thinner than his old ones and it was a tad bit more modern. She hadn’t been lying to him when she said he had the hot n’ nerdy advantage. “You’ve got really nice hands, Har. Use them.”

He blushed slightly at the compliment on his glasses, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist possessively. "You really think?" He asked softly, tilting his head to the side to give her better access to his face. He liked when she did little things like that, adjusting his glasses or messing with his hair. Maybe it was because he felt touch starved, particularly from her, but the simple brushes of her fingers made him feel that heat in his lower stomach. It was so simple but the air felt a lot thicker than it had before. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves to be more bold as he slowly dragged his hands over her hips.

“Mhm.” She nodded, gently running her nails over his scalp. “See? I’m not too scary.” Though she had to admit that the feeling of his big hands pawing at her and running over her hips and waist made her feel a little bit giddy. Maybe she could attribute it to the fact it really had been a while since she had been touched in a way that wasn’t friendly, but her body liked the way it felt. “You’re being polite, which is nice. But as cute as your little gentleman thing is, I know you want to grab my ass, Harry. You can do it.”

Harry's breath caught as she said that, his eyes darkening slightly behind his glasses. He had definitely been thinking about it, doubted there was anyone who saw it and didn’t want to, but he hadn't wanted to overstep. Hearing her give him permission was like a green light and he couldn't help himself. His hands squeezed her hips before slowly sliding down to grip her ass, his fingers spreading out to knead the soft flesh. "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "You're so soft."

His grip on her ass tightened reflexively as he pulled her more firmly against him, a low groan escaping his lips. The heat of her pressed deliciously against his hardening cock, and he couldn't help but roll his hips slightly, seeking friction. "Shit, Y/N...Sorry. I don't want to get carried away." He breathed, his face flushing darker. Here he was, rock hard with his best friend in his lap, from a little ass grab. It was embarrassing how quickly he had gotten worked up- But God, it felt good.

There was a sigh out of her mouth as she felt him start to relax and do what he wanted to do. This was closer to where she wanted him to get, but she hadn’t expected it to feel as good just being rubbed over his lap. “There you go- it’s okay.” She whispered. “That’s hot. You want to show her that you’re eager for her.” With her grip in his hair, she tugged his head back slightly to look at his pink cheek. “You’re a faster learner, I know. But you remember what I told you? Try kissing my neck. I told you the spots I like.”

His eyes fluttered shut as she tugged on his hair, his throat exposed to her. "Yeah. I can do it. S’long as you feel good, m’happy..." He whispered, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it. Leaning into her touch, he let her guide his face into her neck and followed instructions quickly to press open mouth kisses to her skin. He started at the spot just below her ear, as she had told him about, sucking gently on the soft skin. His hands continued to grab at her ass, pulling her flush against him as he kissed and sucked his way down her neck.

The kisses trailed lower, his lips hot and damp against her neck. Each press of his mouth made chills rise on her skin, his stubble lightly scratching her sensitive skin in the most delicious way. As he sucked gently on a particularly sweet spot, she couldn't help but tip her head to give him better access, a soft gasp escaping her lips. None of this had been expected, but liking his mouth on her skin hadn’t been. Maybe it really was just the fact it had been a while but… it felt better than her last hookup.

Harry was her friend and she trusted him. She felt safe, and that probably made her feel a lot more comfortable, just as it probably did for him. But having his hands all over her was something her whole body was responding to. A quick learner, he had realized how much she liked feeling the friction and did something about it. His strong hands gripped her ass harder, pulling her over his lap and letting feel the throb of him through their clothes.

He could feel her getting heavier in his lap, her breath growing shallow as he continued his adoration of her neck. It felt amazing, yes, but he was in a bit of awe. Harry really should have known that Y/N didn’t half ass anything. She was thorough in everything she did- apparently it extended to teaching him how to please a woman. His hands roamed freely as he adjusted, taking a risk in spreading her legs wider over his lap to better fit her between his thighs.

"Am I doing okay?" He mumbled into her neck, his voice muffled. "Is this warming you up enough? Or should I be doing more?" His fingers flexed on her hips before sliding down, spreading out to rest on her thighs.

“You’re doing good.” The thickness in her throat made her voice a bit raspier, unsure how she had managed to let herself get to this point. It felt really fucking good. His hands strong and so fucking big, splaying over her thighs. The heat of them seeming to radiate through her skin and down to her bones, she wanted to lean into that touch.

God, she was touch deprived.

He had done a good job in making her panties damp and it felt almost embarrassing that a little bit of heavy petting and kissing on the neck had her pussy throbbing, but she couldn’t exactly deny it. Lightly rubbing herself against him again to get more of the friction her body was demanding, she closed her eyes and let her head lean back before she admitted it to him. “You’re making me wet.”

His whole body seemed to tense up at her whispered admission, his hands flexing on her as he took a breath. "You are?" He whispered back, his voice not able to contain his surprise. He had hoped he was doing something right- especially after all the apparent failures he’d had- but hearing that she was wet from just his touch and kisses was... something else. He wasn't used to being this effective. His ego swelled slightly, making him bolder. "Can I... touch more?" He asked hesitantly, his fingers inching higher up her thighs. "Can I feel what I’m doing to you?"

His words had her gritting his teeth. Where the fuck did that come from, and why did it made her throb? Letting out a breath through her nose, she opened her eyes to look at him. It shocked her a little, seeing his lips swollen and eyes a little hazy, glasses a tiny bit crooked. He looked disheveled in a way he usually didn’t. Of course he had always been hot but this look in particular, knowing it was caused by her specifically? It fueled her ego too.

“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, clearing her throat. “Yeah, you can. That’s what I’d tell you to do next. You have good instincts.” It was a mystery to her how Harry, who was good at almost everything, had struggled to make a girl cum- but she was the teacher now. “You can slip your hand into the waistband.”

"Fuck. Thank you." Harry muttered under his breath. He couldn't believe he was actually about to touch Y/N intimately, after all these years of being just friends… It was insane. He wasn’t unable to see how insanely fucking hot she was, that had never been an issue. He’d had a few questionable wet dreams about her- but the actual idea of ever touching her hadn’t come up until recently, and he was liking it a bit more than he probably should be for a lesson.

With trembling fingers, he slowly slipped one large hand down the front of her joggers, sliding it along her stomach until he reached the top of her panties. "Can... can I? Under them?" His breath was warm against her neck as he asked permission, albeit a bit jumbled, waiting for her nod before slowly slipping under the final piece of fabric that kept him from her most intimate place.

At her nod, he released a deep breath through his nose. His heart was racing as he slowly pushed his hand under her panties, the back of his fingers brushing against the soft, damp fabric. He could feel the heat emanating from between her legs, his own body responded accordingly. His cock was pulsing in his briefs, surely starting to make a bit of a mess. "Holy shit." Harry breathed, his voice shaking slightly as he explored her with his hand. His fingers dipped lower, feeling the slickness coating her folds. “You really are fucking soaked.” Tilting his head up with an awed smile, he met her eyes. “I did that t’you?”

“Mhm.” It felt slightly harder to breathe as she looked at his eyes, seeing the pride in his face, feeling his fingers cupping her wet pussy and giving a little squeeze. It had her inhaling sharply, fingers on his shoulder digging into his shirt. “You did. I- I want you to show me what you do when you get to this stage with the girls you hook up with.” It was taking everything in her not to rock against his hand, staying still as she tried to ground herself.

His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to mimic what he thought he had seen in porn or heard from his friends. He had forgotten what to do. Another symptom of his damn nerves taking over. He roughly spread her lips apart, his thumb pressing against her clit as his middle finger pushed inside her soaked pussy. "Shit... I'm... I'm not really sure what to do..." He admitted, his voice shaking as he started to rub her clit in slightly sporadic circles while thrusting his finger inside her. It was clumsy and a bit rough, but he was trying his best.

“Okay- alright. Stop.” Making sure to keep her voice soft and not like she was scolding him, she held his face in her hands. “You’re jumping right into it a bit too fast, Honey.” The nickname fell from her lips a bit too easily but she decided to ignore that. “You need to ease into it. Find a rhythm. Pull your fingers out.” She instructed, gently stroking over his cheekbone. It was obvious he was embarrassed from his flushed cheeks, and she didn’t want that. He wasn’t doing too badly, but he’d asked for a lesson. That’s what she was going to give him.

“Hey… Look at me.” Tilting his chin up, she gave him a soft smile. “S’okay, Har. You came to me for help. I’m gonna help you. You didn’t do anything inherently wrong.” Still, she could see he felt some type of way about it, and she knew he needed a bit more comforting. Leaning in, her lips pressed against his in a soft peck. It was more intimate than it should have been, but she was again, going to ignore that. “Hi.” Smoothing the skin under his eye, she gave him a giggle. “Okay, so… You’ve got incredible hands. They’re so nice… and I know you can be good with them. So let’s start slow, okay? Do slow circles over my clit with your thumb. Nice n’gentle.”

His shoulders had dropped slightly after her small kiss, ignoring the flutter he’d felt in his chest from it. He hadn't realized how tense he had gotten, like he had failed the test- but this was Y/N. Y/N was safe, she was kind despite how blunt she was, and she was helping him. There was no evidence of her making fun of him in her tone, simply sweet. Unusual, maybe, but it seemed like she knew what she needed.

"Okay." He mumbled softly, his cheeks slightly less red. Her compliments helped a bit- He had always had confidence issues when it came to this. "Like this?" He asked shyly, his large thumb slowly making small, loose circles over her clit. He was careful to keep his touch gentle like she asked, watching her face for any signs that he was doing it wrong again.

He felt her body tense pleasantly at his touch, a soft exhale escaping her lips. Encouraged by her response, he maintained the slow circles, his thumb brushing over her clit with deliberate gentleness. Her hips gave a tiny involuntary roll against his hand, seeking more of the pleasant friction. Harry's fingers twitched slightly, wanting to increase his pace but remembering her instruction. He resisted the urge, keeping the rhythm maddeningly slow.

“Yeah. That’s so nice.” She whispered. It was experimenting, letting him explore and get the hang of it. “Every woman is different. Some people will want it faster, some will want it rougher, but I like this to start.” She admitted, leaning into him. “Here.” Dragging the cropped top off of her body, she exposed the lacy bralette she had heard good reviews for to him. It was quite nice, holding her tits up in a way she hasn’t expected- but she’d chosen correctly today, unknowing that a man would be able to see it firsthand. “When you’re doing this, you keep kissing her. Licking. Sucking her nipples, if she’s into it.”

His eyes roamed over her bralette-clad breasts, the delicate lace contrasting with her soft, smooth skin. He felt his mouth watering, the urge to taste her growing stronger as he watched them move as she breathed- but thankfully, thank god, she had given the go ahead to touch. To taste. "Okay. I definitely can do that." He murmured, his thumb continuing its slow circles on her clit as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone.

His lips trailed lower, his kisses growing more intentional. The lace of her bralette tickled his lips as he worked his way down. He could see her nipples hardening beneath the fabric, making his mouth water. His thumb continued its steady, slow rhythm on her clit, causing her to shift slightly in his lap. It was surreal to feel her breathing, hear it so close up as he kissed over her pounding heart.

He was doing this to her. Harry was making her wet, making her squirm. The confidence the breathy moan she let out had him pushing for more. With one hand, he gently pushed the lace down to expose one breast fully, making her gasp softly. His lips immediately found her hard nipple, surrounding it completely and sucking gently.

“Oh, Jesus.” The words were pathetically, a mewl that came from the back of her throat as his hot tongue lapped over her swollen nipple. The suction was light, soft, just like his thumb on her clit- and it was enough to make her feel like she was going insane. “T-That’s really fucking nice.” She praised, raising her hand to card it through his fluffy curls. He must have just washed them, they always looked pretty when he did.

Hearing her moan like that, praising him so freely, sent a jolt straight to his cock. He hummed around her nipple, the vibrations deliberate this time. His tongue flicked over the hardened bud before he switched to sucking harder, desperate to elicit another gorgeous noise from her.

“Yeah- like that.” Rocking her hips slightly into his hand, she pulled his head closed onto her breast. It felt too good, too hot to stop. Yeah, this was a lesson, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy teaching him. “Some girls won’t get much enjoyment out of this. Their nipples aren’t sensitive to it as much. If they aren’t responsive, you can keep it moving- or a-ask them if they want you to keep going.” Her voice was higher in pitch than she had meant for it to be but it wasn’t possible for her to control that right now. “I really like it, though. So it’s doing the job. You can rub my clit a little harder- give it more pressure.”

Her words had him nearly purring around her nipple. The little thrill went up his spine as her hips rolled into his hand, knowing that now he had a decent idea of what he was doing and could feel less nervous about it. Listening to instructions like he had promised he would, Harry added more pressure to his thumb, rubbing it harder over her little bundle of nerves. It was impossible not to feel her getting slicker against his palm, her breast filled his mouth perfectly, his tongue swirling around the peak before sucking it back between his lips. Almost overstimulation for his mind, but he wanted to keep going. He was trying his best to be good with his hands- he really was- But damn. Her body was so responsive.

Y/N wanted to continue this as long as she could. She wanted to feel him get more and more confident with it, but he seemed to have a grasp on it. There would probably be… a few times where they’d get to do this, and if she was honest? If they kept this up, she was going to cum and be too sensitive for his mouth. And by the way he kissed? She wanted to feel his mouth.

“Mmmm.. Har, Honey.” She whispered, gently tugging his mouth off of her tits with a gentle tug of his hair. “Hi. Hello.” It was stupidly cute, the slightly lost look on his face. “S’okay. You were doing good. A bit too good actually. I just think that we should get to teaching you how to eat pussy. I’ll cum if you keep going.”

He blinked rapidly, a slightly dazed look on his face as he tried to process why he’d been pulled away when he’d obviously been making her feel good. It felt incredible to have her nipple in his mouth, hearing her soft noises of pleasure. The haze of lust in his mind slowly cleared at her words, realizing she was probably right, even if he selfishly wanted to keep going. "Oh..." He murmured softly, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. "Right. Okay." He adjusted his glasses, trying to regain some semblance of focus.

“Good.” She stroked his hair back with a tender smile, pulling him to kiss her again before taking a look at his face. “I’m gonna lay back, like this.” Sliding off his lap, Y/N settled against the arm of the couch pulling a pillow to rest her head on. The position had her sitting up slightly, but gave a more relaxed vision. Hopefully that would have him feeling calmer. “And you’re gonna lay between my legs once I get these off.” Her bottoms needed to get off immediately.

When he sat back, she tugged on the waistband and squirmed to get them off, haphazardly kicking them to the floor- along with her panties. There wasn’t much hesitance in showing her body to him. Y/N liked her body, she felt proud of it, and she embraced it. There was always those nerves though, being intimate with someone new- even if it was for a lesson. Spreading her thighs, she placed a hand over her cunt and motioned for him to lay down. “Do you remember what I said, Honey? About teasing?”

He nodded slowly, trying to remember all the instructions she had given him. "Tease first..." He murmured softly, adjusting his glasses nervously as he positioned himself between her thighs. Using his elbows to keep him up a bit, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched her spread them wider for his body to fit between. "Kiss, lick, don't go straight for the... the main event?" He asked hesitantly, his hands resting on her inner thighs.

“Very good.” Her face lit up as he looked at her for reassurance. “It’s the little things that get me. You know? The soft brushing of fingers on the thighs, the stomach, right above my pussy…” She trailed off with a sigh. “Kiss my thighs, Har. Can you do that for me?” Taking her hand off her cunt, she properly revealed it for the first time for his eyes to see.

Harry felt the breath catch in his throat as the sight of her bare pussy caught him off guard. It wasn’t lost on him that he was very lucky to be able to experience this. Y/N was beautiful and he adored her, but there was a new appreciation in him for how kind she was being. This wasn’t something you could just ask anyone. "Fuck..." He whispered, his hands squeezing her inner thighs gently as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the delicate skin. "Like this?" He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive skin, his lips brushing over the crease where her leg met her hip.

“Mhm.”

He could see her body relax into the touch, her thighs parting a bit more to give him better access. Her skin was so soft and warm under his lips, and he could smell her scent growing stronger the closer he got to her center. Harry took his time, pressing gentle kisses along her inner thighs, his hands brushing along the skin in a featherlight touch. He could hear her breathing growing a bit shallower, her chest rising and falling a bit faster. It emboldened him to continue, to keep teasing her like she had told him to.

"You're... you're doing so good." Y/N breathed out, one hand coming to rest in his hair as she spread her legs wider, hooking one over his shoulder. She could feel herself growing wetter with each kiss, more aroused knowing he was taking his time to learn her body. Such a good little student. "Lower. Just a bit..." she whispered, guiding his head with gentle fingers. Her other hand drifted down to her breast, plucking at her nipple as she watched him between her legs. "Kiss right above my cunt.”

Eagerly following her guidance, he moved up to press a soft kiss just above her pussy, his lips brushing against her soft curls. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, smell her arousal. It was intoxicating, and he found himself nuzzling into her a bit, his nose pressing against her. "Fuck, you smell so good..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed another kiss right at the top of her slit.

“Oh fuck- that was good.” She gasped in surprise. “That’s filthy. Rubbing yourself against me but… it’s so hot. Showing how eager you are to make the person you’re gonna pleasure, it’s really sexy.” Brushing his hair out of his face, she felt the heat of his breath over her cunt. “Tell me you want to eat me out. Talk to me.”

"I do..." His voice came out huskier than he'd planned, his eyes flicking up to meet hers briefly before focusing back on her exposed pussy. "Fuck, Y/N... I really want t’taste you." Without waiting for further instruction, he used his fingers to spread her open for him and pressed a gentle kiss directly to her clit, making her gasp loudly. "You're so fucking wet… Can’t believe I did this." His finger traced down her slit slowly, as if showing instead of telling how aroused she was.

"Your cunt is fucking glistening. I can already tell your pussy is sweet..." He muttered against her skin, his tongue peeking out to give her one soft lick. Tasting her for the first time, savoring the flavor on his tongue, he was proving that fact. She was perfect to taste- a pussy like this deserved the best of the best, and he wanted her to show him exactly what she liked. Y/N moaned loudly, her hips rolling slightly, a clear indication that she liked what he was doing. "Yeah? You like that? S’good for you?" Harry asked, his voice encouraging as he licked her again, this time a bit slower, applying a bit more pressure.

“Uh-huh… Shit.” She cussed, feeling his tongue swipe up and over her clit. “D-Do what you want. Let me see where it’s going wrong because right now from my perspective, you’re doing perfectly.” Why would he even need help? Was it a ploy to fuck her? That was doubtful considering Harry really, really wasn’t like that. The worst part was that she was liking it a lot more than she was supposed to. If she was training him on how to pleasure how she liked it, it was going to be hard not to lose it.

Harry smiled slightly at her words, feeling a bit more confident in his actions. He started slowly, his tongue flicking out to lap at her gently, his fingers keeping her open for him to fully access her. He could feel her wetness spread onto his chin, and he couldn't help but push himself, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking softly. He looked up at her, checking her face for any signs of discomfort or pleasure.

He was learning, trying to remember how she had said she liked it. His tongue swiped up again, swirling around her entrance slowly before pushing inside slightly. "Like this?" He mumbled softly, his chin wet with her juices. He kept his movements slow and unhurried, his touch soft. He was tentative, like he was scared of messing up. "Is this good?"

“I.. Normally would say that’s a bit fast to push your tongue in but fuck, that felt nice.” She giggled breathlessly. “Here…” Her fingers were careful as she took his glasses off and tossed them further down the couch so they wouldn’t get in the way- or worse, crushed. “Wanted to see those pretty eyes.” Her fingers kept the hair out of his eyes as she felt a few kisses over her mound, in the thatch of curls above her cunt. His face was slightly wet, but it was erotic. “That feels so nice. The kisses…” She hummed. “You have the instincts. Don’t think too much about it. Doing things like that- That’s good. Just make me feel good. See what I respond to.”

Harry blinked owlishly at her, surprised by the sudden loss of his glasses but pleased when he realized she liked his eyes. His face flushed slightly at the praise, his tongue darting out to lick over her clit hesitantly. "Okay. You’ll tell me if y’don’t like it, yeah?" He asked, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her pussy, the sound drowning out the tv playing at a lowered volume.

She nodded slowly, watching him between her thighs. He was almost shy like this, his face buried in her pussy as he kissed around it sweetly. His lips were soft, his kisses unhurried. He spread her wider with his thumbs, his tongue poking out to give her one slow lick from bottom to top. Her hips shifted slightly, chasing the feeling. "You taste so good." He mumbled softly, his voice sending vibrations against her. “I didn’t expect you t’get so wet for me. Soaking my chin. I love it.”

His words seemed to have struck a chord in her, judging by how sharply her breath hitched and her legs involuntarily tried to press around his head. She visibly flustered, clearly flattered by his filthy compliments- and shocked. Had he always had that in him? "Harry..." She whimpered, the sound of his wet mouth against her flesh combined with his sweet, dirty words making her pulse against his tongue. "You... should be careful with that mouth." She whispered, her hand tangling in his hair again, guiding him slightly without putting any pressure.

He chuckled softly, the vibrations traveling pleasantly through her core. "Why's that?" He murmured teasingly against her skin, his tongue darting out for another long, slow lick. He could feel her practically melting under his mouth, her thighs quivering slightly. This was how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel as anxious with her, they had repor, he truly trusted her- but it felt like he had a better sense of her body and what she liked.

She’d given him clues and tips, but he was finding out on his own what she liked. It was something he was enjoying the longer he did it, feeling more eager to bury his face in her pretty pussy and never leave. Especially when he felt her hand tighten in his hair and her body shift to get more. "Worried I might make you cum too hard?" His tone was playful, a little more confident now, and that was dangerous for her. Feeling him nipp gently at her clit, soothing it with a flicker of his tongue immediately after was enough proof of that. Looking up at her he tried to see if that was okay, but the noise she let out had him feeling fairly sure it was.

"Fuck, Harry... You smartass.” The giggle turned into a pitched moan very quickly after though, her back arching as he sucked on her clit in retaliation, her hips rolling against his mouth. Harry could feel her getting closer, her pussy getting wetter. He knew the signs, she was teaching him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he licked into her eagerly. She was so responsive, her body reacting to his every move. He felt powerful, in control- and it was a heady feeling.

"Jesus, your pussy is perfect." He mumbled between kisses, not caring if she could hear him. He could see her getting close- her thighs trembling, her breathing quickening, and the way her fingers were now tight in his hair. That was his goal. He wanted to make her cum so fucking bad it hurt. His cock was a mess in his trousers but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make her cum, hard. He wanted to clean it up as he made himself messy. "Do you want my fingers inside you?" He whispered, not missing a beat with his mouth returning to his suckling. He kept the pace steady but increased the pressure just slightly, wanting to hear her response.

"Yes..." Y/N breathed out the single word, squirming helplessly against his face. His mouth felt incredible and he obviously felt better about what he was doing now, taking more risks that only worked out in her favor. "So good, honey. You’re doing so good, your mouth is perfect."

How had he been bad with these other women? All it took was a little bit of instruction with a soft voice and he was licking into her like she was his last fucking meal.

She gasped, her nails nearly digging into his scalp as he slipped one finger inside her easily. "Your fingers are so big. Holy shit..." She panted, grinding down on his hand. "More..." She begged, knowing damn well she hadn’t wanted to be this needy for it but god damn. He was a good student. A very fast learner. "Please." The woman’s voice cracked with need. "Harry, please..."

He curled his fingers slightly inside her, hitting that spot he’d read about but had never actually found on a woman before. He must be doing it right, because she was practically sobbing his name, her hips bucking against his hand. He added another finger, stretching her slowly but surely, his tongue never stopping its slow, deliberate lapping.

It was obvious what she liked, what made her feel good, and he wanted to keep doing it. Memorize it so he knew how to do it perfectly next time- or continue practicing until he had it down. His head felt fuzzy with the need to get her there, to make her feel hot under the skin like he had been clueless about before. "Look at me." he mumbled against her, his voice muffled but insistent. He wanted to see her face contort with pleasure, wanted to watch her get closer.

It felt like her entire world had narrowed down to his fingers inside her and his tongue on her clit. It really had been far too long since she’d been touched and even longer since she had been eaten out with this amount of vigor. Maybe it hadn’t ever happened prior to him, but her brain wasn’t fully working. She was so close, teetering on the edge and he just... he just kept pushing her. Adding more, curling just right, licking and sucking in a rhythm that seemed designed to drive her insane.

Y/‘ couldn’t see him fully, not with his face buried smugly between her thighs, but she managed to lift her head, her eyes finding his own as he had demanded. The intensity in his gaze, the desperate need, it was too much. “Just like that, you’re going t’make me cum. Just like that, keep it like that- fuck.” Her groan seemed angry but it was anything but. She was worked over and sulking at how good it felt. “Shit, you love eating pussy. Don’t you, Harry? Just needed s-someone to show you how they like it.”

"Fuck yeah." He breathed against her, his eyelids drooping with pleasure at her accusation. He loved this, every fucking second. The slick sounds of her arousal, the way her pussy clenched around his fingers, the taste, how she grabbed at his hair, the sounds she made, the changes in her breathing, her squirming, the way her words slurred a little bit, the pulsing against his tongue.

God. Harry fucking loved it- he just didn’t know it could be this good. Addicting.

The vibrations as he groaned happily between her lips had to be adding something extra. "Knew I'd love it. Jus’ want to be able to make you feel good."

"Cum on my face baby, okay? Just let go. I wanna taste you." He whispered hoarsely, pressing a sloppy kiss to her clit before sucking it back into his mouth. His fingers curled again and again inside her, hitting that elusive spot over and over as she dripped all over his fingers and down the back of his hand. He wanted to make her shatter, wanted to feel her cum all over his face and fingers like he had been working toward.

There was no way she could even respond properly. The constant stimulation to her g-spot, his repeated sucking on her clit, the way he sloppily ate her cunt with little regard of the mess she was making on his face- the only thing he seemed to give a fuck about was making her cum. Who was she to take that from him?

Her body tensed, her back arching as she let out a long, drawn-out moan. It was a sound of pure pleasure, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensation of him working her over. She came hard, her pussy clamping down on his fingers as she gushed all over his face and hand. Her hand was tight in his locks, tugging as a garbled moan left her mouth and she attempted to writhe. He kept her held still as he moaned loudly against her.

In fact, Harry didn’t stop. Even as she came, he kept eating her, his fingers still curled inside her as he lapped up her cum, cleaning her up. He was fucking starving for it, for the taste and the sound and the feeling of her losing control. He sucked and licked her pussy, feeling it spasming occasionally, until he was certain he had cleaned up every last drop- And her weak push of her hand against his head. Only then did he slowly pull his fingers out, his face and hand coated in her.

She was a goddess, slumped back against the cushions with a flushed, dazed expression. Harry couldn't help but kiss her inner thigh as it twitched before wiping his mouth. "Fuck, you’re amazing." The man murmured. Crawling up her body, he claimed her lips in a messy kiss, letting her taste herself. “Thank you.” It was mumbled between lazy kisses. “Thank you, Thank you.”

His hands roamed over her as he continued to kiss her sloppily, his body heavy on top of hers. He was still fully dressed, his erection painfully trapped in his pants. "Y/N... I’m sorry, but can I?" He asked softly, his fingers already working at the button of his jeans, his intent clear. "I gotta cum. Can I cum on your cunt? Please?” If he wasn’t so horny he would be embarrassed for doing this, but he was losing it. When it died down, he would definitely be embarrassed for how insane he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe the lack of blood flow to the head, it was going directly to the other.

“Shit.” Y/N laughed weakly, her body feeling like pins and needles as it came down from the orgasm. The idea was one she had considered, especially with how good he had listened- a reward. “Yeah, Honey. As a reward.” She sighed, leaning her head up further. “I wanna watch.”

He almost whined at her words, practically tearing his jeans open wide enough to pull out his stiff cock. He pushed his pants down towards his calves, staying there between her spread legs. His hand gripped his dick tightly, squeezing as he looked up at her face from his spot between her legs. "Yeah- yeah, please watch. I love being watched.” His hips moved forward unconsciously as he ran his cock over her, the head of his dick smearing pre-cum all over her cunt.

“Cute little exhibitionist.” Y/N cooed, running her hand over her stomach. “Go ahead. You’ve got such a pretty cock, but it looks like it hurts.” Her lips formed a soft pout. “Stroke yourself and cum all over that pussy, Harry.”

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He chanted under his breath, his hand moving faster over his shaft. With his tip pressing against her clit, he ran it up and down her slit. "You're so pretty. Your cunt is beautiful- all of you, so fucking gorgeous." He complimented her, his words coming out in short gasps. It was so hot, the way her lips spread around him, how she looked all fucked out and messy from his mouth. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum all over you, baby."

Y/N looked up at him with a soft, encouraging smile, her eyes staring into his with that tinge of desire. "Cum for me, Harry. Cum all over my pretty little pussy. I wanna see it, I wanna see you lose it." Her hand moved down to spread herself, holding herself open for him. "You've been so good, so obedient. You deserve it. Such a good student, a fast learner… You can have it. Cum on my cunt." Her voice was gentle but commanding, the perfect blend of sweet and dirty that had him right on the edge.

"Fuck, Y/N..." Harry whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut as her words pushed him over the edge. With a final thrust of his hips, he came undone. He felt the first spurt of his hot, sticky cum hit her pussy lips, coating them in his release. He groaned loudly, his body shuddering as he pumped out rope after rope of cum, covering her cunt completely. "Oh my god... Oh my god."

Even as he finished cumming, a few last spurts dribbling out to make a mess across her lower stomach, he couldn't look away from where his cum coated her pussy lips, right in her thatch curls and the surrounding skin. It was obscene, filthy, and he loved it. Y/N had made him lose his mind a bit, but he didn’t really want to find it.

Breathing heavily, he finally met her gaze with a slightly embarrassed but mostly pleased grin. "Holy fuck, that was hot." He murmured, swallowing hard. "Never done that before. Came so fucking hard..."

"Good, cause you made a mess." She giggled, watching him as his chest heaved. The sight of his stomach and abs glistened with a light sheen of sweat- his hair was ruffled and he looked like he’d had a workout instead of jerking off on her body. "You like that, I think. Making a mess." She asked softly, watching as he continued to stroke himself slowly, milking himself. Her eyes were drawn back to his dick. It really was beautiful- and really fucking big. “Where the hell were you hiding that? God damn.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, glancing down at his slowly softening dick with a smirk. "Guess I just needed the right inspiration, huh?" He teased lightly, finally releasing his grip on himself and leaning forward to rest his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in slightly. His face was mere inches from hers now, his glasses gone and his hair disheveled in the sexiest way possible. “Just need t’do this before we clean up and act normal again. Don’t yell at me.”

His mouth claimed hers slowly, lips moving softly against hers. He licked into her mouth slowly, like he was savoring her taste, his body half covering hers. His hand cupped her cheek as he deepened the kiss slowly, like he was trying to imprint himself onto her. Just as quick as it started though, it was over. She shouldn’t have been so sad about that. He pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes opened slowly to find her watching him softly, their lips still wet and swollen from the kiss. He grinned slightly, licking his lips again. “See? Not so bad.”

“Yeah.” She laughed, feeling dazed. Who the fuck was this? And why did he kiss so good it made her toes curl? Who was this and what had they done to her best friend? “I think your problem isn’t that you don’t have skill. Naturally you seem to get it. I think you’ve just gotten into your own head and you think too much.” She had been a safe person and it was easier for him to lose that anxiety with her, knowing she had already agreed to teach him.

“It can be hard to perform if you’re not able to properly get into it. Your dick can be hard as nails, but your mind not being in it will be a mood killer and they’re gonna know.” The smile on her face was slightly sad but she knew it was what he had to hear. “Because honestly? I haven’t orgasmed like that in ages. All it took was a few tweaks and you had it down. Maybe you just aren’t a hookup guy. Did that feel a lot different than the other people?” Maybe he needed someone who could openly communicate. The expectation of someone just knowing wasn’t always fair.

"Yeah." He hesitated, shifting slightly to prop himself up on one elbow next to her. His other hand traced patterns on her stomach absentmindedly. "It was... different." He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment. "With those other girls, I was always nervous. Overthinking every single fucking thing. Like you said." He glanced at her face, a slight blush forming across his cheeks. "With you... it felt natural. Real. And fuck, listening to you moan like that… Where did those lungs come from?"

“You freak!” She laughed, pushing his shoulder to get him to sit up. Adjusting her bralette back over her breasts she didn’t bother with the bottoms yet, because she really needed to go clean up. Secretly she was pleased that she had been different. It was so cliche to say it, but she wanted to be different than them. She just… wasn’t quite sure why yet. Her brain hadn’t come back down to earth fully and she couldn’t be bothered to truly question it. “You won’t need many lessons on how to pleasure a woman with results like that, I’m telling you that. Good job.” Reaching out, she squished his cheeks with a soft coo before he shot her a look.

"Oi!" He laughed, swatting her hand away playfully but with a big smile on his face. "Don't treat me like a puppy. And..." He hesitated, reaching up to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Did it really feel that good? I mean." His voice dropped to a slightly embarrassed whisper. "Am I actually good at this stuff?" For someone who had just made her orgasm so hard, he suddenly seemed insecure again. Like he needed validation. "I know you don’t lie like that, but it just feels weird. Cause everyone else seemed disappointed… I thought I’d be completely awful.”

“Oh, H.” She frowned at his vulnerability. “It was really good for me. I think maybe you just need some lessons on how to let go and relax when you’re being intimate. And I’m happy to teach you that.” Brushing her hand over his stubble she gave his chin a pinch. “Trust me. I’d tell you if you needed a lot of work. It can be hard for women to cum from oral sometimes too. It’s hit or miss for me, and you had me cumming so easily so, I would say it was probably a mix of feeling safe and you having some good natural instincts you couldn’t tap into before because you were anxious and your brain was in overdrive.” Pulling him into a hug, she squeezed him lightly as she inhaled his scent. He smelled like mint and sex, with a tinge of laundry detergent. Appropriate.

“When I’m done with you, we’ll have it all squared away and figured out. Okay? Don’t think about those times. Think about the fact you’re gonna get to fuck your really hot best friend.” Standing up from the couch with a laugh and a pat to his head, she walked to the bathroom to get herself clean- and take a minute to breathe. Her chest was doing a weird thing it hadn’t before and she didn’t want to think about it. “Hey, can you order something from that cookie place to be delivered while I shower please? Use my phone, my card is already in the app. Thank youuuu.”

He watched her leave, a small smile on his face at her words. It was a relief to hear that he wasn't completely incompetent. Flopping back against the cushions, he stared at her ceiling fan as it whirred around with a content sigh.

As requested, he ordered a batch of her favorite cookies from the nearby bakery, adding a special request for extra chocolate chips with a small chuckle. She had ordered quite a few times recently, so he had tried to replicate it while adding white choc macadamia for himself. A classic, even if Y/N would wrinkle her nose for them sharing a box.

After submitting it for the delivery, he found himself humming softly, a warmth spreading through his chest at the thought of learning more from her. That had been so good, he felt so relieved that he wasn’t defective- but he did have to wonder how he was going to be this comfortable with anyone else. Y/N was easy to unwind around. It was hard to imagine him getting as comfortable with anyone else in the way he was with her.

Getting closer to her in a vulnerable and intimate way was sure to grow their friendship. He couldn’t really see it backfiring. Their friendship was too strong.

Right?

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plutoslastwords · 4 months ago

Text

lost and found!

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: baby norris goes missing in a crowded paddock, her father? not happy.

warnings: none!

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: first post here.. eek! i hope you guys like my little character of baby norris, i'm hoping to write more for her, so if you have any requests, please send them in!!

~~~

A Formula 1 paddock was a busy place. Mechanics were working hard to get the cars in tip-top shape for the day, reporters were rushing around to the latest ‘big story’ with dozens of cameras following and fans were scrambling around to get a glimpse of their idols. All in all, the paddock was chaotic for even the most oriented of us.

The paddock was not the place for a three year old.

However, in the Melbourne paddock, tiny baby Norris was giggling like mad, toddling around the zoo of the paddock, elated to be back at daddy’s work after a long, boring winter break.

Though he hates to admit it, Lando had not planned your appearance in his life. You were the result of a drunken one night stand, and nine months later you appeared to him after your mother signed away any parental rights. Despite that, you were the light of his life, he couldn’t imagine a world without his gorgeous baby daughter who managed to bring so much joy into any situation, you were his everything.

Unfortunately, at present he was preoccupied with some media duties before the upcoming free practice session, so the responsibility of you had been placed on some Mclaren assistant, Henry, who had looked away for a second too long and the little girl had been lost in the crowd. The assistant was shitting himself, how had he managed to screw up this bad, it was his first day on the job and he had already lost the boss’ kid!! He was so gonna be fired.

Therefore, he felt it wise to not mention to Lando that his three year old was currently waddling around the crazy busy paddock, filled with heavy machinery and people 5 times her size. Instead, Henry grabbed some other intern and began frantically searching.

It was not an easy task, looking for a pocket sized three year old in a rampacked motorsports paddock. Henry and intern no.2 checked the obvious places first: Lando’s drivers room? No. Oscar’s side of the garage? No. The Williams garage? (You were very fond of Carlos) No.

You were nowhere, somehow Lando Norris’ three year old daughter had been gifted the power of invisibility and disappeared off of the face of the Earth. Henry was stressing. To make matters worse, he then got a text he had been dreading.

Lando Norris

hey man, just finished the interview, thank you for watching the baby, you think you could drop her back to me?

Henry cursed aloud, kissing goodbye to his job as he knew that he’d have to show up to Lando empty handed. Him and the other intern he’d coerced into coming trudged slowly back to the Mclaren garage, preparing to face the wrath of a very angry dad.

As soon as Lando saw Henry enter, his face lit up, finally getting to see his precious girl after a few grueling hours of media commitments. However, his smile dropped immediately when he saw Henry’s guilty look, and the lack of a toddler in his tow. He marched forward.

“Where the fuck is she?” He demanded, no kindness in his voice.

“I- uhm- she- I’m sorry! She’s so small, and so quick! And one minute she was right next to me and the next she was gone!” Henry cried, accepting that this was the last time he’d be working in an F1 paddock.

“You lost my daughter?!?” Lando seethed, completely outraged, his darling girl was missing! “You had one job and you lost my daughter?? How immensely careless can one person be!” He shouted, the only thing holding him back from suckerpunching Henry being the fact that he was the last person to see you, and therefore would be most helpful in finding you.

The commotion, however, alerted the attention of some other people including Zak Brown, Mclaren’s CEO, who was making his rounds of the garage, greeting some high profile guests. He walked over, patting Lando on the shoulder in a very Zak-Brown-manner.

“Ah, Lando! Been looking for you! What’s going on here?”

“The dickhead lost my kid!” Lando exclaimed, more than furiously, whilst Harry just stood there silently, having gone deathly pale. Zak’s normally upbeat mood dropped, seeing the distress his driver was in, he couldn’t be having this! Free practice was only a couple hours away!

“Oh goodness, that’s not… optimal… Have you searched for her at all, boy?” he questioned Henry, who nodded and let out a noise that could’ve been interpreted as a whimper of fear.

“W-we went to look for her, we searched everywhere! B-but she wasn’t there…” he stammered, this was just great now both of his bosses were here to fire him. Not even his bosses! They were like his boss’ boss’ boss’ bosses!

“Of course you couldn’t find her! She’s like 2 feet tall, no one would be able to find her in a crowd like that!” Lando scoffed, he didn’t want to let his worry show in front of the whole garage, so instead his emotions were being projected as anger towards a very scared looking Henry.

“Well, why don’t we all calm down..” Zak intervened, he did not need one of his drivers having a meltdown at T-Minus 2 hours before the first free practice session of the season. “I’m sure she’ll turn up, the kid can barely go 30 minutes without her daddy, she’ll be running back soon enough.”

“Oh god, she’s probably so scared…” moaned Lando, Zak’s words doing nothing to soothe him, only heightening the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Noticing Lando’s growing anguish, Zak knew he had to act, quickly sending orders to whoever was in shouting distance to go and search the paddock from the bottom up, and not to return until they had a little curly haired girl in their grasp.

As well as this, he told Henry to go somewhere else and help the search party, he did not think it smart to have Henry and Lando in close proximity, worried about the British driver’s anger getting the best of him. He did not need a fight breaking out only 2 hours before FP1

The next 45 minutes were possibly the worst of Lando’s life, Sochi 2021 was nothing compared to this. His precious, angel, darling girl was missing and there was nothing he could do about as Zak had forbidden him from leaving the garage, claiming he’d draw too much attention if he went out to join the search. What, like 50 Mclaren staff all searching the paddock wasn’t going to draw enough attention itself?

He sat in his driver's room with his face in his hands, distraught at the idea that his baby girl might be hurt, or worse… He couldn’t let himself think about it, his trainer, Jon, was in the room as well trying to soothe his nerves, but nothing was working, all he wanted was his little girl back in his arms.

Suddenly, the door to his driver’s room swung open, revealing Henry, looking extremely tired out, holding a tiny girl who was looking way too proud of herself.

“Daddy!!” You screeched, grinning widely, thrashing around in Henry’s arms to get to him.

“Oh my baby..” About 50 tonnes of weight lifted from Lando’s shoulders as he rushed over to take you from Henry. “My baby, my baby, my baby..” He chanted, rocking you in his arms, holding you close to his chest, never wanting to let go. “You gave daddy such a fright, angel!” He reprimanded, but there was no malice to his tone whatsoever, he was just glad his baby was back. “Where did you run off to, hm?”

“Lollipop, daddy!” You squealed, and then it clicked for Lando, of course that’s where she went. When the two of you arrived in the paddock this morning there was a man selling large lollipops, almost the size of you, near the entrance. You had immediately been struck by this, begging your daddy to pretty please! buy one for you, but Lando had media duties he had to get to, but promised to get one later (he could never say no to you), but of course that wasn’t acceptable to your little head, so you’d had to run away to go get one.

Surprisingly, you had managed to get her hands on one, though Lando wasn’t sure how, it wasn’t like you had your own money. It was probably because you were just too cute to resist, with your beaming smile, little curly hair and green eyes just like him, you could woo just about anybody. Even the ever serious Oscar Piastri manages to crack some grins whenever you’re around.

“You can’t be running away though my angel… what if you got hurt, hm? And daddy wasn’t there to kiss it better. That was very naughty of you baby.” He tried to be strict with you, he really did, but one look at your little pouting face was enough to make him melt all over again.

“‘M sorry daddy…” You mumbled, you didn’t like it when your daddy tells you off, your daddy never tells you off! “Just wan’ed lollipop…”

“Oh baby, I know… don’t worry, Daddy isn’t angry anymore, he was just scared, okay? And you gotta promise you’re never gonna do that again, otherwise no more lollipops..”

“I pwomise daddy!!” you were fully capable of speaking normally, but even at age 3, you knew exactly the type of voice to use to get your daddy to forgive you.

“Good girl, angel..” he cooed, still rocking you in his arms. His moment with his daughter was broken, however, when he realised that Henry was still in the room, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“You found her?” He questions Henry, his tone slightly guarded.

“Y-yeah, she was by the entrance.. Didn’t seem very fazed about the chaos she caused…” Henry tries to joke, to lighten the tension, but Lando’s expression was unreadable.

After a moment, Lando spoke up. “I’m not going to fire you.” an audible sigh of relief could be heard coming from Henry. “But you’re never looking after her again, you hear me?” Henry just nods quickly, too thankful that he hasn’t lost his job to care. “Good. you can go now.” The intern scrambles out the room.

“Daddy loves you so much, darling. Always remember that, okay? So so much..” He whispers to the small girl in his arms, who was now starting to doze off, after the excitement of the lollipop saga.

He just smiled, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head, before he laid you down on the sofa in his driver’s room, covering you with a blanket so you could sleep peacefully.

~~~

a/n: hope you enjoyed, send in any requests you have!

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris daughter #f1 daughter #formula 1

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ceilidho · 11 months ago

Text

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment.

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far.

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism.

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently.

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say.

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way.

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism.

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare.

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you.

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings.

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin.

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected.

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this.

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around.

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you.

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side.

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise.

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice.

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back.

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying.

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose.

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved.

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air.

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does.

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life.

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job.

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened.

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically.

“You’ve probably got more than I have.”

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect.

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense.

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate.

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly.

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.”

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you.

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves.

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it.

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on.

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help.

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you.

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison.

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now.

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain.

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home.

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh.

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits.

He can be good every now and then.

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch.

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much.

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again.

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen.

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure.

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me.

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs.

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again.

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees.

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more.

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches.

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her.

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed.

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright.

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it.

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick.

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity.

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished.

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight.

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through.

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open.

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button.

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts.

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole.

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw.

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed.

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile.

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work.

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life.

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him.

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it.

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same.

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to.

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt.

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that.

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you.

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though.

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.”

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms.

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean.

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life.

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week.

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night.

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is.

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do.

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony.

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone.

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine.

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate.

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty?

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing.

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive.

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls.

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there.

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away.

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say.

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you.

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together.

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too.

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you.

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas.

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him.

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it.

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain.

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would.

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more.

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water.

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long.

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut.

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please.

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly.

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass.

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills.

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes.

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer?

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable.

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more.

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps.

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him.

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in.

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp.

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun.

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings.

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull.

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage.

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound.

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil.

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock.

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns.

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain.

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down.

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour.

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for.

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed.

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge.

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come.

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here.

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it.

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her.

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep.

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black.

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl.

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening.

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps.

You smile.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley/reader #simon riley x you

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kiemiu · 7 months ago

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voice notes your boyfriend chris leaves you | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. established relationship drabble warnings? -> slightly suggestive, use of her wc 327 (library) + (request)

one. hey..me, nick, and matt just landed in boston about...half an hour ago? i—i can't remember i didn't get much sleep on the flight..but i wanted to call and say goodnight, and i love you but then i remembered it's 3am here so i know you're asleep by now. (long sigh followed by silence) i miss you already.

two. hi, pretty baby. you didn't answer my call so i'm assuming you're busy right now. (crunching noises) but that wouldn't make any sense because what else could you be doing besides being my girlfriend? like-(scoffs)

three. hey sweetness, i'm at target right now and im— looking up and down the toy aisle- well, im by the legos actually, and i cant remember which set you said you wanted..can you send me a pic, please? thanks.

four. (loudly burps) that one's for you.

five. can't stop thinking about you..i miss you a lot. (soft sigh) everything about you. (light whimper)

six. you look so pretty, mama. wish i was there to see all of you in person.

seven. since you're bored you should like, come over and sit on my lap while i play fortnite..yknow..just a thought.

eight. (nicks voice) if your boyfriend drinks another one of MY pepsi's you will suffer the consequences. (a hard smack is heard) (chris in the background: don't talk to her like that, are you insane?!)

nine. can't stop listening to our playlist we made together, it just makes me miss you even more even though i just saw you last night...we should just- like, move in together. or you should move in with me. i don't think the boys would mind.

ten. hi stinky, hope you feel better. i ordered some food for you and it should be getting delivered to you soon, so— make sure you pay attention to the doorbell, mkay? (kiss noise) love you, text me when you wake up.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @madifilipowiczslvt @chrispleasure @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash

a/n: just a quick drabble cause i'm working on smthn bigger and i still wanna post 🤭

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo imagines #christopher sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo headcanons #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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ozzyfromthecafeteria · 13 days ago

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we’re so tired but we also don’t want to end up falling asleep because we might mess up our sleep schedule…

#lulz: text (he/bun)#wy8: text (they/it/robo)#nine: text (any/all)#v1: text (zx/xe/wav/midi)#five: text (he/they)

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y3sterdaysproblem · 5 months ago

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⤷𝙛𝙬𝙗!𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚

⤷ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ; 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤!𝘧𝘸𝘣!𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘹 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤!𝘧𝘸𝘣!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

{texts above are relevant to story}

cw: alcohol consumption

“chris!” you exclaim excitedly as you see the familiar blacked out bmw pulling up on the curb, pulling yourself up from the stairs you sat at outside the house you somehow ended up at. you were under the impression you and your friend would just be at her house, but when you ended up at a party with a bunch of unfamiliar faces, you knew you had to get somewhere you knew to ride out your drunken state.

he’s not even out of the car when you’re running up to the car and to the passenger door, trying to pull it open but failing miserably. “hey, chill,” chris says to you as he circles around the car, pulling the door open for you. “how much have you had to drink?” he questions as he watches you flop into the seat, the whole car wobbling from the force.

“umm,” you drawl out, turning your head up to look at him, eyes unfocused and darting around. “i’m not sure! maybe… nine drinks?”

chris’s eyes widen in shock as he looks down at you, noticing how hard it was for you to lock eyes with him. “nine drinks?” he asks, desperate to clarify.

“maybe more,” you mumble with a small shrug. “can we get like… taco bell or something?”

chris sighs and shuts the door on you, coming back around to the driver’s side and getting in. once he’s settled, he turns back to look at you again, seeing the messed up hair on the top of your head and the way your clothes seemed a little disheveled. he wonders for a split second if your state was fully to do with alcohol, or if somebody had put something in your drink without you noticing.

“yeah, we can get food,” he says, but doesn’t make any effort to move. “did someone slip something in your drink?”

“what?” you say, slinging your head around to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “think my drinks were just really strong.” you finally say when you process his words.

“okay,” chris nods, eyes scanning over your face to see if you were alright. “are you gonna throw up or anything?”

you laugh and wave a hand at him dismissively, shaking your head. “no!” you say, reaching forward to place your hand on his chest. “you know i’m not a bitch.”

chris laughs and grabs your hand, bringing it back over to your own lap. “didn’t say you were a bitch, just asking if you need a bag or something. don’t want you puking in my car.”

you narrow your eyes at him and turn your body in your seat, crossing your arms. “you called me a raging bitch the other day,” you huff, raising your eyebrows sassily.

he’s not having any of it, not wanting to play into your confrontational switch, so he turns his body back to the steering wheel and puts the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. “because you were being a raging bitch,” he says calmly, eyes scanning over the road as he sets out on the route back to his place.

“what, because I wasn’t with you?” you ask defensively, feeling heat starting to rise up your neck, getting worked up over something that wasn’t even a big deal. “am I supposed to ask you for permission every time I want to fuck somebody else?”

chris’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, jaw tensing at your words. he had to remind himself that you were only saying all of this because of the alcohol, but part of him wanted to fight back, wanted to put you in your place. “definitely not,” he responds lowly, eyes locked in front of him. “you really need to stop and think about what you’re going to say next.”

you scoff out a laugh and roll your eyes, turning back to sit straight in your seat, arms still crossed as you stare out through the windshield now as well, eyes still trying to focus on the road as it disappeared under the car. “still want food,” you mumble, lips pursed in a childlike pout. “you’ll get your food, just sit there and be quiet,” chris responds, reaching forward to turn the volume up to drown out anything you might say. you wanted to protest, but the heavy weight on your eyelids started to take over, and within the next minute you were asleep.

it felt like seconds had passed when the passenger door was being opened and chris was reaching down to touch your shoulder, shaking you lightly. “hey,” he said softly, trying to rouse you awake. “dude, get up,” he says louder, shaking you harder. you let out a groan as you come back to your senses, forcing your eyes open once again. “come on, let’s go inside so you can go to bed.”

you take another couple of moments to ground yourself and remember where you are, but you eventually swing your legs to your side and use every surrounding method of support to help you out of the car, feeling drunker than you did when you first got into it. “I feel awful,” you mumble once you’re standing in the driveway, reaching your hands up to rub over your face. chris just laughs and shuts the door before he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you up towards his apartment, his grip on you tight to keep you standing straight.

after stumbling up a couple flights of stairs and leaning on the wall while he unlocked the door, you both finally make it into his place and you immediately try kicking your shoes off, groaning when they don’t slip off with ease. chris chuckles at you again and crouches down to grab your foot to stop you, unlacing your shoes for you. “you’re a fucking mess,” he comments, straightening back up once both of your shoes were off, taking in your appearance.

your hair looked tangled from running your hands through it, and the way that it fell in front of your face made him realize you weren’t even aware of how messy it looked, your purse hadn’t even made it inside, left to spend the night in his car, and your makeup was smudged all around your eyes, already looking days old.

“you’re a mess,” you shoot back, bringing a hand up to poke him in the chest. “I am just… fucking…” you look down at yourself and groan, hands coming up to claw at your top. “get me out of this fucking corset.”

chris grabs your hands and pulls them away from your shirt, turning your body to guide you into his room. “alright, we’ll get you out of these clothes and you can pass out, yeah? sound good?”

you nod, more to yourself than anything as you walk into his room, immediately pushing away from him and going towards his bed, falling onto it face first. chris shuts the door behind him and comes to stand next to his bed, reaching down to rest a hand on the bare part of your back. “do you want to take your clothes off or sleep like this?” he asks, leaning down a bit so he could hear your muffled voice against his comforter, but between your slurring and your mouth buried in the blankets, he couldn’t make out your response, so he carefully rolls you over as to not jostle your stomach too much. “what’d you say?”

“off,” you repeat in a moan, laying limp on the bed with your head tilted to the side, eyes still closed.

“okay,” chris responds, his hands reaching out towards the button on your jeans. your head immediately pops up and looks down at his hands, then his face.

“woah, woah, woah!” you exclaim, reaching down with one hand to push his away frantically. “i’m drunk, chris!”

chris looks up at you with one eyebrow raised, moving to rest both hands on your thighs, your skin touching through the large rips in the fabric. “uh huh,” he nods, sliding his hands back up your hips. “which is why i’m taking your clothes off so you can go to bed,” he tells you in a slow, calm voice, like he’s explaining something to a little kid.

“oh,” you say in understanding, flopping back down onto the bed. “am I sleeping here?” you ask him as you feel his hands starting to undo your pants again.

“yeah,” he answers, pulling your jeans down and off of your legs, leaving you in your panties and a corset he can’t even begin to understand how to remove. “gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t puke on your back or something.”

“ew,” you answer, eyes staring up at the ceiling, providing no help for chris as he undressed you. he reaches down and scoops his arms underneath you to pull you into a sitting position, to which you groan in disapproval. “wanna lay down.”

“I know, but I need to get this… fuckass shirt off of you first.” chris is clueless as he stares down at it, although he doesn’t mind the view too much. he sees what look like latches at the front of the shirt, and he can’t help but wonder why somebody would wear this to go out drinking unless they expected to sleep in it that night. “i’m about to just cut this shit off of you.” he huffs.

“no!” you whine, reaching out to grab his shirt while you tilt your head up to look at him, eyes pleading. “don’t cut my clothes pleeease,” you drawl, tugging on his shirt. “i’ll show you how to take it off, c’mon, you’ve taken my clothes off like a hundred times.”

he couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head in disbelief at your words, but then he agrees and gestures to the corset, ready to learn. “alright, show me then.” he says, taking a step back to watch. you look down at the corset and groan a bit, hands coming up to squeeze the sides together. “just… push it… together… and undo it.” chris watches for a moment, and he thinks he understands, so he steps back up to you and starts to unclasp your shirt, eventually getting it off and leaving you on his bed in just your underwear. you gasp in a deep breath at the relief and flop back down, eyes closing instantly. “so much better,” you breathe out.

chris tosses the corset on the ground and keeps his eyes locked on you, trailing over your body. he admires you in a way he doesn’t think he ever has before, taking in your vulnerable state and recognizing the level of trust you must have in him to not only ask him for a ride, but to lay here so drunk you couldn’t even undress yourself and know that he wouldn’t do anything to harm you. it sent a shiver down his spine, and he had to pull his eyes away from you before he thought too hard about it, turning towards his dresser to grab a shirt for you to sleep in.

he walks back to his bed once he finds an old shirt that he knew fell past your hips, seeing you curled up on your side and most definitely almost asleep, if you weren’t already. he reaches down and pulls the shirt over your head, maneuvering your body through the shirt until he pulls it down on your torso, covering you up. you’re pretty malleable like this, so he grabs your body and slides you up on the bed and under the blankets, finally letting out a sigh of relief when you’re tucked in.

chris runs his hands over his face for a moment before he turns and gets himself changed as well, which just consisted of taking off the clothes he had thrown on to pick you up, leaving him in just his boxers. he debated sleeping on the couch, or the floor, or anywhere that wouldn’t be in your line of fire if your body decided to throw up, but ultimately he talked himself into just sliding into bed next to you, making sure to keep his distance on his side of the mattress.

his efforts didn’t last long, though, because not even a few minutes after he laid down, you were turning your body to face him and scooting closer until you could wrap your arm around his waist and rest your head on his chest, letting out a small sigh of contentment.

chris is taken aback at your action, his arm that’s now around you extended out in discomfort, not knowing what to do in this situation. you guys weren’t cuddlers, it wasn’t a part of your routine when you would sleep together. lay in the same bed and catch your breath, sure, but cuddling was never in the cards, so he couldn’t help the way his heart picked up at your newfound closeness. it almost felt more intimate than being inside you, like you guys had crossed a line he didn’t even know was drawn.

you let out another soft breath, nuzzling your face further into him as you settled in, not noticing his disconcertment. “chris?” you mumble suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. he hums, letting you know he’s listening. “if you just let yourself open up, you’d be a really good boyfriend to somebody someday.”

your words are clearer than they have been all night, and it makes chris’s ears ring and his face go pale, though it’s undetectable in the dark bedroom. he doesn’t answer, unable to find a good enough response, and he deems it unnecessary when he hears small snores coming from your parted lips, like you hadn’t just said something that was going to send him into a spiral for the remainder of the night.

he finally lets his hand come down and rest on your back, staring at the ceiling as he thinks over what you said, trying not to focus on your body weight resting on his, and the way your manicured hand sat peacefully on his stomach while you slept.

you’d be a really good boyfriend to somebody someday.

he found that hard to believe.

a/n: they’re becoming REAL

{texts with fwb!chris masterlist}

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44

#ave’s library 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris x you #chris x reader #⤷ toxic!fwb!chris x toxic!fwb!reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!chris ⊹ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!reader! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

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sweetandglovelyart · 1 year ago

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Are there any other Kirby fans on here who are also fans of Star Trek? I’ve met a couple of people on here who like both, but I’m trying to see if there’s anyone else.

I’m a big fan of Star Trek and I actually see a lot of parallels between Kirby and Star Trek (some examples of this are they both have mirror versions of the characters and the plot of Planet Robobot is just the plot of every Borg episode from Star Trek). I also like to include Star Trek references in my Kirby fanart (like making a reference to the Vulcan philosophy IDIC/Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations in my Meta Knight backstory comic) and I was wondering if anyone else in the fandom likes to do stuff like that in their art or writing. Where are all of the Kirby Trekkies at lmao 🖖

#text post #Kirby #I personally see a lot of parallels between Kirby and Star Trek #like both franchises have a mirror universe/mirror versions of the characters #and the plot of Planet Robobot is just the plot of every Borg episode in Star Trek #also Dedede and Meta Knight’s whole relationship reminds me a lot of Kirk and Spock lmao #my favorite Star Trek shows are Voyager and Deep Space Nine those are the ones with Captain Janeway and Captain Sisko #I think that all the shows have strong points and weak points some are weaker than others but I wouldn’t say any of them are awful #even when Star Trek has bad episodes they’re usually still entertaining to watch #I think the only show I genuinely didn’t like is Picard #I just didn’t like some of the writing decisions in it like the decision to bring back then immediately kill off beloved legacy characters #all of the other shows I either love or think are decent even if they aren’t my favorite or have flaws #anyway I love Kirby and Star Trek feel free to talk with me about either of them lol I’ll be happy to talk #my ask box and my DMs are open

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babybluebex · 5 days ago

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drink the honey | erik campbell x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in visiting your friends' bar, you happen to meet his older brother, aka the guy who pierced your ears forever ago. cue a lesson in grief and exactly what can be pierced and where, as well as a night you won't soon be forgetting. wc 9.7k (i am. so sorry.) title stolen from closer by nine inch nails. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: erik campbell (final destination: bloodlines, 2025) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: semi-canon compliance (howard has gone to his great reward, the shop fire happened, but none of the death hitlist stuff), drinking, one single mention of jerry fuckin fenbury, mild descriptions of burn injuries/scars, lots of innuendos, smut (minors dni)(holy shit there's a lot here, bear with me yall): p in v, creampie city baby (but then mention of intention to use morning-after pill), oral (f!receiving), genital piercings (like... we all watched the same movie, we know what's going down), lots of teasing, hittin it from the back + spanking (i know yall saw what he did to that garbage truck), biting/hickies, one tiny quick slap to a cheek, panty thief erik, look-in-the-mirror type shenanigans, light choking, halfway decent aftercare considering the circumstances, nicknames such as: sweetheart, baby, babygirl, princess/prince 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: soooo like after a year-long writing hiatus, i am back. it's been. a lot. and as far as this fic goes, i cannot explain myself, i knew i needed erik carnally even before the garbage truck thing so like. idk, dick piercing goes brrrr. anyway. follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!

You had only seen him once before. He had been the guy at the sketchy tattoo shop downtown that had done your second lobe piercings, and he was totally fine. It hardly hurt, probably because he was able to distract you long enough for the needle to pierce your skin by getting you talking about your own job, and he was pretty good about reminding you how to clean the piercings and everything. You didn’t exactly remember his name— something with an E, or an A? It was a little while ago, and you had been a walk-in— but you acutely remember his big, blue eyes and the stink of cigarettes that lingered on the leather jacket he wore while piercing you. That, actually, was the same jacket he was wearing right now, sitting directly across the bar from you.

He was by himself, bottle of Hice in hand, seemingly off in his own world as he gazed at the bartop. Every so often, every time the cute blond bartender passed by him, he would lift his head and give him a curt nod or a flick of his eyebrows, but he didn’t talk to anyone else or look in any one direction other than down. You were totally intrigued by him, even though he was not your usual type— as your friend beside you had joked as you walked into the bar earlier that night, maybe your “boyfriend” would be working, AKA Bobby, the cute blond bartender. Bobby was an absolute sweetheart, greeting you with a grin and asking how your night was every single time you came in, but he was a sweetie with everyone that walked into the bar, so, even though it wasn’t necessarily special treatment, it made you like him a whole lot.

Speaking of your friend… You looked one way and the other, trying to catch sight of her, and you frowned mildly as you tugged your phone from your purse. Just as you suspected, she had texted you about ten minutes before, telling you that she had absconded to go smoke, which was code for “I’m going on an adventure and it’ll be your job in two hours to track me down and get me back home”. You sighed, clicking off your phone screen, and sucked down the last of your liquor from your plastic cup.

“Lookin’ pretty glum there, friend,” a voice said, and you gazed up to see Bobby. There was a relative lull in the crowd, although the rap music playing over the speakers still shook the walls, and Bobby’s kind smile softened you. “What’s got you down?”

“Ah, shit,” you chuckled. “Not sad or anything. Just tired.”

“Tired?” Bobby repeated. “You want a vodka Redbull?”

You shook your head. “Just a long day at work,” you informed him. “Didn’t really even wanna come out, but Anna convinced me, and then immediately…” You trailed off, gesturing around you and the obvious lack of Anna. Even though you had never seen Bobby outside the bar, you had been going for years and knew him well, and Bobby had a good memory of the regulars, so he nodded, familiar with Anna’s disappearing act. “Probably one more of these, then close up my tab.”

“You got it,” Bobby said. “Single or double?”

You twisted your mouth as you thought about it. Obviously, you wanted a double, but a single would probably be better for you and your poor wallet. Bobby tilted his head towards you with a smile, almost as if to say C’mon, you know you wanna, and you sighed. “Just a single,” you told him.

“Heard,” Bobby nodded. As he made your drink, you watched him walk to the opposite end of the bar and sharply say something to the brooding piercer, and he looked up from the bartop again to say something equally sharp back at him. A weary smile passed over his face, and he pulled at the glass bottle of beer.

“Hey, so,” you started as Bobby handed you your cup. “Who’s that at the end you keep talking to?”

Bobby scoffed. “Who’s asking?” he started, popping a small black cocktail straw in your drink.

“He pierced my seconds for me a few months ago,” you explained. “Was thinking about getting my nose done, and wanted to go back to him, but I couldn’t remember his name.” A total lie; you liked your nose the way it was, with the appropriate number of holes. You just wanted to know more about him; he had a pull, like a magnet, and you needed more.

“You let that motherfucker stick needles in you?” Bobby chuckled. “And you want more? Ill-advised.”

“Okay, well, who is he?” you asked, a flash of fear running cold down your body.

“Erik,” Bobby said, and your brain flashed with recognition. Erik; that’s right. Something with an E.

“And it’s bad that Erik pierced my ears because…?” you asked. “Did he, like, get his license taken away or something?”

“No, no,” Bobby sighed. “Ah, I shouldn’t talk shit about him. He’s my older brother, though, I can’t help it. Genetically predisposed to give him hell… Maybe not genetically, but y’know, half-genetically, or whatever…”

Oh. Throughout the years, you could recall Bobby making passing mentions of his siblings— his older sister graduating college last year, his older brother flunking out of college prior to you ever meeting Bobby, his sister being “back in town”, his brother “traveling for work”, yada yada yada. “This the same brother that flunked outta college?” you asked, and Bobby laughed loudly.

“Yes!” he wheezed. “Yep, that’s him! Fuck, how do you remember that?”

“Because I’m a nice person, Bobby!” you smiled. “I remember things that people tell me!”

“Shit, that’s funny,” Bobby said. “Yeah, one and the same. Went for one semester, decided he didn’t like it, grades went downhill, dropped out before they could boot him out… Probably for the best, honestly, he never really was into the whole ‘establishment’ thing. Think he only ever went there to get our mom off his back.”

“Dad didn’t care?” you started, and a twinge flashed over Bobby’s face.

“Well,” he started. “Not necessarily, but y’know… But Dad passed away about a year ago. It sorta sucked for all of us, obviously, and that’s when Ma got intense about… Well, everything. But he had been out of college for… Shit, more than ten years, and when Dad died, Erik just… I don’t know, he had a break or something. You find out, in the wake of your dad’s death, that your dad isn’t actually your dad and that your mom’s friend is actually your dad, and that fucks with you, so I get it, but he got super withdrawn from all of us after that. I mean, shit, this is the first time I’ve seen him in months.”

“Wow,” you sighed. “That’s… Um…”

“Sorry,” Bobby said, clearing his throat. “Airing out my half-brother’s dirty laundry, I shouldn’t have… I just worry about him, y’know? He’s my big bro. He used to be so… He lit up whatever room he walked into. He’d come over to grill for family barbecues and to play video games and just to, like, hang out, but ever since that fiasco last year, he’s just… Tattoo shop, his apartment, over and over. Getting him to even stop by tonight was like pulling teeth. Truly, I think he needs a girlfriend. Boyfriend. Cat. Whatever. Something to get him out of his head.”

The man across the bar certainly did not fit the shining description that Bobby gave of the old Erik. By now, he had his phone in his hand, lighting up his face, and the light glinted off a large silver ring hanging from his nose. You remembered the same jewelry from when you met him, and you absentmindedly tugged on your earlobe. “Well, shit,” you said finally. “First of all, sorry for all of that. My dad isn’t really in my life, so I can’t sympathize exactly, but… Y’know. Still sucks. I’m sorry about that. And additionally… Jesus Christ, Bobby, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut!”

Bobby smiled. “You wanted to close your tab, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Sure thing.”

You handed Bobby your card, and your gaze drifted to Erik one more. Still on his phone, but now with furrowed eyebrows, concentrating on something. The POS system was right next to where Erik sat, and you watched Bobby say something to his brother as he ran your card. You couldn’t read lips, so you were at a loss as to the conversation, but you watched Erik roll his eyes and swig at his beer, saying something in response to Bobby. Bobby froze up for a single second, then said something that you could obviously tell was “Really?”, and Erik nodded. Bobby seemed like he was malfunctioning, still for a moment, then turning back to the computer, then back to Erik once more, repeating “Really?”

Erik was obviously annoyed, cocking his head towards his little brother, and he went into the pocket of his leather jacket, extracting his wallet and passing his card to Bobby. Bobby pushed your own card into his empty hand and poked at the computer for a moment, and he ran Erik’s card through the computer. In a second, the POS churned out a receipt, and Bobby shoved it towards his brother as he turned back towards you and came your way. “Um,” Bobby started, a red flush hitting his cheeks. “So, Erik picked up your tab for you.”

“Huh?” you asked as Bobby slid you your card back. “Why?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Bobby shrugged. “Maybe he thinks you’re my friend or something… Well, I mean, you are, kinda, we’re friendly…”

“Or maybe,” you started. “He’s getting a move-on with that ‘girlfriend’ thing you mentioned.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bobby mumbled.

“Or, and consider this,” you began, sliding your card back into your purse and grabbing your drink as you edged yourself off the barstool. “I’m a pretty girl who just gets drinks bought for her from time to time.”

“I mean, obviously,” Bobby said with a smile. “It’s just never my brother doing the buying.”

Erik looked up from his phone as you approached him, and your heart slammed up against your ribcage with anxiety. His hair, all shaggy and a little too long, hung in his eyes, and a careful smile touched at his mouth. “Saw you talking to Bobby,” he said. He shifted slightly, opening his body towards you and not solely at the bar, and you saw Bobby give a sort-of pained smile, almost a “What the fuck?!” type of face. “Figured you were one of his little girlfriends or something.”

“No, not me,” you said. “I’m just a regular, nothing more.”

“Ah, well,” Erik shrugged. “Bobby can use as many friends as he can get.” He cast a look at his brother, who swiftly threw up a double bird, and Erik rolled his eyes. “So, does my baby brother’s regular friend have a name?”

“Yes,” you said, and a smile came across his face when you told him your name. He repeated it back to you, gentle and sweet, like he was committing it to memory. You liked the way he said your name, and the closer proximity allowed you to see his pink mouth, the skin of his lips a little dry and bitten.

“That’s pretty,” he told you. “I’m Erik, if Bobby didn’t already tell you.”

“I already knew,” you told him. A flash of confusion wiped across his face, and you put a hand up to your ear, almost as if you were showing them off. “You did my seconds a little while ago.”

“Oh!” Erik laughed. “Well, shit, I did, didn’t I? I remember you now; I knew I’d seen your pretty face before.”

“God,” you chuckled. “Are you always such a flirt?”

“Not always,” Erik said. “Only when it can make my baby brother uncomfortable.” He gestured towards Bobby with the end of his beer bottle, and Bobby gave him another “What the fuck?” type look before rolling his eyes and going to serve other people at the bar, away from you and Erik.

“Well, you’re certainly brothers, based on attitude alone,” you said, and watched as Erik hooked the toe of his boot in the barstool opposite him and tugged it out, giving you a place to sit.

“What, the blindingly good looks didn’t give it away first?” Erik asked.

“You two look nothing alike,” you told him. After a momentary beat, you added, “I like your look better than his.”

“Oh yeah?” Erik asked. “You into the brooding, mysterious types?”

You shrugged. “I could be,” you said. “I think it’s the whole, like, ‘tortured artist’ thing you’ve got going on.”

“So, that answer is yes, the brooding and mysterious type,” Erik nodded. “Tortured artists are, in my experience, inherently brooding and mysterious. Can’t claim the title if you aren’t.”

“Damn, today I learned,” you replied, and Erik gave a little laugh. You examined his face as he looked to the side, towards Bobby, to flag him down for another beer; soft skin, a little pale with a rosy flush, rough facial hair that showed a little ginger in the blue neon signage behind the bar, with thick, dark eyelashes around his almond eyes, piercing blue. A silver ring inside his nose, to match the ones in his ears; it looked like a thicker metal than you thought piercings typically were. “So, here, you can teach me something else. How did you get your nose ring in?”

“Like, how you pierce a septum?” Erik asked.

“No, like, that’s way… I don’t know…” you started, already regretting the question, knowing your next choice of words. “Way bigger and thicker than my earrings. How?” Your face burned hot at having to look him in the eyes and say the phrase “big and thick” to him, but he either didn’t catch the unintentional innuendo or actively chose not to acknowledge it.

“Oh, I see,” Erik nodded. “Yeah, so, it’s a little complicated, a lot of terminology and shit, but the short of it is that you gotta stretch it out. Like, it wasn’t this big when I first did it, I’ve had to size up the hole over the years so I could get bigger and thicker things in there.”

You bit your bottom lip to hold in your laughter, and Erik scoffed. “Okay, that was too much eye contact on my part for saying all of that, that’s my bad,” he said and shook his head. “I could have said that way differently.”

“I-It’s fine,” you told him. He exchanged the empty bottle for another one from his brother, and Bobby passed him the bent-up bottle cap, which he put into an inside pocket of his jacket. “I mean, I started it.”

“That you did,” Erik said. “But, yeah, it’s a whole thing, sizing up, it takes a while.”

“Neat,” you said. “I don’t know too much about, like, tattoos or piercings or whatever, that’s not really my style.”

“Well, I’m an open book,” Erik shrugged. “You got questions, I’ve got answers. And I won’t even charge ya for it.” He gave you a playful wink, and the heat returned to your face.

“Cool,” you nodded. “Do you have any tattoos?”

“Oh, yeah,” Erik nodded quickly. “Got more ink than skin at this point, I’m pretty sure.” With that, he shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in just the black t-shirt for some band that you didn’t know, with that weird scratchy font that metal bands usually used. You could hardly focus on the t-shirt, though; all along his now-exposed arms, he had different pieces of artwork, all varying sizes, some colorful and some not, none of them remotely similar. You felt your eyes widen as Erik held out his arms to you, and you examined the spiderwebs, serpents, and roses that he had embedded in his skin forever. “You can touch ‘em, if you want,” he offered, then winced. “I promise I’m not trying to say everything as obscenely as possible.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled. Gently, as if you were worried you’d hurt him, you brushed your fingers along the large spiderweb that encompassed the majority of his lower right arm. “I mean, it’s just skin. Skin is skin, ink or not.”

“I know,” Erik said. “But that’s a sorta cheat code with people like me— let the cute girl touch your tattoos and she might give you her number. A high success rate, you’d be surprised.”

You gently turned his arm over to get a look at the softer, paler skin on the inside of his arm, and you sighed. In large script, the word DAD was inked in, along with a pale scar in the shape of a heart towards the end. “Oh,” Erik started. “So, the heart was, um, sorta an accident. Not sorta, it was an accident, but, like, I don’t know, it’s a long story. The night after my father died, I was closing up shop by myself, and some freak fire got started. Through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up on the floor, but a jewelry case had busted in the fire and I didn’t realize it, and my arm—” He made an exaggerated splat noise that made you giggle despite the horror of the story. “Landed straight on top of it. Worst pain I’ve ever been in that I didn’t enjoy.”

“Wow,” you mumbled. “I’m glad you’re alright… I remember last year, hearing from some friends that there was a fire there, but… And I’m sorry ‘bout your dad.” You only added the last part to try to banish the thoughts that his last remark had ignited, but he did nothing to mitigate it.

“Yeah, it’s coming up on a full year,” Erik said. “And I was thinking about it recently, and I’m tired of… I don’t know. When he died, I felt like I lost a part of myself. I mean, he’s my dad, y’know, I kinda did lose a part of myself. But one day a few weeks ago, I looked down at the tat and the burn scar, and saw that everything had healed up as nice as possible, like nothing bad happened at all, and I figured that it was Pops, taking care of me one last time. I realized I was tired of being a sad little recluse, especially if he was going to make sure I was okay.”

There’s the explanation that Bobby was looking for on why Erik changed. And, it seemed, like the old Erik was starting to rise from the grave. “That’s a nice thought,” you told him. You let go of his arm and cleared your throat, going after a sip of your drink, and you added, “Do you have any more?”

“Thoughts?” Erik joked, and you smiled.

“No, tattoos,” you told him. “I’m assuming it’s not just your arms.”

“Oh,” Erik said, shaking his head. “Nah, got ‘em all over. You can sorta see this one…” He hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged slightly, showing off the corner of what looked vaguely like a bird’s wing— “And my stomach piece, and the bullshit on my sides… And more.”

You could tell he was fishing for you to ask what “more” meant, and you gave him a soft smile. You could read his energy as easily as a book, and the words that his soul and body gave to you were telling you some things that you’d rather hear his voice say and his lips move around. “More?” you repeated. His hands weren’t all full of ink, and you carefully let your finger trace the lines of his palm as you lowered your voice as quiet as you could. “My, my, Erik. That almost sounds like an invitation.”

The hand of his that you weren’t tracing touched your knee, moving slowly to give you time to retreat if you wanted to. “An invitation to do what, exactly?” he asked, and you slotted your bottom lip between your teeth. “Oh, don’t you go getting shy on me now, baby. You’re almost there. All you gotta do is ask.”

A shiver ran down your back at the sweet little name he bestowed upon you, and you battled it with venom. “What if I don’t wanna ask?” you countered. “What if I’m content just looking at the tattoos on your arms, and have no interest whatsoever at seeing what’s under— and inside— your pants?”

Erik laughed the way that only incredibly hot guys could get away with, his lip between his teeth as his laughter rumbled low in his chest. “Who said anything about getting in my pants?” he asked. Moving slowly, once again giving you time to move if you so wanted, he got up from the stool he was sat on, instead leaning up on the bar on his elbow. He was taller standing than sitting, and having to look just so slightly upward made your mouth run dry. He wasn’t a big guy, but definitely not some twig, but the energy radiating from his chest made you feel so tiny in comparison. You didn’t hate it, though. Now, as close as you were, you could smell the mentholated smoke on him, and it made you dizzy. What the fuck was wrong with you? You had never been so unashamedly turned on by someone before.

“I did,” you said boldly.

“Now, that’s mixed signals,” Erik chuckled. “You don’t wanna see the tattoos or piercings I’ve got under my jeans, and yet you wanna get inside ‘em?”

You paused, replaying what he said in your head as your eyes widened, and quietly replied, “Piercings?”

He smiled slow, biting the edge of his lip, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “It’s like I told you, babygirl,” he said. “All you gotta do is ask.”

He took a half-step closer to you, his hand landing on your waist, and he angled his head down so that his mouth was right next to your ear. To an innocent passerby, it could have looked like he was just talking to you so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music, but the words that spilled from his lips were anything but innocent: “If you knew how fucking hard I was right now, you wouldn’t be wasting any more time out here. You’d take me into the bathroom and lock the door, and you’d open your legs and let me stretch your pussy open and do whatever I want to you. Right?” You nodded quickly, your own hand reaching out and hooking a finger in his belt loop to draw him closer. His tongue slowly wet his bottom lip as he took in your reaction, and he added, “And I bet you’d just love to be split open on my cock, wouldn’t you? Take me in your mouth, in your sopping wet little cunt. I bet you’re such a slut that you’d let me… Nah, you wouldn’t let me, you would beg me… To cum inside you, breed that filthy little cunt of yours until you’re absolutely full of me.”

You nodded quickly and grunted out a meek “Mhm.”

“You ever had a pierced cock before, baby?” Erik asked softly, almost turning sweet for a moment. But you knew it wasn’t sweetness; it was condescension, he was making fun of how mild-mannered you had turned. It only made the fire under your dress burn hotter. If he could have bent you over that bar that very second, you would have let him. But then his words sank into your skin— Sank maybe isn’t the right word. It hit you like a truck, slammed under your skin like all the ink on his body, needled in with a satisfied pain. Did he say pierced?

“N-No,” you stammered. “I didn’t even know you could… That anyone would wanna…”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “You wanna know a secret?” You looked at him with widened eyes, nodding, and his big blues softened at your doe-in-headlights look. “Only just got it last year. You’ll be the first to know what it feels like.”

“Oh my God,” you gasped. “I’m flattered.”

“How ‘bout you go check out that bathroom?” he asked, and you nodded again. Your head was spinning at the notion, and Erik’s eyebrows creased for a moment. “If you don’t, that’s alright. Let me know if I’m coming on too strong, I can back off or fuck off completely, if you want.”

“I like my men strong,” you told him, and you did. Forthright, assertive, commandeering; he was ticking all your boxes. “I was just thinking about it.”

“About what?” Erik asked. “I need words, sweetheart. I can’t do what you don’t tell me about. I’ll do anything for you. Just ask.”

You cast your gaze to the side, to your forgotten drink and his beer, and you whispered, “How many of those have you had?”

“That’s only my second one,” Erik told you. “I’m not drunk. Not even a little bit. And you?”

“Just the one,” you said. “And this has been collecting melted ice since I came over. But you know that, you paid for them.”

“Fuck, am I glad I did,” Erik smiled. “I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention. You were having such a good conversation with Bobby, I was almost worried the wrong Campbell brother might get a hold of you.”

“Easy, tiger,” you told him. “You don’t have a hold of me yet.”

Erik nodded slowly, the hand on your waist carefully sliding upwards to flatten against the small of your back, his pinkie edging oh-so-slightly under the waistband of your skirt. “M’getting there,” he told you. “I like to take my time, y’know?”

“Slow and steady?” you asked.

“Something like that,” Erik replied. Then, gently, a shift to a much softer side, he nestled his lips into your neck, just below your ear, and he gave it a gentle kiss. “Go to the bathroom, get all nice and ready for me while I finish up here. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” you told him, squeezing his arm.

In turn, his hand abandoned your leg and snatched your wrist. His grip wasn’t painfully tight, just enough to let you know that he meant business, and he said, “If I walk in there and catch you touching yourself, you’re gonna be in huge trouble. Okay? None of that shit, I’m the only one who makes you cum tonight.” Your eyes stuck on his mouth as he talked, the way his pink lips pulled and puckered as he talked, and that dizzy, hypnotized feeling came back. You wanted to kiss him, taste his mouth and tongue and feel his pretty lips against yours, but you were nearly certain that a quick fuck in the bathroom of a bar wasn’t exactly a “kiss” sort of situation.

Luckily, Erik read your mind. His own eyes flicked down to look at your mouth, and he sighed softly. “Lemme…” he whispered, and he surged into you, pressing his lips to yours for just long enough for you to get a head full of his scent. If he had stayed put for one second more, you would have kissed him back (again, if he decided to spread you open on that bar right then and there, you would have let him without question, so a simple kiss felt relatively lowkey), and, as he pulled away, you felt like it was a painful parting. “Just wanted a little taste,” he told you, swiping his thumb along the corner of his bottom lip. “God, if your pussy tastes half as good as your mouth, I might have to really pick my battles ‘bout what I want to do to you.”

As you departed towards the restroom, Erik sent a quick swat to your ass, and you bit your lip as you smiled at him. The restroom was towards the back, down a corridor about halfway until the room with the sign on the door, and you slowly opened it, expecting the resistance of someone in there shouting, but nothing came. A single-room situation, the counter for the sink painted shitty black with stickers for local bands and Sharpie graffiti littering the walls, and, thankfully, a functioning lock. You set your purse on the hook on the door, tugging out your phone to make sure Anna hadn’t texted you back, and you frowned at a new message from her. r u ok?? She had asked, sent less than 20 minutes ago. u haven’t come and found me and begged to go home yet!! :P

You quickly pecked out a message that was light on details, a simple got to talking to a friend, i’ll be done soon, and you turned towards the mirror, swiping at your lips with your finger to tidy up your lipstick. Erik didn’t seem all too concerned with the state of your makeup, but you still wanted it to look nice, and your concentration on cleaning up lipstick made you jump in shock when the doorknob to the bathroom started to jostle. You took a deep, steadying breath— you had never hooked up with a stranger in the bathroom before, and your chest felt full of nervous energy— and flipped the lock back on the door, then turned back to the mirror, trying to act unaffected and nonchalant.

Erik was quiet as a ghost as he entered, deliberately shutting the door behind him and locking it once more, and he came to stand behind you, looking in the cracked and dirty mirror as well. You could trace his eyeline, though, and he was only looking at you as he moved his arms to brace against the counter, trapping you against his chest. He seemed almost contemplative as he tilted his head, shifting his eyeline to your neck and the sliver of shoulder coming out of the collar, and he pressed his mouth to your bit of shoulder. He left soft, slow kisses on your skin, traveling up to your neck, then pressing another kiss below your ear. “Did you do what I asked?” he whispered in your ear. “Got yourself ready for me?”

“Not yet,” you admitted. “Was sorta hopin’ you’d do it for me.”

Quick as a flash, one of his hands was up off the counter, slithering around down your front to go up your skirt. His thick bicep pressed up against your body, pulling you closer into him, and you hummed with satisfaction as his big hand roughly cupped your pussy. He hadn’t done anything yet, hardly even touched you, really, but you were already wet, dampening your panties. “Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his cheek into your neck. “I can feel you, sweetheart, you’re soaked. Surely that can’t all be for me.”

“Who else would it be for?” you asked, and a wicked smile crossed his face.

Erik moved with confidence, like he had done it a thousand times, his fingers stroking the wetness of your panties with rough pressure, almost like he was threatening to penetrate you through the thin fabric. You realized he seemed to be mapping you out, memorizing the way you felt, and his fingers moved upwards just a bit to grind against your throbbing clit. A choked moan involuntarily left your lips, and he carefully nibbled at your soft neck. You had a feeling that he would have sank his teeth in if you would let him, and you hated to admit that you would have. Something about him made you feel dangerous for even knowing his name, and your blood felt like fire in your veins.

“You want ‘em?” Erik asked.

You panted, pressing your ass back into him like some pathetic bitch in heat, and your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of him right against your ass, stiff inside his pants. You felt like you could have drooled as Erik laughed, rumbling low in his chest, and your voice came out as a high-pitched whine: “Want your cock, Erik, please!”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “No prep, nothing? You like it when it hurts, huh? Fuck, what a woman…” He bit his bottom lip as he smiled and shook his head, seemingly impressed with you, and, as fast as lightning, his hand cracked against your ass, palm open, echoing around the tin bathroom. The sting and flame of pain made the headrush increase tenfold, and the burn of tears pricked at your eyes. You loved it, though. The dudes you fucked before were pretty easy and vanilla, and even though this wasn’t exactly the kinkiest hook-up to ever take place, even just spanking you was the most wild thing a guy had ever done. Something told you, though, that spanking and hitting it from the back (also something new for you) were part and parcel of Erik’s routine.

His hand bunched up in the fabric of your panties, pulling it tight for just a moment, before inching it down your legs. He greedily took in the sight through the mirror as you dug your fingernails into your palms, and his free hand moved to grasp your chin, making you look in the mirror with him. “You see that?” he whispered, capturing the soft flesh of your ear in his teeth. You nodded quickly, whimpering, and the quietest growl purred at his throat. “What do you see? Tell me.”

“I-I see…” you started, and you shuffled a bit to get your panties off completely. Erik balled them up in his fist and slipped them into the front pocket of his jeans, and your whole body pulsed and throbbed. “Am I gettin’ those back?”

“Debatable,” Erik said swiftly, and he let go of your jaw to land a not-exactly gentle hit on your cheek before grabbing your face once more. “Eyes on the prize, sweetheart, tell me what you’re lookin’ at.”

“You,” you choked out.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “What am I doing?”

The skin-to-skin contact of his rough fingers with your clit made you think you would cum from that alone. His middle fingers circled your bud, putting the perfect amount of pressure to have your legs shake, and you keened high in your throat, squirming to press your back fully against his front. You could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blade, dampened through your clothes but still quick, fast— he was excited, nervous, on-the-edge-of-his-seat, like you, and then you remembered the secret he had told you. He had never had sex with his piercing before. He was probably as wigged out of his mind about it as you were. “Touchin’ me,” you gasped. “Touching my clit, making me feel so good.”

“Good girl,” he whispered. His hand on your jaw slunk down, repositioning to grip your throat, and you watched his face tense as he faltered. “If I do something you don’t like, please tell me. Don’t be quiet just ‘cause I like it, okay? I wanna get my rocks off, sure, but, at the end of the day, I’m only satisfied if you are. So, if I’m too rough or say something weird or you wanna do something else, just say the word and I’ll do it.”

“You’re okay,” you assured him. “I’ve, umm… Never done anything like this before.”

His hands jumped away from your body like your skin had burned him. “Like what?” he asked. “‘Like this’, what is ‘this’?”

The ceasing of his rubbings on your clit made you sigh, and the shaking in your legs got worse. “The-the slapping,” you started, but a genuine laugh bubbled from your chest. “Looking in the mirror, choking, all of that, it’s new for me.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just assumed, that’s totally on me.”

“I never told you to stop,” you offered lightly, raising your eyes to look at him in the mirror. “I never said I didn’t like it. I mean, if you hadn’t stopped rubbing my clit, I probably would’ve cum.”

Those big blue eyes of his blinked once with surprise, and he said, “Fuck. You were that close?” With your nod, Erik laughed. “Damn. Shame on me, sweetheart.”

“I do think that I want you to fuck me from the front,” you told him, easily turning to face him. “I mean, I can’t very well watch your cock sink into me if you’re fucking me from the back, can I?”

“Where have you been all my life?” Erik asked, all breathy like he couldn’t believe what you were saying to him, and you smiled. Your minds seemed to think the same thing at the same time, because his hands went under your ass to help you as you perched on the edge of the counter, opening your legs for him to see all the slick and wet he had left you with. His chest heaved as he drank in the sight of your pussy, his hands skimming up your thighs, and you reached out to grab at his belt buckle, undoing it with much more deft fingers than you were used to having. He let you get as far as pulling down his zipper before he dug his blunt nails into your soft skin, making that growling purr again.

“I just need a taste of you,” he told you, and before your brain could catch up with what he meant, he was getting down on his knees and he was getting to work, licking a broad, fat stripe up your glistening cunt. The wet warmth of his tongue made a broken moan rip from your mouth, and your head tilted back as he landed a messy kiss on your hole, throbbing and clenching around nothing. “Just like I thought, sweetheart: sweet as candy. I oughta start calling you sugar, huh?”

He shifted, standing back to his full height, and the fire in your veins grew hotter at the sight of his mouth, shining in the light with your wet. You reached out for him and drew him into a messy kiss, and you let out your first true, full-chested moan of the night as you let yourself sink fully into him, into his smell and taste and energy, and Erik’s hips bucked forward. “Fuck,” he hissed, and drew in a tight breath. “I knew it was sensitive, they told me it would be, but fuck me, that’s intense.”

“What is?” you asked, chasing him back into another kiss.

“My stupid dick,” Erik chuckled against your mouth. “Rubbing against my pants, it’s, like, holy shit. You’d think I’d never had my dick touched before, the way it feels.”

You resumed the job that you had abandoned before as you kissed him, and his hands joined you to help tug down his jeans just enough to shove down the band of his boxers, his belt buckle jingling as it moved. He had a nice dick, decently long and deliciously thick— now you understood what his whole “stretching you out” thing was about, because oh my God— but you couldn’t focus on the whole thing for too long. Extending from his beautiful rosy tip was the silver metal ball, indicative of the end of a piercing, and your stomach pitched. That was going inside of you, and you had never thought something could be so arousing. Quickly, before he could push your hand away, you wrapped your fingers around his length, pulling on his bottom lip with your teeth as you stroked his cock.

His cock jumped in your hand as he groaned, his eyebrows furrowing with the pleasure of it. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Holy shit, sweetheart, I think you’re gonna kill me if you make me wait any longer.”

“We wouldn't want that,” you told him. You shuffled a bit, opening your legs wider for him, and his strong hands angled your legs to wrap around his waist. He was quick, obviously rather skilled with it, as he grasped his cock and guided it to your hole, pressing just the smallest bit in before he raised his eyes up to meet yours. A shiver ran down your back at the eye contact, and he seemed to notice the effect he had on you, because he put a hand on your face, keeping you from moving.

“If it hurts,” he started. “Don’t tell me. Just scream for me.”

Your breaths timed in tandem as he bullied his way inside you, going slowly to savor your tight resistance, and you gasped. His dick felt so good inside you, that funny little electrical charge working overtime with every bit he gave you, but the hard ball of the piercing in you nearly made tears fall. Not because it hurt— it didn’t; it was noticeable, of course, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it felt so damn good, it just did. His cock was stiff and hard and hot, heated steel under warm velvet, and you cried out a wrecked little noise as he bottomed out, his thick balls nestled against your ass.

Thankfully, you somehow managed to keep your head on straight and look at his face, and you saw a man possessed. His cheeks pink, his spit-slick rosebud mouth open, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows pitched, messy hair falling over his forehead. God, the man was in heaven inside you, and his moan came as he opened his eyes. “Fuck,” he laughed. “Look at that— fits like a glove. A really tight, really… Really warm, super wet… Glove— Fuck.” He abandoned the joke almost immediately, instead moving to pull his hips back, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of himself. You watched as well, seeing his softest skin all slick and shiny with your wetness, and he pulled himself out fully, watching as your hole throbbed in his absence.

“God,” you whined, a pit opening in your stomach. “Erik, baby, put it back in, please.”

“I like the way you say my name,” he told you. “You say it like… I don’t know. Like you love the way it tastes.”

“I do,” you told him. Your chest heaved as you waited for him to take pity on you, and he quickly shoved your shirt up your chest, exposing your tits and the pushup bra you had worn, and he gave a wolfish grin.

“Good,” he said. “I’m so glad. Now, sweetheart, you said you wanted my cock back inside you?”

“Yes!” you yelped. He leaned down and kissed the swell of your tits as you writhed, and you added, “Please, Erik, please, put your cock inside me again, I feel so empty without you in my pussy.”

“Such a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” Erik smiled, and he shook his head. “Nah, Bobby wouldn’t have been able to handle you, you would’ve knocked him out, you’re too much for him.”

“Y’know,” you started. “I came here tonight to see Bobby. My friend always jokes that he’s my boyfriend.”

Erik’s eyebrows furrowed, this time in confusion. “Have you fucked him?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“No,” you told him quickly. “Just— I don’t know. Had a little crush on him, that’s all. It’s those blue eyes, makes it hard to keep a girl away. Same as you, actually.”

“Past tense ‘had’ a crush on baby brother,” Erik repeated. “Not present tense?”

“Not as of… About half an hour ago,” you told him. “Found another somebody to focus on.”

“Someone caught your attention over Bobby?” Erik laughed. “Whoever that guy is, he is one lucky bastard. I bet you’d let him lick your pussy, wouldn’t you?” He rolled his eyes at his own joke, and you giggled softly.

“I’d even let him fuck me in this gross-ass bar bathroom,” you said. “If only he would shut his stupid mouth and put his dick back inside me.”

Erik made a big show of closing his mouth, looking a little like a gaping fish, and you held back a snort of laughter. This time, you watched him, slapping your pussy with the head of his cock a few times, hearing the wet sound echo around the bathroom, and his dick twitched as he ran his thumb across his sensitive head, smearing his pearly pre-cum around. “Jesus,” he gasped. “Gotta quit doing that, s’gonna make me bust before I’ve even really fucked you.”

You watched as he situated his pierced head back at your entrance, and you felt like all the breath in your chest got knocked out in one punch as he pushed inside, a little quicker and rougher than before. He didn’t waste time to start up a rhythm, wrinkling his nose as he gripped your hips and fucked you, and your arms circled around his neck, hiding in his shoulder and attempting to muffle your noises. It wasn’t quiet exactly in the bathroom, the music from the bar proper still very clearly audible, the walls still sorta rattling with the heavy bass, and you weren’t worried that anyone out there would hear you, but you were also hesitant to risk it. “D-Does anyone know?” you stammered.

“Know what?” Erik asked. His belt rattled again as he snapped his hips forward into you, and you let out a wrecked moan into the dip of his neck.

“That we’re in here together,” you said. “Th-That you’re fucking me within an inch of my life.”

“I don’t think so,” Erik said. “Told Bobby I was heading back here, then was gonna split, but I don’t know if he saw you come back, so who knows what he knows. Why, are you worried your little boyfriend is gonna get jealous?”

“No,” you told him with a shaky voice. He was so close to that spot inside you with every drag of his cock, and you could almost taste the incoming pop of electricity that would snap on your tongue when he did.

“You want people to know I’m fucking you back here?” Erik asked. “Let the whole damn bar know that a pretty thing like you would let someone like me violate you? Damn, girl, you might be kinkier than me.”

“Not likely,” you countered. “I mean, who here has the pierced genitals?”

“Fair point,” Erik said. “Ya like it?”

“I might never go back to regular dicks after this,” you chuckled, and Erik nodded in satisfaction. “But I don’t know if it’s the piercing, or if you’re just an absolute godlike fuck, even without that thing.”

“Mix of both?” Erik offered. “I’m sure my sparkling personality has something to do with it too.”

Before you could think of a snappy comeback, he fucked into you, and that electricity popped in your mouth as white flashed in your vision. “Fuck!” you squealed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Erik, oh my God!”

“Right there?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. His grip on your waist tightened, and you could almost feel the capillaries bursting under your skin to bruise up all tender by tomorrow morning as he fucked into that spot once more. Your whole body jostled with the feeling, and you squeezed your thighs hard around his body, urging him on. He was quick with it now, hammering into you and forcing out uh-uh-uh! moans from you, and you dug your fingernails into his scalp. He wasn’t quiet either, hissing in tight breaths and groaning as you throbbed around him, and a properly loud moan tumbled from his lips when your mouth attached to his neck, sucking at the sensitive pulse point. “Fuck, you gonna mark me up?” he panted, and you looked up at his face. His forehead under his hair was shiny with sweat, his eyes blown way the fuck out, lips bitten all red and raw— he was just about the most handsome guy you’d ever seen.

“S’that so bad?” you asked, leaning back and biting at a different part of his skin. You intended to leave many bruises, in as many places as possible, and one of his strong hands lifted from your hip to cradle your head against his neck. Your tongue soothed the sting of your bites, and you could feel his throat and chest rumble as he pitched his head towards the ceiling and moaned.

“Not at all,” he whispered. “‘Specially if you leave your pretty lipstick all over my neck.”

“Wanna leave it everywhere,” you told him. That telltale knot was tightening at the bottom of your tummy, and, based on his shaky breathing and the slow increase in volume, he didn’t have much longer left either. “E, baby,” you whispered, and he touched his forehead to yours, stealing a kiss to your mouth. “Wanna see us. Turn me around.”

The brief few seconds where he pulled out of you felt like torture, but he guided you off the counter and around, back in the position you started with. You steadied yourself on your hands, and hardly had time to even think again before he was back inside you, anchoring on your hips. It was louder now too, the hits of his skin on yours coming faster with the angle shift, and his dick (and the associated piercing) rubbed against your tender spot with every single thrust. Your legs felt like jelly and you dug your nails into the countertop as you looked up to the mirror, and you jumped with shock.

Who the absolute fuck were you looking at? By all accounts, the girl in the mirror was you— she had your eyes, your pretty face, the same outfit you wore. But her eyes were blown wide like she was rolling, her lipstick smeared across her face with her mascara gathered and running under her eyes. Her fingers moved when yours did, her chest heaved when yours did, she even moaned when you did. This was you; or, at least, this is what Erik did to you. You didn’t hate the fucked-out look on yourself.

You cast your gaze to Erik in the mirror and found him studying your reflection as well, his bottom lip firmly between his teeth. He had pulled his shirt up with the position change, and your mouth watered at the collection of tattoos on his chest and stomach, the focal point being the large, dark skull in the middle of his torso. His stomach tensed and flexed as he fucked you, and you only managed to catch a momentary silver glint of nipple rings (what the fuck was with this guy?) before the knot in your stomach began to loosen, threatening the last shreds of your sanity.

“Erik!” you squealed. Skillfully, he molded his front to your back and placed his arms over top of yours, threading your fingers together as he bit at your shoulder.

“You gonna cum?” he asked, and you sobbed as his rhythm changed, from quick and hurried, to one hard slam after the other, a decidedly slower flow but all the more serving to get you to your end. “You gonna scream when you cream all over my cock?”

“Yes!” you cried. “Fuck, I’m so close, E, please!”

“Aw, you poor thing,” he said, all condescending once more. “Little sweetheart, can’t take it anymore, huh?” One of his hands started to inch away from yours, and you knew exactly what he was on his way to do.

You weren’t sure if his rough fingers actually made contact with your clit when you came. True to your word, you sobbed and moaned through your climax, drawn from so deep within your chest that it almost hurt, your head dropping forward as your whole body shook in the aftermath of the absolute assault on your nervous system. Erik’s strength was on full show now, because he used the little bit of it that he still had harnessed to keep you upright, his arm around your waist as he roughly buried himself up to the hilt in you, and it didn’t take long for you to feel the warmth of his cum inside you. You hadn’t even thought about a condom until right that second, when it was decidedly too late for one.

And then it was quiet. Not completely, of course; his breathing was rattly and hard from exertion, and you were sniffling and whimpering, but it was much less noise than it had previously been. He cleared his throat and sniffed, and he carefully stood back to his full height with a sigh. “Goddamn…” he whispered. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“M’good,” you whispered. “Just… Holy shit.”

Erik chuckled raspily. “I know,” he said. “Think you can stand, or do you need me to hold onto ya?”

“I can stand,” you assured him, and he slowly withdrew from you, earning himself one last, pathetic moan as his piercing rubbed against the spot inside you that felt raw and ultra-sensitive. The emptiness inside you was a strange feeling that you weren’t used to, and you tried to even out your breathing as he reached around you, grabbing at the stack of paper towels next to the sink. Before you really knew what was happening, he was on you again, turning you and lifting you back onto the counter, and you started, “Erik, I can’t, not again, give me a minute before—”

He shushed you, soft and gentle. “Not what I’m doing, sweetheart,” he told you, lifting your head up to look at him with a finger under your chin. He ran the tap against a few of the paper towels, soaking them with cold water, and he carefully wiped at your cheeks, trying to cool you down and help you settle. “There you go, that’s good, we’re calming down, we’re okay. What’s the shaking for? You alright, is it just the adrenaline? Or is something wrong?”

You hadn’t even noticed the quivering that had started in your hands until he said something, and you frowned. “I’m alright,” you whispered. “Just… Oh my God.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, then went to wipe down the sides of your mouth, cleaning up your makeup. “I know,” he said. “That was… I’ve never been like that before. I don’t know what happened to me. S’like I got inside you and, like, Hulked out or something. That was super fucked up, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You couldn’t help your laughter. “See that?” you repeated. “Erik, I’m the one you were fucking, I lived through that. Don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, let alone out of here tonight.”

Erik pouted at you. “Poor little princess,” he joked. “Need your prince to carry you into your Uber home?”

“I don’t need saving,” you smiled. “But I might need your number.”

Erik shared your smile, and he swooped in to land a kiss on your mouth. “See? I told you; we let cute girls touch our tattoos, and we get their numbers.”

When you woke up the next morning, in your own apartment, Anna already puking her hungover guts out in the bathroom, the first thing you thought about was Erik. You both managed to escape the bathroom unnoticed, even if you were walking like you had just ridden a bike across the country nonstop, and you found Anna out front, sharing a cigarette with some frat-dude-looking motherfucker. She hadn’t seen you and Erik together, so she didn’t try to pry into what you had been doing, but you caught Bobby’s eye, and he absolutely knew. Erik went back to his seat at the end of the bar, and you heard him ask his brother for a shot of tequila, and Bobby asked about what had happened just then, but Anna was whisking you away before you heard Erik’s response. It didn’t occur to you until you were already in the Uber home with a much-more-drunk-than-you Anna that you didn’t actually give Erik your phone number, and you could have hit yourself. How stupid did you have to be? Dude fucks you dumb and cums inside you, and you don’t even get his fucking number? What a fail.

Your whole body was sore and raw as you shifted in bed, grabbing at your phone tangled in your blankets. It was on 2% battery, having been forgotten the moment you got home, but it wasn’t the battery percentage that you were focused on. You had two texts, both about an hour old and from the same unsaved phone number, a local area code. The first text was a payment to you for $50, and the second said I’m an idiot. Get some breakfast and a Plan B. Take care of yourself. :)

Just as you were unlocking your phone to text Erik back, asking how exactly he got your phone number (probably Bobby), your phone vibrated with a third text; you could envision, for the past hour, him pacing around and debating whether to text you again. You had certainly done it before, and then promptly thrown your phone across the room when you finally hit send. So when will I get to see you again?

You hit the call button, and the phone trilled for just a few seconds before the call picked up. Erik’s raspy voice, half-morning voice and half an obvious hangover from time spent at the bar after you left, said your name, as sweet as honey, like the first time he said it, but it wasn’t a question, like he was surprised you called. No, he was even and prepared, calm, cool, and collected. The memory of him last night, eyes blown out like he was on molly and his hair in his face, flashed in your mind’s eye, such a contrast from him right now, and you smiled. “If I sent you my address, would you come pick me up?” you asked. “We can get breakfast together, and you can see me again.”

“Only if you also wanna see me,” Erik said.

You could hear his smile from across the phone, and it made you smile even wider, like some lovesick teenager. “I would love nothing more.”

#erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell smut #erik campbell x you #final destination bloodlines #richard harmon #i uh don't look at me i'm blushing #if i missed any tags or like the format is fucked up lmk plsnthx #missed yall! love yall!

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