Brett Richards x F!Leone Reader. Part of the Standing Outside the Fire series.
I still haven't watched this show but hes got me in that chokehold with those fucking arms. ~1.5k words. Allusions to oral (f!receiving). Smut (Unprotected p in v). Praise, derogation, choking. creampie. an ending so fluffy you might explode.
A/N : happy valentines day babies. SHOUTOUT to my valentine, @atlaslapis for beta part of this for me. love you bestie!
You were at home making a homemade pizza when you heard the door open. You turned to see your boyfriend walking in.
“Hey, handsome, how was the first day at 42?” you said as you went back to adding the toppings to the pizza.
Brett came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, but didn’t say a word. He buried his face in your neck, his stubble scratching you as he nuzzled in.
“That bad?” you said, as you moved onto adding the cheese.
“If I had to hear your brother say one more time I didn’t need to be there, ‘cause it was his birthright to be chief of the 42,” Brett sighed, “Just so glad to hold you right now, Honey.” Brett pulled your back closer to his chest with his strong arms on your hips, as he placed sloppy kisses on the side of your neck.
“Brett,” you whined, “If you want to eat you gotta let me go so I can put this in the oven.”
“Rather have dessert first,” Brett said.
“Greedy.”
“Just missed my girl,” Brett said as he let go of you so you could put the pizza in the oven.
“We have time while this cooks,” you said as you bent over to put the pizza in the oven.
Brett slapped your right on your butt. “Who’s greedy now?”
“Still you. I’m needy. There’s a difference,” you said as you stood and faced him with a smirk.
“Bed. Now.” Brett growled as you ran off towards the bedroom, with him right behind you.
You laid in the bed, savoring your post orgasmic bliss, in nothing but a tshirt, as Brett walked back into the room.
“Crust is a little burnt,” he said as he handed you a plate of pizza.
“Good thing we didn’t have to call the fire department,” you said as you laughed and took a bite. “Ouch!” you said as the hot pizza burnt your mouth and lips.
“That’s what you get for being snarky, Honey,” Brett said as he leaned over and kissed you. You could still taste yourself on him. He smelt of smoke and outdoors. You leaned into the kiss, setting your plate of pizza on the bed next to you as you started to climb on top of him. You knew he was half hard already, and you started to grind down on him.
As much as he didn’t want to, Brett pulled away. “Finish eating first, you’re gonna need the energy to keep up.”
You pouted as you looked at Brett. “Think I can’t keep up with you?” you said as you pouted. You didn’t climb off him as you grabbed your plate and took another bite. You were still grinding on him.
“Keep up the attitude, Honey, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Brett said as he continued to eat his pizza, while he grabbed your ass with his other hand.
You continued to roll your hips on him as you spoke, “Is that a threat or a promise?” you asked with a smirk.
“Both if you keep it up,” Brett said.
“Good, I like both,” you said. You continued to roll your hips, teasing Brett, while causing a wet spot to appear on his pants from your dripping center.
As you both finished your pizza, Brett took the plates. “Need you to get off me so I can take care of these,” he said.
You started to whine, but he took his finger and placed it over your mouth, shushing you. “I’ll give you what you want, make good on that promise, but you gotta let me up, Honey.”
You nodded as you got off your boyfriend’s lap.
“Be a good girl and take that shirt off for me, then lie down on your stomach, and I’ll be right back,” he said as he kissed your cheek.
“Yes, Chief,” you said as you started taking your shirt off.
Brett growled as he walked out of the room. You both knew exactly what you were doing to him.
When he came back, he licked his lips at the sight in front of him. You, naked, on his bed, your ass and pussy on full display for him. He was quick to remove his belt and pants, followed by his shirt. He climbed on the bed and placed his legs on each side of your body. He took his dick in his hand, as he stroked himself a few times, before letting it fall and bounce off your ass cheek.
You lifted your head off the pillow as your spoke. “Don’t be a tease, Brett,” you whined.
“Don’t be a tease, Brett,” he said, mocking your whining tone. “Don’t want me to tease, fine.” Brett lined his dick up at your enterance, “I won’t,” he said, his voice a growl, as he pushed himself into in one, rough thrust.
You screamed out - unsure if it was from pain or the pleasure, as Brett set a rough pace. He leaned down on you, caging you under all his weight as his stomach lined up with the curve of your spine, and his balls hit your clit. You kept trying to moan out, but they all got caught in your lungs.
“You fucking love this, don’t you?” Brett said as he started kissing your shoulder.
A moan was finally able to escape your lips, but that’s all the response you could give.
“Of course you do, you’re fucking squeezing me so tight.”
“Brett-” you managed to get his name out before the rest of the scream died on your tounge.
Brett put his arm around your neck, choking you slightly, he started to tilt your head back towards him as he spoke.“What was that, Honey?” Brett asked.
“Brett. Close. Gonna-AH”
Brett thrusted all the way inside, and stopped. “Didn’t hear you ask,” he said as he started barely pulling out before going back in. The shallow thrusts just enough to keep the coil in your belly from fading completely.
“Please, Brett, Please,” you said.
“Please what?”
“Please make me cum, chief.”
Something always clicked in Brett when you called him chief. “Is that what you want? Want me to make you cum like the slut you are?” Brett growled as he picked up the pace again. This thrusts were rough and hard. The room filled with your moans, Brett’s grunts, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. He moved his hand from around your neck, allowing your head to fall against the pillow. He grabbed your hair into a makeshift pony tail. He tugged, pulling your head off the pillow again. “Beg.” It was a demand coming from Brett.
“Close. Brett. Don’t stop. Please.” Your moans were turning into cries. “Please don’t fucking stop.”
“I won’t ever fucking stop, Honey. Not when you’re sucha good little slut for me, taking me so well, begging for me to make you cum.” Brett moved his hand to your clit, which was already sensitive from his balls hitting it with each thrust. His rough fingers against your bundle of nerves was sending you over the edge.
“Brett, chief, baby I’m-I’m gonna,” you started babbling.
“Do it,” Brett grunted roughly in your ear. “Fucking cum on my cock.”
You screamed his name once more, as your vision blurred and euphoria took over your body. Brett fucked you through your orgasm, never letting up his pace.
As you came down from your high, you could hear Brett’s words. “Good girl, cumming when she’s told.”
You only responded with a moan and your pussy squeezing Brett’s cock.
“Still fucking wants more, doesn’t she?” Brett said he put both his large hands on your shoulders, for more leverage, as he continued to fuck you. His thrurts were becoming more eratic. You could feel his cock twitching inside you.
“You gonna - gonna cum inside me?” you asked.
“You want that? Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes chief,” you said, as you started to moan.
“Gonna do it, gonna -” Brett moaned out your name as he stilled inside you with one last thrust, empting himself inside you.
He all but collapsed on your back as he pulled out. He was acting as a weighted blanket against you. “You okay, honey?” Brett asked, as he kissed the side of your neck.
“Yeah,” you said as you were still catching your breath, “Told you, I like it like that baby.”
You felt Brett chuckle against your back. “I could tell. Best sex we’ve ever had. C’mere,” Brett put a hand under your chin, pulling your head off the pillow, and pulling you into an awkard kiss. Brett broke away. “Stay there, honey. I’m gonna clean you up,” he said as he got up to clean you up.
Once he finished cleaning up, Brett climbed back into bed with you. You curled up next to him. He put his arms around you, and held you close. Before either of you knew it, you were fast asleep. Brett studied your face as you slept, tucking stray pieces of your hair into place. He didn’t think he could love you more than he did in that moment, as he soon found himself drifting off to sleep.
summary: You've been playing this game with Pope for too long. This time, you vow to make it right.
rating: e ( explicit )
warnings: talk of pope's mental illness, pope and reader have somewhat of a toxic relationship, sex (protected and not protected, p in v, creampie, cowgirl, missionary, rough sex), talk of death.
word count: 2.7k+
notes: happy valentine's day.
The first time, it feels rushed.
Seventeen, skin licked by salty waves, the too fast thud of his heart beneath your palm as you brush against his bare skin. When you ask him to take off your swim suit, you say it in a tone he hasn’t heard before—a soft, sultry hush that burrows deep in his chest, makes him think, Does this mean she likes me too?
Pope does exactly as you ask–always does–hoping to keep you pressed to his hips, in his hands, beneath his mouth for the rest of his life. Thinks you might let him too, until Baz interrupts the reality of you and him all alone in the humid garage, sex hanging in the air between you as he readjusts your top. It becomes sun kissed duplicity when you push away from him like his touch stings.
He is already missing the soft warmth of you as he watches you follow Baz out. You cast a look over your shoulder that he thinks about for days.
The second time, it is a mistake.
Twenty-five and still sober enough to know better, you let Pope show you the small skateboard collection in his room. You fiddle with the curls at the base of his neck, watch the shape of his mouth as it rattles on in an uncharacteristically enthused manner about the size and shape of each board. It seems like he is aging in reverse, cheeks soft, full, what you might call baby fat on anyone who isn’t as old as Pope has always seemed to be. He looks healthy.
You let him bend you over the counter in the bathroom next to his room, with the doors open wide for anyone to walk through. Someone has finally taught him what to do with his own desire. He watches you in the mirror as he stands between your legs, eyes green and earnest, shining with the type of devotion that catches in your throat when you think about it later.
After, with his back turned away from his reflection, he says, “Why does everyone think I’m not capable of knowing what I want?” You do not reply but you think of Smurf. He wonders whether you have heard of his latest episode, of all the prescription pills, wonders if you can sense, the way Smurf can, that he worries about if he can ever be trusted, too. The silence is answer enough for the both of you.
The third time, it is affirming.
Thirty is beginning to feel ancient and what you do with Pope feels that way too, in a primal and instinctual way—as innate as communication and breathing. He sheaths the condom around himself in such a hurried and uncomplicated way that you wonder if he has practiced doing it. There are gaps in your knowledge about him, purposeful and wide, but they always feel bridged when his cock lines up at your entrance and he is pushing in, little by little.
Suddenly, you are full of him, and getting older, and still too cowardly to admit that you crave him like he is something sturdy enough to grasp onto.
There is this woman, Catharine, who is in love with Baz, but who had once doted on Pope with the sort of unabashed adoration he has always deserved. He still loves her, even though she seems to no longer return his feelings. You know this, wish it wasn’t happening to him, and yet you still cannot look him in the eye as lets you use him the way you are good at doing. You kiss the column of his neck and suck greedily at the flesh there, always claiming things that aren’t yours, happy when it causes him to whine.
After, you stand a whole bed width apart from him, dressing yourself. Some part of you is satisfied by what he has done to your body; another part feels it has been torn open in a way that cannot be healed over.
This time, it's different.
It astounds you that aging is something that you could’ve ever worried about now that you've seen it on him: the fine wrinkles on his forehead, around his eyes, the lines that bracket his mouth. There has been so much survival in his life, with the prison and the endless jobs. Smurf had let him go like a smoking gun into the world, careless about what it would mean for the longevity of his life. But he is alive. Smurf is dead, gone all of ten days, but he is here, alive. It was a long way for Pope to travel for something he could not have been sure about, but you’re happy he came; you have missed him so much more than you thought possible.
He said that he found you because of the letters you wrote him in Folsom years ago. The letters he wrote in response felt like confessionals, absent of his usual brusque tone. Sometimes his words used to reach the edges of the paper, like he couldn’t bear to stop. He never wrote about what it was like there, preferring to oscillate between past and future instead. You preferred it that way too.
He is laid back on your bed now, naked, unmoored, every blanket pushed to the floor so he can lay on your sheets without bother. You take off your underwear, your bra, toss them all next to his own clothes on the ground. As you lie next to him on the mattress, he reaches down and intertwines your fingers together. It feels familiar.
You turn on your side and graze the soft, pink flesh of his lips with your finger. His chin wobbles and emotion cracks through the stony faced demeanor he has been wearing since he arrived. “I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, voice soft. “I don’t think I can survive without Smurf. I wanted her dead for so long, because I thought it would end all the fucking torture, but she’s still talking to me. She’s in my fucking head.”
You feel his weary sigh against your fingers as it leaves his mouth. Tears begin to pinprick at the corners of his eyes and cascade down the sides of his face. You press your lips softly to his cheek, his chin, his nose, his lips. “It’s okay, Andrew,” you say.
You move closer, so that your leg can curl around his own, but Pope uses his strength to heft you up on top of him instead. You cup your hand around the curve of his cheek, vaguely aware of the naked warmth of his body beneath your own. There’s nothing complicated about the slick gathering between your legs, nothing complicated about the way his cock awakens against your ass. Pope looks up at you with a strangling amount of desperation. You don’t hide from it. There’s nowhere to hide from it.
You bend down and kiss him slowly, deeply, your tongue tracing against his own. “I want you to stay here with me,” you tell him. His grip on your hips is tight. He nods in acknowledgment—or possibly agreement—eyes flickering down between your legs. You scrap your fingernails against his nipples and watch his anguish shift. You reach down between your legs and wrap your hand around his cock. He is half hard already, dripping precum from the tip.
Pope is longer than you remember. You refamiliarize yourself with him, stroking him all the way from the tip to the base, feeling out every curve and vein. When you glance back up at him, a blush has spread across his chest. He’s looking down at you like there’s been no pauses between seventeen and now—like it’s all been one continuous flow, and you’re worthy of being looked at like that. His eyes are still wet, but no longer pained.
You know you’re not slick enough, and that he’s not wearing a condom, but you line him up to your entrance anyway. As you push back on him, the head of his cock pressing in slowly, you lean forward and kiss him so hard your teeth almost clash. It stings, feels as if he’s going to split you clean apart, but you want it like that. You work yourself open on him, focusing on the soft moans he’s making against your mouth. The ache of him will be there long after he’s left you.
Your body begins to catch up, full of want, and he leans up and brings your nipple in his mouth. You grind against his pelvis and wrap your arms around his neck. Entangling your fingers in his hair, you whisper against the shell of his ear, “I’m sorry I didn’t treat you right, Andrew. So fucking sorry.”
He moves his head so that his lips press against yours. His fingers replace his mouth on your nipple. You’re not moving on his cock as much as you are grinding on top of him, but it doesn’t seem to matter; Pope’s breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling beneath your arms as you press into him. The headboard has even begun to thud against the wall. Pope seems turned on by this most of all. The curve of him fits inside of you better than you remember. You begin to feel your pleasure all over—acute tingling sensations zapping through every fiber of your body—and you grind against him faster, chasing it. He holds onto you but doesn’t guide your movements. “I want you to fuck me, Andrew,” you say, rushed. It comes out raw, your voice low, less of a demand and more of a plea. You can feel the hazy build of an orgasm low in your belly.
He listens; Pope flips you onto your back with ease, his cock still slotted between your legs. You lock your legs around his waist as he attaches his mouth to the hollow of your neck. His hips snap forward. The wet sound of your bodies connecting mingles with the low whimpers you’ve begun to make against his shoulder. He is fucking you, giving it to you as harshly as you always have given it to him; using your body, burying grief and sorrow and anger, and—if you want to be honest—love.
Your fingers dig crescent shapes into his ass. You focus on the hot pant of his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He’s thrusting so roughly into you that your body pushes further up the bed with each uncoordinated sway of his hips.
Pope reaches around and grabs one of your hands. He looks at you, his nose brushing against yours; a lost ship searching for a lighthouse to guide it. “Touch yourself,” he says. He pushes your hand down between the warmth of your bodies, holding your fingers to your clit, as you stare blankly at him. This is not like the Pope you know at all. “Cum on my cock because you want it. Because you—“ His hips snap into yours, bone against bone. “—want me, too. Because you always have wanted me.” You begin to listen, working through the shock of it; rubbing small circles against yourself, his hand still above yours. “Yeah, just like that. Yes. Yes.”
He slots his mouth over yours, breathing against you more than kissing. A thin sheen of sweat has gathered over both of your bodies. You press down harder on your clit and go a little quicker. Pope nods his head in encouragement, his hand still moving along with your own. As you squeeze around his cock, getting closer, he lets your hand go.
Pope brackets his arms around your head. He has been studying the pattern of your movements, aligning the thrust of his hips up to them now. He’s so close to your face that you can see every detail–can watch the desire break out across it the way he’s doing yours. Your head tilts back into the pillow. You feel a warm flush begin to make its way to your head. He kisses your neck. “Don’t stop,” you beg.
“I won’t. Let go for me.” His thrusts are deep and slow. You’re so sensitive with need, you swear you can feel every inch of him as he settles inside of you. You readjust your hips against him so that he can push in deeper. Pope captures your whines in his mouth, rasps back, “Yeah, yeah” and you realize, with what little brain power you’ve got left, that he’s drawing closer to the end too. There’s a strangled sound to his voice.
The intensity with which you want him to cum inside of you would startle you if you had the ability to really think about it. You’re protected, but it’s more than that; it’s the idea of his hot cum still leaking out of you, even when he’s left you. You want it badly, feel like you would do anything for it. Pope looks so close himself, cheeks a bright shade of red.
You feel your stomach tighten and then the orgasm comes, breaking you open like a dam; the warmth of it travels through every muscle in your body. You can hear yourself cry out against Pope, but it feels like it’s coming somewhere beyond you. You lock your legs more securely around his waist and pulse around him for what feels like forever.
His thrusts are growing sloppy. “I wanna feel you cum in me,” you tell him, voice embarrassingly thick with need. He buries his head in your neck. His hands slide beneath your ass, and he guides your hips up to meet his thrusts, desperate and needy. He feels heavy on top of you, but you don’t want him to move; you never want to feel the cool air that exists on your skin when he isn’t there to shield you from it again.
You gasp excitedly when you feel the hot spurts of his cum spill inside of you. Pope doesn’t stop; he rides it out, pushes it further up into you with short, erratic thrusts. You never gave him much of anything, really, but especially not this: your whole body, and all of your desire, honest and real. You’re glad you can.
He collapses against you when he’s finished. Your bodies are pinned so closely together that you can feel his heart thud against your chest. “I love you,” you say to him. “I have always loved you.”
His mouth twitches. “I know.”
“And I want you to stay too. I meant that.”
His hand brushes gently across your cheek. “You don’t know the things I’ve done.”
“I don’t care. That’s the past, Pope.”
“You will.”
“I won’t. You don’t even have to tell me. I don’t care.” He tries to duck his head into your neck again, but you capture his face between your hands, forcing him to make eye contact. “She’s dead and as far as I’m concerned, what you did for her died alongside of her. Be free of it, Andrew. Stay with me.”
“I can’t. No matter what I do or where I go, she’s still fucking there.”
“I’ll go back with you then.”
“No, that won’t work. You left for a reason the first time.” You panic when you feel him pull out of you, but he doesn’t go far; he rests between your legs, laying his head on your stomach. “Tell me you love me again,” he whispers.
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.” You push back damp curls his forehead. “Say you’re going to stay. I need you to stay.”
“I can’t, not yet, but I love you too.” He lifts his head, resting his chin on your stomach. “I’ve got things I still need to do. I just needed to clear my head for a little while, to see you again. I missed you.”
You feel exasperated. “Are you listening to me? I need you to stay, Andrew.”
“Yeah, I am listening. I said I’m going to stay, just not yet.” He lays against your stomach again, his cheek pressed to your warm bare skin. “Besides, I don’t like your duvet. When I come back again, I’ll bring mine.”
“Andrew—“
“What don't you get?" He says this firmly, but not harshly. “I’ve loved you long before you loved me, and I’ll love you long after. I’ll come back because I always come back. I just want to make sure my brothers don't need me before I go."
“I don’t like the color red,” you murmur.
“What?”
“For the duvet. If it’s red, I don’t want you to bring it.”
“S’not,” he says. You can feel his smile growing against your stomach as he nuzzles against it. “It’s blue.”
Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You welcome Bucky home after he returns from a mission.
Word Count: 300
Warnings: Established relationship, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, possessive behavior, threat of harm (not against the reader), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 26 of the Sexy September Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: So wet, you must’ve been waiting for this. ❤️ Part of my Tower Shenanigans. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated
It was rare for Bucky to take assignments without you since you joined the team. He assured you it would be fine, and he’d see you in a couple of days. You missed each other like crazy, but you didn't expect him to practically pounce on you when he returned.
His mouth devoured yours like he had been starved for days. His gloved hands mapped your body like he was trying to memorize you all over again. And he really threw caution to the wind since he had you straddling him on the couch in the common room, his cock free from the confines of his pants once he slipped yours off with your panties.
He acted like he had been gone for months.
“Need you,” he whispered in your ear, and you wouldn't deny him.
“Bucky,” you moaned when he helped lower your hips, making you take every delicious inch. Anyone could walk in. Poor Bob was scarred enough from your antics. But one roll of Bucky’s hips and you were lost.
“So wet,” he groaned, his thumb brushing your nipple through your top. Of course, you were wet. It was Bucky. “You must’ve been waiting for this.”
“Two days you made me wait,” you moaned, holding his shoulders, your pussy gripping his cock in a possessive hold.
“Two days too long,” he breathed, leaning his head back to watch you. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ride me.”
You paused when you heard footsteps. Before you could blink, Bucky had a knife in his hand, which he promptly threw across the room. “Eyes to yourself, Walker.”
“Fuck!” you heard, making you smother a laugh. “You already stabbed my hand. Don't stab my face!”
“Pay no attention to him,” Bucky ordered, gripping your chin. “Just ride me until I come inside you.”
Bucky who can fuck and get a knife without breaking his rhythm? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
"You don't gotta cry, love," the man stands over you as you kneel, trembling and sniveling. "Just gotta open up... Nice and wide for me."
He winks and rests his hand on his belt. His mustache lifts as he gives a lecherous leer. He growls as his buckle clinks.
You bat your lashes fearfully. Your father's blood is still spattered across this villain's face and yours. You mop your cheeks and hiccup. You raise yourself just a little.
"Ta ta," he wiggles the silence of the gun at you as his other hand works on his zipper. "You don't wanna run. I'm not in the habit of hurting pretty ladies." He slips his hand down his trousers and groans. "I just like to play with em a bit."
He aims the gun at you and presses the cold metal tube to your lower lip. "So let me see that precious little throat of yours."
He drags the gun down and angles it under your chin. He tips your head up. Tears roll down your cheeks and you swallow loudly. He purrs as he pulls himself over his open fly.
"That's, it love. I'll wet your whistle." He pumps his dick and steps closer. "Come on then."
You peel your lips apart and close your eyes. You open your mouth and he lifts the gun to push the barrel inside. He pushes in and out.
"Mmm, soft little kitten," he pulls the metal out of your mouth. "I think you'll much prefer mine."
He presses his tip to your lips and twitches. He sighs as he slides through and grasps the back of your head. He dips into you until your spasm. He chuckles.
"That's it, love." He rears back slowly then glides in again, deeper. "Good girl."
My man my man MY MAN! This is better than I could have expected. He’s so foul but it works for him in the best way. I’ve never wanted to donate my throat so badly in my life.
I love him traumatizing her further while she’s still steeped in her father’s blood. Yummm I’ll give him a pass
A/N: Just take this. I looked at it for too long and I hate it now. Also, this is for every emo from the early 2000’s who ironically wore a collar in high school and did some real damage to their future selves, aka You Gave Yourself a Kink You Big Idiot.
18+ NSFW No Minors
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
You stare into the box of childhood knickknacks at your feet and Eddie leans out of the closet to see what you’ve found. It dangles off of your index finger and your eyebrows raise high on your forehead.
“I had no idea you were into this.”
“Oh shut up, I wore it high school a few times.” He waves a hand at you to dismiss your grin.
“A leather collar?”
“I stole it from the mall.”
“Oh I bet you did.” You spin the black collar around your finger, metal o-ring attached to the front clinking on every go around. “What, from Hot Topic?”
“No, an actual sex shop. Jeff dared me to and then I thought it’d be funny if I put it on myself.” Eddie shrugs and tosses another handful of clothes behind him. “Some kind of stupid message about ‘being my own animal’.” He rolls his eyes and laughs at himself. “God I was real fuckin’ dumb.”
“No, just a kid.”
“I was 19.”
Your lips disappear between your teeth to stifle your laugh and Eddie rolls his wrist at you, telling you to get it over with. Your laugh follows him back into the closet where he also starts giggling at his past fashion choices.
He can hear you playing with it from the bathroom, the soft clinking muffled by the bed sheets. “Having fun with that?”
“Do you think it still fits?”
He spits in the sink and rinses off his toothbrush with a sigh. “Maybe? Why, wanna put me on a leash?”
Your silence is deafening.
“You do, don’t you?” He slowly walks down the short hallway separating the bathroom from the bedroom and leans on the corner of the wall, a slow rise of his hand to point at you accusingly. “Pervert.” He whispers at you through a wide grin.
“Like you’ve never thought about it.” You try it around your own neck for show and he wiggles his eyebrows at you. When you gesture it at him he pretends to be offended and turns on the dramatics.
“You just want to control me, just like The Man!” He hops on the bed and climbs up your legs to hover over you. “Well go on then.” He rests his weight on one hand and pulls his hair up in his fists. “Collar me if you must.” His head hangs while you giggle at his antics. Your fingers are light on his neck while you loop the scratchy leather around and he’s reminded why he stopped wearing it after a few weeks. You do up the small buckle on the back and run two fingers along the inside to make sure it isn’t choking him.
“Good fit?” He says down at your knees that pull together briefly. Those same two fingers lift his chin gently past your eye line so you can look at his neck.
“You look very handsome.”
Eddie pushes your hand away so he can lean in for a kiss. The soft clinking around his neck sounds funny in the quiet of your bedroom but he ignores it, right up until you give it a tug when he tries to sit up.
“Where are you goin’?” You ask against the kiss, your teeth nipping at his bottom lip. You follow him back until he has to kick his legs out from under him and then you’re pressing him against the comforter. You don’t break the kiss even when he laughs at you pulling at his shirt or when he tries to ask you what you’re doing. When the cotton gets bunched up under his chin you huff and pull back and he yanks the thin t-shirt off.
It doesn’t take long to loose the sleep clothes you both just put on, warm skin soft against each other when you straddle his thighs.
“This just gives me something to hang on to.” You use the metal ring as slight leverage when you scoot up to sit against his already hard cock. “Keep you right underneath me.”
“Oh?” He shifts his hips to try and get you to move but you just keep smiling at him.
“I think I’d like you in this more often actually.” A quick peck that he’s trying to chase until you pull on the ring again. “How’d you feel about that?”
“I feel great about that but I’d feel even better if you’d slide back just a bit-“
You were already reaching down to help guide him in, a long ‘oh’ pushing out of his chest when you sit back on his hips.
“Like that?” One quick lift just to land back against him, his eyes closing momentarily.
“Yeah, you like that.” You flex around him and rock lightly enjoying the slight friction you get against your growing ache. He lets his hands fall over his head, leaving you free to roam his torso and pull at the collar. It rubs the back of his neck a little wrong but there’s a twitch of your lips every time he lets out a breathy moan that he doesn’t want going away. Wet kisses fall on his chest and over his collarbones, teeth following to nip at the thin skin along the collar.
Everything you’re doing is in slow motion from the drag of your mouth to the random lifting of your hips. He’s stuck under you, frustrated at your speed but trying to revel in the wet drag of your cunt.
“You should let me be in charge more often.”
“Oh?” It comes out breathier than he intended.
“I think you like it.” Slow, deliberate rolls of your hips. “Just getting to lay there and look pretty.”
“Pretty?”
“Yeah, got a problem with that?”
The rhythmic tugging on the back of his neck when you rock back has him feeling fuzzy, thoughts a little slow and words even slower.
“No.” He sounds tipsy and you grin at him, a groan pushing through your heavy breaths. His hands wander from your hips to your thighs, thick fingers digging into the soft meat of your ass when you pulse around him. Your head falls back as you grind down and catch your clit on the coarse hair just above his cock, a slow spread of warmth creeping up your hips.
“Doing so good for me.” You shudder and roll inward, grip tightening on the ring. “Letting me use you like this.” A smile that turns into a pleasured frown just as your hips start to loose their slow rhythm and Eddie takes his chance.
He needs control, can’t take your slow bouncing and you’re cooing down at him anymore. He grabs you under your thighs and rolls you quick so he can press your knees up almost into your chest. Your surprise is caught in your throat when he lays into you and sets a fast pace, fingers digging into the backs of your knees.
“Oh fuck-“
“Takin’ too long.” He pants. The feeling of the leather against his neck starting to annoy him and he growls at you. “Take it off.”
“No, I like it.” Quickly defiant your hand snakes up between your chests and rehooks on the o-ring, yanking his face closer to yours. His thrusts stutter as your eyes flick between his.
“Be a good boy.”
He pauses for a second, eyes unfocused when he looks down at you. He nods slowly and you mimic him, a smile growing wide on your face. “You like that too?”
“Uh huh.” It’s all breath while he stares at you. You pull again, slight but determined and his hands slip from your slick knees to the mattress.
“You gonna be good Eddie?”
His eyes roll in his skull and he keeps nodding, hips picking up pace against your ass. “So good.”
“Yeah?”
He knows he’s hitting deep when your voice catches on your question and your knees draw up against his sweaty chest. Your fingers tighten around the ring and your mouth hangs open on a gasp.
“You gonna make me cum?” Your other hand is already wedged between you to rub fast circles on your clit and you clench down on his cock, one ripple after another when you hit your stride. He’d like to, really he would, but if you keep this up he isn’t going to last, not with you pulling him around by his neck and holding him deep inside.
“Oh fuckfuckfuck.” A particularly deep roll of his hips has him loosing rhythm that turns into full on rutting and your breath in his ear. You stutter against his cheek and pull him down into your neck, you’re repeated ‘right there!’ making him forget everything but making you feel good. A high whine is his only warning before you tense up and draw his face down into your neck, the constant fluttering of your cunt pushing him into oblivion.
He drops his weight on you, pinning your legs between you two and his open mouth turns to love bites along your juglar while you both ride out your highs. His heavy breaths over your spit slick skin sends a shiver down your spine and straight to your core, another hit against your ebbing orgasm.
“I think,” he reaches up behind his head to undo the collar “if we’re gonna get into this kind of thing, I should invest in something that isn’t almost 20 years old.” There’s a raw spot where the rough edge of the leather scraped against his skin. “I deserve something soft, don’t you think?” He places a kiss on the top of your breast and you laugh lightly. Your hands grasp at the back of his neck to sooth, fingers inching up into his hair to scratch, and he starts to melt into you.
“I do.” You’re still doing that voice that drove him crazy earlier and he entertains another round before you deal your mind melting blow. “Good boys deserve very nice things.”
snowghoul
kaledo-art
germansingergirl
