A very nsfw blog for short commissioned stories, largely of the micro/macro g/t variety, but open to other things as well. If you enjoy my work, please leave a like or a comment (or reblog if you're bold). Seeing that people actually enjoy it helps keep me motivated to write! To commission a story, visit ko-fi.com/commissionsbyem
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This would be a continuation of the cereal quick fill.
As he flails in the sea of milk, Peter desperately tries to call out to Tony as he scoops another spoonful of cereal dangerously close to him and eats it. However, his mentor is far too focused on his conversation with Pepper to hear him and lowers his spoon into the bowl once more. This time, Peter and the cereal surrounding him are picked up by it and his stomach lurches in fear as the spoon begins its ascent up to Tony's face.”
CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Tony Stark
WARNINGS: Unaware
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
The spoon slams down just next to him, upending an enormous hill of cereal, sending crashing waves through the milk that roughly throw Peter from side to side like he’s in a sea during a storm. Droplets larger than Peter himself drip off of the bottom of the spoon as it rises into the air, only for the entirety of its contents to be dumped unceremoniously into Tony’s mouth. He crunches away without looking, grinding everything into bits without a second thought.
It’s terrifying to behold.
“Mister Stark! Please! I’m down here! Please! It’s Peter! Mister Stark-” He shouts as loud as his little voice will carry, to no avail. The spoon comes plunging back down into the water directly in front of him, and Peter’s swept into the vacuum of suction – only to come popping back up between two pieces of cereal, with the world a rapidly moving blur all around him.
He is on the spoon, and Tony is bringing it unstoppably, unapologetically, thoughtlessly closer to his slowly parting lips.
Peter knows it in his heart, with a dreadful, aching certainty: Tony is going to eat him.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is a continuation of the quickfill where a shrunken Peter tries to get Tony and Pepper's attention in the morning.
Now standing on the edge of Tony's bowl of cereal, Peter tries to get his mentor’s attention as he and Pepper talk over breakfast. However, Tony's arm bumps into the bowl and sends Peter tumbling into it. Surrounded by cereal and milk, he looks up to see Tony grab his spoon and begin lowering it into the bowl.”
CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Tony Stark
WARNINGS: Unaware
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
The sound of his shouting is lost, absolutely swallowed, buried beneath the conversation Tony and Pepper are having. He’s so close, he’s right there, Peter is literally staring up at the wide expanse of his mentor’s face, larger than any billboard, practically a small moon in the sky. Peter’s less than two feet away, and yet he might as well be on another planet for all his yelling and flailing accomplishes.
And then, and then… things go awry. The lurch is sudden; he hadn’t been paying attention to Tony’s arm, half-circled around his cereal bowl. He’d been too fixated on that face, he didn’t notice it creeping closer to the bowl. Not until it makes inelegant contact, slamming into the side and sending Peter sprawling backward with a horrifying splash.
He surges to the surface, gasping down milk-scented air, little limbs kicking urgently to try and keep himself afloat.
Of course that’s when Tony finally decides to pay attention to his bowl again. Of course it is. And now Peter’s just a tiny little speck, only his head exposed, lost among the grains and particles of his cereal.
Staring up… at a slowly descending spoon, backdropped and framed by Tony’s vacant, smiling face, nary a hint of recognition to be found in his eyes.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is set in a version of the MCU where Tony survived Endgame and Far From Home/No Way Home never happened.
During one or his weekend stays at the Stark cabin, Peter accidentally exposes himself to Pym Particles and shrinks. Naked and without his webshooters, he ends up spending hours heading towards the kitchen as he knows Tony and Pepper wake up early before Morgan. As he stands at the kitchen table, he's fortunately proven right when the two of them enter the kitchen in pajamas and grab breakfast. Unfortunately, however, he's unable to get their attention and decides to climb the bowl of cereal that Tony sets on the table in hopes to be more visible.”
CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts
WARNINGS: Unaware
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
No amount of shouting, no amount of waving his arms over his head, no amount of jumping up and down on the table earns even the slightest hint at their attention. Tony and Pepper just keep passing one another as they migrate around the kitchen, chatting with voices so loud they ring in Peter’s ears, deep and low and almost slow-motion sounding. He’s exhausted; it took him hours to get here, and almost as long to climb the table, and all that effort seems wasted if they’re not even going to glance down at him.
There’s only one thing for it. He has to position himself where he knows for a fact one of them is going to look. Ideally, the surface of one of their phones would be the play, but neither of them have left one out on the surface of the table. In fact, the entire place is mostly clear except for the enormous bowl of cereal Tony plopped down a minute ago. It’s risky… but he doesn’t have another choice.
He begins another painstaking ascent, climbing tiny ridges in the bowl’s surface until at last, finally, he’s standing atop the rim. The highest point on the table. The one place Tony has to pay attention to sooner rather than later.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is set in an alternate version of the MCU where Tony and Natasha didn't die during Endgame (Clint sacrificed himself instead) and Far From Home/No Way Home never happened.
Around 1-2 years after the defeat of Thanos, an 18 year old Peter is at the Stark Cabin with the other Avengers for a party. After accidentally coming into contact with experimental Pym Particles in Tony's lab a few minutes before, however, he ends up suddenly shrinking and lands in a bowl of chip dip set out. Unable to get out of the thick dip, he panics as the others reenter the room and approach the table that the bowl of dip is on.”
CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff
WARNINGS: Unaware
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
He flounders. All around him the thick consistency of the dip acts like quicksand, threatening to drag him under the more he moves. Thrashing wildly only serves to make him sink faster, slipping from waist to chest to throat deep in fragrant white ranch. Soon enough, only his little head is poking out, virtually indistinguishable from the little flecks of herbs and spices scattered throughout the dip.
Think, Parker. Think. You can get out of this. You just have to think-
Rhythmic earthquakes gently jostle the semi-solid consistency of the dip, not terribly unlike the glass of water in that really old movie Jurassic Park. It wobbles, and Peter wobbles with it, dread filling his lungs as he stares up out of the bowl. Soon enough, two faces encroach upon his sky, filling it up with their oblivious smiles.
For a second, he thinks they’re looking right at him. For a second, he almost feels relief – he’s going to be saved, they’re going to tease him, but they’re going to get him out…
Until he sees the first chip descend from on high, aiming directly for him.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “Now presentable, commando, and raring for round 2 of fast food after all that energy she unwillingly spent mere minutes ago, Eddie returns to the table with the rest of the gang and plops down and resumes eating their now-cold fries and surprisingly cold drink. Someone refilled the spilled drink while she was away. Billy, however, had a different definition of 'normal' he was teaching her. Making his way through the familiar grove of bush and spelunking beneath the hood to nestle himself against Eddie's joy buzzer.
Eddie, minutes in and guard lowered, suddenly feels a familiar tingling down below, her mind reeling as she instinctively knew at this point it was no passing itch. Her body also acting on instinct, primed from past events and doubly so from the recent orgasm, began to drool into the wadded paper barrier Eddie had stuffed in her jeans as her vulva began to swell and moisten on command.
Eddie weighed her options in a split second, realizing that going to the bathroom again so soon was way less humiliating than sitting there and soiling herself again. However, unlike the slow and heavy buildup from her g-spot prior, her clitoris was way less forgiving.
The pleasure was coming too fast, and so was she, as she crossed her legs and squeezed as everything down there was a chaotic swirl of pleasure and contractions. And unlike her bladder, she couldn't really hold in the sticky tide escaping as her pelvis rippled beneath her.
It took every bit of willpower for her to maintain a neutral facade, she definitely went nonverbal, and some folks might notice her hands had stopped shoveling food in her mouth, but otherwise she had an expert poker face.
She was already powering through one orgasm, legs clenched tight enough to press diamonds, but Billy was still safely at her groin in a blind spot immune to whatever she does with her thighs. He was rattled by her muscles flexing around him for sure, but that didn't stop his mechanical bull ride as he continued slapping the now very engorged nubbin around.
Eddie was going to learn not only the pleasures of the G-spot, but also of being multi-orgasmic. As another orgasm rattles through, piggybacking off the other one as she by some miracle manages to silently ride them out.”
CHARACTERS: Genderswapped Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove
WARNINGS: Unaware, Multiple Orgasms
COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page +3 Add-on
——
For all of five glorious minutes, Eddie was able to tell herself she totally got her shit together. Stepping out of the bathroom, crotch mostly dry, stomach suddenly famished for the cold remains of her food, she found an unexpected confidence sliding into her step. After all, if she could survive an orgasm that intense in front of the guys, surely nothing else could possibly rattle her, right? It was the unwitting, naive confidence of someone who truly believed things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Unfortunately, Eddie doesn’t know Billy Hargrove nearly well enough to know better than that, even if she’d been aware of his tiny little existence among her folds. Nothing will ever be as simple as a one-and-done for him, not when he’s pretty much rearranged his entire life to revolve around this. It’s his job, his hobby, his favorite pastime.
The booth is dry, the fries are cold, the soda’s refilled. That second thing doesn’t seem to matter in the slightest to her stomach, which demands that she shovel french fries into her face as fast as she can reasonably manage, scooping up two at a time and chewing enthusiastically as the guys around her talk shit. It’s clear by the casual, comfortable air around her that none of the guys detect anything amiss. Thank god.
Minutes tick by, and Eddie begins to relax. Say what you want about an unexpected orgasm at a diner table in front of all your bandmates, but it’s done wonders to sap the stress out of her body. She feels… languid, warm, comfortable. She feels almost boneless, heavy, like a cat in a patch of sunlight. She feels good – and maybe, in the end, that only helps contribute to the speed of the chaos yet to come. Literally.
Between her legs, Billy’s mostly dried himself off too, no longer fighting a battle against sticking to her skin. He’s able to swiftly maneuver around his new home with practiced ease, ascending from hair to hair until he’s once again nestling himself comfortably in alongside her clit. He strokes it tenderly, cooing, “Did you miss me, sweetheart? I missed you.”
As though responding to him, the tiniest bit of blood begins to flow to her bundle of nerves; it pulses under his palm in a manner that would be utterly imperceptible to anyone of average height, but it’s utterly clear to Billy. He decides, naturally, to take that as a yes, and rewards his sweet, precious companion with a deliberate, thorough smooch of approval. Mwah. Atta girl. That’s what he likes to see – responsiveness, obedience, and a clear readiness to give him anything he asks for from it.
Eddie herself might not be on the same wavelength as Billy, but that hardly matters when her clit is. In a way, her pearl has become its own separate entity to him, distinct from the young woman it’s attached to. It has a mind of its own, and it only cares about one thing – which, coincidentally, is exactly the same for Billy himself. They’re the best of friends, the two of them. Thick as thieves.
With her body’s clear and obvious, enthusiastic permission, so begins the next round. He presses his palms flat on her nub, and begins the steady, wide, sweeping gestures he’s come to learn as the best way to get Eddie worked up. It’s becoming muscle memory for them both, at this point, he thinks. His body knows exactly how to give, and hers knows exactly how to take.
Above the table, Eddie nearly chokes on the potato fluff of her next bite of french fry, going suddenly still as she recognizes an ominously familiar feeling. Her throat feels suddenly dry, and it takes effort to swallow down her bite rather than coughing it back up again. Hurriedly, she reaches out for her coke, bringing it to her lips and downing swallow after swallow as she tries to steady herself.
This can’t be happening. Not so soon. Not when that last one was so deeply, consumingly satisfying. It shouldn’t be possible, should it? Don’t guys have a refractory period? Shouldn’t women, too? Not for the first time, she laments not having a chick friend she can ask about something like this – that is, if it wouldn’t absolutely mortify her to do so.
Regardless, if such a thing even exists for women, her clit didn’t get the memo. It is, if anything, very quickly raring to go. Having lacked any outright stimulation from her last orgasm, it isn’t hyper-sensitive like it would’ve otherwise been, and it feels almost eager under the tingling sensation building up between her legs. Heat begins to pool rapidly in a matter of thirty, maybe forty seconds, and she can feel the wadded up toilet paper between her legs begin to slowly dampen.
No way. This cannot happen again. This cannot possibly happen again. She can’t spill her soda in her lap a second time. There’s only one thing for it – she’s just going to have to make Kick get up again, get out of the way, and excuse herself to the bathroom to get things over with in there. She–
Oh, fuck. A wet-hot bolt of electricity unfurls in her pelvis with the force of a sledgehammer. She has to bite down on the inside of her cheeks to keep from moaning, steeling her expression into something stoic, locking her throat in a way that has, over the last few weeks, become something of a practiced maneuver. If she had enough space in her mind to think about anything other than the present moment, she might be either amused or affronted that she is, technically, getting good at this. Somehow, some way, her mind and her body are learning how to get away with being utterly, consumingly aroused in public – and she’s learning how to cum without making a single sound. Almost like she’s being trained…
Of course, this doesn’t occur to her. Not yet, not now. She isn’t thinking about pattern recognition, or the changes to her daily habits, or the way she’s reshaping herself to better suit the needs of her wanton pussy. She’s only thinking about the fresh, quickly-mounting waves of pleasure, and how fast they’re coming in. Desire and peak, itch and scratch, every needy wave is met with a perfectly executed answering sensation, ratcheting her from baseline all the way up to the edge at terminal velocity – like her clit is jealous it didn’t get to be involved last time, so it’s making up for lost time with a vengeance.
She realizes, with distressing and resigned suddenness, that there is no time to excuse herself to the bathroom. If she moves, if she starts to part her legs to slide out of the booth, that’s all it’s going to take to send her over the edge, and she’ll lock up in place halfway out of the seat in front of everyone. Instead, stubbornly, helplessly, desperately, she crosses one leg over the other and clamps down, thighs gone taught, squeezing her legs shut with every viable muscle in her body.
This would probably work against, say, a probing finger, or an errant toy, or anything intrusive enough to be blocked out by the rigidness of her musculature. By how tightly her thighs press her lower lips together. Unfortunately for her, it doesn’t mean even the slightest thing to her tiny little passenger, her trainer, the new owner of her clit, who is so small between her legs even the steely clamping of her lips is hardly an inconvenience. It just slams him more firmly against her clit, pressing him roughly against it, making stimulating her a full-bodied affair. He puts his knees and his back into it, dragging himself around in eager circles, rolling his hips, using the sudden firm wall at his back to his advantage for something to leverage himself against.
And then he feels it. The sudden, steely diamond stiffening of her clit as it swells to peak, the fragile moment of stillness that comes at the precipice before the fall. The calm before the storm. One single sterling second of absolute tranquility passes, and then chaos erupts. Her clit twitches, throbbing wildly, bucking and pulsing against him, slamming his back against the tightly closed wall of her pussy lips again and again as orgasm ripples through Eddie’s pelvis. It soaks the wad of tissue between her legs, it gravitates between every fold, sticky fluid carried down and forced upward from momentum and tightly sealed flesh. It rushes up Billy’s back, soaking him once again like a warm bath. He basks in every moment, surrendering himself to the force of nature that is her body, letting himself be battered and used as her clit drags every speck of sensation it can get from his flailing body.
Above the table, Eddie’s pupils dilate. Her teeth clamp down on the meat of her cheeks, digging in until she can practically taste copper. Her throat flexes under the strain of muting all sound. She is as frozen as that moment had been, statuesque and blank, face perfectly neutral. Her thighs have never been more tense, locked into place in a vice grip in a futile attempt to hold back the tide. The orgasm swells, falls over her like a blanket, courses through her like a river. It steals all of her sensory awareness, leaving her entirely checked out of the conversation around her, food and drink entirely forgotten.
As the chaos begins to wind down and the throbbing begins to slow, Billy gives Eddie all of ten seconds to think she might be staring down the barrel of relief before he slaps his palms down on her clit again and returns to his efforts in full, forcing her bundle of nerves to ratchet itself right back up to the peak again, ruthlessly, unforgiving, irreverent, relentless.
Now that her clit has had its time in the sun, the nerves are hyper-sensitive to every single touch, every movement, everything. The pleasure Billy forces onto her almost burns, an electrical signal firing wildly beneath the layers of heat and lust and arousal she’s grown intimately familiar with. She doesn’t even have time to despair; she barely stifles a little mewl of incredulity before she’s thrust back up to the precipice again.
It’s unbelievable. It’s absolutely unbelievable that she’s sitting here having her third orgasm in front of her bandmates. It crashes over her faster and harder than the first one had, and she’s positively soaked again. The wadded up toilet paper has become an uncomfortable kind of paper mache between her legs, sticking to her pussy and to her jeans as another round of release floods into it. The surreality of her situation descends on her, and she very nearly laughs deliriously at the thought. She’s cumming, again and again, right at this table, right in front of them, and they don’t even know…
The strangest thing begins to happen. Whether her secret training is taking hold, or she’s just losing her mind, or the flood of dopamine is impairing her thoughts, she couldn’t possibly say, but for a moment of temporary insanity… Eddie begins to enjoy it. Her eyes drift closed right there at the table, and she gives herself over to the feelings rippling through her pelvis over and over, like a relentless assault of orgasms. The first, the second, now the third in a span of less than fifteen minutes. She gets to sit there, indulging in orgasm in front of everyone, with them none the wiser, and absolute pleasure crashing over her like waves on the shoreline.
Something snaps in front of her face, jarring her out of what was rapidly becoming something akin to an out of body experience. Her eyes fly open, startled, and she sees Kick’s hand inches from her nose, deliberately snapping his fingers over and over again to get her attention.
“Earth to Munson, Earth to Munson,” he’s saying, and her bleary eyes urgently focus on him, trying to replay the last several seconds, to pick up on anything she might remember, anything she must have missed – but it’s all blank. Not a thought in her head, not a bit of perception of her reality for the last minute or two at least, so gone was she on the feelings of pleasure unfolding between her legs. “You falling asleep on us over there? We boring you or something?”
To her horror, this has attracted the attention of every one of her other bandmates; every single eye on the table turns toward her just as the peak of her last orgasm is beginning to fade, and she can feel her cheeks turning a hot shade of scarlet. It takes some work to unstick her throat, to feel like she can speak without descending into rusty, needy sounds, but she eventually does manage to cough gently and answer with a lame, “Sorry, just… tired after practice, I guess. You know how it is… haa…”
The voices carry down between her legs, down, down, down, through the muffling layers of denim, toilet paper, and flesh, to a supremely amused Billy. He can’t have seen her face, he can’t know for certain that she’d finally given herself over to him, but judging from what he’s hearing… she may just have.
Utterly pleased by this turn of events, Billy ducks in to press a chaste, approving little kiss onto the abused, overworked, overstimulated bundle of nerves he’s plastered against. It’s tempting, so very tempting, to put her through another round… but he thinks, just this once, he’ll reward her for her good behavior by cutting her some slack.
Eddie nearly slumps into herself with relief when she realizes the next peak doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon…
What are some of your favorite unaware scenes for harry potter?
Honestly, I'm a sicko so I like the taboo of anything to do with Sirius or Vernon -- but I'm easy to please, so things with Ron, the twins, Ginny, Hermione, Luna... all of it is good!
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is continuation of the Jon/Cersei story from Cersei's POV.
As she continues talking with Jon, Cersei feels that the conversation is going exactly as planned. However, when she mentions Robert and his flirting with other women, she's surprised when he tells her it isn't right and that she doesn't deserve to be dishonored like that (she's used to people excusing Robert because he's the king). A bit thrown off by the genuine kindness with no ulterior motive, she thinks on how Jon is just as kind as Rhaegar was, fueling her need to have him be hers further.”
CHARACTERS: Cersei Lannister, Jon Snow
WARNINGS: Mentioned Infidelity
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
The longer they sit and talk, the more satisfied Cersei feels. She’s no stranger to socially engineering conversations, to subtly and slyly steering them the way she wants them to go to achieve the ends she means to achieve, and it never gets old. They speak of Jon’s family, of how he doesn’t quite fit with them, of his place as an outsider. They speak of the Lannister family reputation, and how it’s placed above all else. They speak of Joffrey and Sansa’s eventual engagement. How he only has eyes for her.
“Couldn’t be less like his father,” She sighs, a scowl slipping into her expression despite herself. “These days, it seems like whores are all Robert has eyes for.”
“It isn’t right,” Jon says firmly, stubbornly. “A man should honor his wife. King or no king.”
It’s shocking, for more reasons than one. To hear someone speak out so brazenly against royalty is one thing, though she supposes if it were going to come from anyone, it would be an honorary Stark. Part of her very nearly snaps at him for his audacity, until she realizes the far greater emotion she’s feeling – a surprising, uncommon sense of gratitude. She can’t remember the last time somebody didn’t excuse Robert for his actions, for the way he slights her, for the way he so carelessly tarnishes her honor every time he takes a new woman to bed.
He has no reason to pacify her, no agenda, no ulterior motive. He isn’t trying to win her favor. Jon’s commentary is motivated by nothing other than the same genuine kindness she always found in Rhaegar.
Something fierce and proprietary burns in her chest.
She will have Jon Snow as her own. She simply must. She will not take no for an answer.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is a continuation of the Hiccup/Astrid/Crag story set after the last quickfill.
One morning a few weeks after Snoggletog, Astrid visits and invites Crag to join her as she goes into the forests of Berk for her morning training (tossing her axe at trees, getting cardio, working out, etc). However, things go wrong halfway through when Ruffnut stops by and sees him. Before she can even try to eat what she thinks is a normal tiny, Astrid steps in and makes her leave (Ruffnut thinks Astrid is just being territorial over the tiny she wants to eat herself). As Astrid comforts him, Crag feels just as safe and protected by her as he does with Hiccup.”
“It’s gonna be great, you’ll see,” Astrid informs him cheerfully, holding him in her open palm at about chest height as the two of them make their way through the lush, frequently travelled forest just outside of the village. “There’s nothing like getting in a really great workout to start the day. It just makes everything better. Even you gotta get a little cardio in every now and then.”
She teasingly pokes Crag in the middle with her free hand, and he smiles.
And, to be honest, the first half an hour is great! He watches from a perch on a tall stump as Astrid unleashes her axe into a perfect bullseye on her target tree, he cheers her on as she sprints circles around her running path, and he even hustles around the perimeter of his own stump just to feel like he’s participating.
He’s midway through his second lap when the shadow slowly overtakes his stump. He knows in an instant that it isn’t Astrid’s shape, and his heart leaps out of his chest when he catches sight of an enormous, outstretched hand reaching forth just on the cusp of his peripheral vision. Oh, no-
He stumbles, falling to his knees hard, and thinks – this is it, someone’s finally going to-
Before he can even finish the thought, Astrid swats the hand clean out of the air with a sharp, resounding slap of her own hand.
“Don’t even think about it, sister,” she barks sternly, planting her hands on her hips and interjecting herself between the titanic blonde and Crag. “This one’s not on the menu.”
“Jeeze, okay,” Ruffnut grumbles, holding her hands up in surrender. As she walks away, Crag can just make out her muttering of, “You’re crabby when you’re hangry, just eat your stupid snack already.”
He breathes a sigh of relief as Astrid gently scoops him up, looking at him with soft, apologetic eyes. “Are you okay? Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone else to be here…”
He smiles up at her, wrapping his arms around her thumb.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is set in a version of the Harry Potter universe where tiny people are common in the Wizarding World (often born to normal-sized wizards) and treated like playthings. While Harry is one of these tinies, he's always been treated like an exception due to him being the chosen one.
One year after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry finds himself struggling with nightmares of it and decides to use a memory spell on himself to erase some of the more gruesome images from his mind. Unfortunately, he messes up and ends up casting a far more powerful spell that erases any memory of his existence from everyone's minds, effectively obliviating everyone all at once. With nowhere else to turn, he decides to apparate to Hermione and Ginny's (who began dating after the war ended) apartment in hopes that Hermione's kindness towards house elves will extend to tinies like him.”
CHARACTERS: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley
WARNINGS: Memory modification
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
In his darkened bedroom at number 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter set bolt upright in his bed, his hand wrapped around his wand, sweat clinging to his brow and a yell still cutting his throat. Panting heavily, his eyes frantically searched the room looking for any trace of the spectres he’d been fighting in his sleep, but there was nothing. No Death Eaters, no Voldemort, not even any of the creepy crawlies that once infected the house – the whole place has been effectively sanitized over the last year, and nothing but oppressive safety is there to greet him.
If he were to be completely honest with himself, Harry would almost have preferred a fight. At least then he’d have an outlet for the adrenaline flooding his system. As it stands, all he has now are nightmares, bad memories, and a phantom pain haunting his scar. He rubs at it with the heel of his palm, thinking. Considering.
And, like any Gryffindor worth his weight in salt, what he ultimately elects to do is make a brash, impulsive decision without thinking about the consequences. Pointing his own wand at his temple, he closes his eyes, and hoarsely chokes out, “Oblivia-” only to devolve into a coughing fit from the yelling he must’ve been doing in his sleep.
In an instant, a flash of white light explodes from the tip of his wand, blasting through the room and rippling outward, on and on and on, sending books flying off their shelves and dishes clattering to the floor.
Oh, no.
What has he done?
He doesn’t feel any different, he can still remember everything clearly, which must mean he’s messed up something... but what?
There’s only one thing for it, he supposes. Swallowing his pride and taking a visit to the one person he knows who knows the most about obliviation (and practically all other kinds of magic, at that). He steels himself, closes his eyes, and disapparates.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is part two of the quickfill with Lucerys.
The POV then switches to Rhaenyra, who is 19 years old and will be marrying Laenor in a couple weeks. Wanting to take a breather to avoid thinking about her soon-to-be loveless marriage, she is walking the corridors of the Red Keep when she notices a tiny lying on the floor. After approaching and asking if he's alright, she sees him pass out. She then takes in his features and ends up finding him rather attractive (unknowingly because of Luke's resemblance to Harwin). Because of this, she picks him up and decides to bring him back to her chambers, completely unaware that the tiny in her grasp is actually her own son from the future who has somehow appeared in the past.”
CHARACTERS: Lucerys, Rhaenyra
WARNINGS: Incest adjacent
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
The halls of the Red Keep are blessedly, remarkably empty today. She’s thankful for that. There’s too much on her mind, the constant presence of people remarking about the wedding feels claustrophobic, and she just… wants… a little peace.
In the end, she finds something little – a tiny, collapsed on the cold stonework, little limbs askew and his small, handsome face gone slack. Curiosity and alarm rush through her and she stoops low, dragging her dress out of the way, bending down to get a better look at the poor little creature.
“Are you alright?” She asks gently, and watches those little eyelashes flutter – but they don’t open, not properly.
Well, she thinks, she can’t just leave him there, can she? Anybody might step on him. It would be a crying shame to let a cute little face like that go to waste.
Her delicate fingers curl around the young man, and she lifts him up, cradling him to her chest as she begins the quick trip back to her chambers. She’ll decide what, exactly, she’s meant to do with him once the little man wakes up. In the meantime, she’ll take care of him. Something about that sentiment just feels right.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “Part 17 of the Stranger Things AU
Finally escaped to the restroom, Eddie shuffles herself to a stall before removing her pants and panties and plopping down on the toilet, panting a bit as she comes down from her panic.
As she emotionally processes this, her lower half continues dripping into the bowl below as it too recovers from the intense orgasm. Billy was able to be half-glued and half-gripped onto her bush and slowly worked his way in while Eddie was distracted.
Eddie mutters curses and wonders why her pussy keeps getting riled up at the worst possible times. It's something she could never discuss or share with the guys out there, she could hardly imagine how they'd react, not that they'd actually be of any use if she was able to tell them.
Calming down, but still peeved, she starts assessing the damage and cleaning up. Her panties are a lost cause and so she's planning to toss them in the bin, and she is able to blot-dry the jeans enough to not be extremely uncomfortable, even if they are still a bit damp.
Lastly she begins to clean her nethers up, wiping her thighs and bush down, and digging in a bit to wipe her bits. She growls a bit as she gets annoyed that wiping up feels good, and that trying to dry off more will only serve to get her wet again.
Content that she'll be as dry as she can be, she pulls up the jeans again, shoving a fistful of wadded toilet paper into the jeans to soak up any residual juices from her pants and her privates, before walking out.
Ready to face her friends and salvage what was going to be a fun after-band jam session as usual, no one the wiser about the flash flood that had broken out in her pants.
Billy, less sympathetic about Eddie's plight, enjoyed his little water ride begins plotting to mess with Eddie once more.”
CHARACTERS: Genderswapped Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove
WARNINGS: Unaware
COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page +1 Add-on
——
Riding a strange, heady mix of dismay and catharsis, Eddie slumps heavily down onto the toilet in the blessed privacy of her restroom stall. It’s a relief to have the sodden fabric tugged away from her still-sensitive centre, no longer clinging stickily to her lips and mound. Rucked down to her knees, she shoots an accusatory glare at her soaked panties and jeans, as though they’re personally to blame for the current state of affairs. Stupid… fabric.
As she catches her breath, the soft sound of droplets hitting the water rings in her ears. Whether it’s remnants of spilled coke, or it’s just – her that’s dripping like this, she isn’t sure, although… deep down, she thinks she could probably take a wild guess and hit it bang on the money.
“What the hell’s a’matter with you?” she whispers harshly at her own crotch, much to Billy’s amusement. He’d managed, in the midst of all that chaos and various flooding fluids, to climb his way back up into the safety of her pubic hair. He’s still sticky with her juices, and this works both for and against him – every time he wants to ascend a little higher, he’s got to bodily peel himself off of her skin as though he were coated in honey. On the other hand, it means nestling in comfortable and still is easy as anything; no risk of falling down, down, down into the toilet below if he’s basically plastered to her, right?
“Nothing wrong with you at all, sweetheart,” Billy calls up to her, knowing full well there’s no universe where she’d ever be able to hear him the way he hears her. Her voice echoes all around him, deep and consuming, titanic, resonant, almost slow-motion with how amplified it feels. His, on the other hand, is less than a whisper, less than the rustle of clothing, less than the sound of her hairs sliding together. Still, he fancies the thought that this is a conversation, and he grins sharply up at her through the immense canopy of hair. “It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to, just like a good girl should.”
“Seriously, your timing could literally not be any worse if you tried,” she complains, low and indignant, moodily gathering up wads upon wads of toilet paper to start gingerly dabbing at her… everything, it’s all soaked, where the hell does she even start? “In class, at tabletop, in the middle of dinner… my actual freaking nightmare. This cannot be normal, right?”
She sighs to herself, wishing she had someone to ask. No close chick-friends, only guy friends, and god knows she can’t go asking any of them about this. That would be absolutely mortifying. She can only imagine how they’d react – embarrassed, probably, or worse, they’d all erupt into laughter at her expense, and give her shit about it for the rest of her very, very short life. Short, because she’d be forced to throw herself off a bridge right after.
Besides, it’s not like any of them could possibly know. They’re all walking around with stupid dicks between their legs. To herself, lowly, she mutters, “Not a single guy out there knows the first thing about vaginas. They wouldn’t be able to find a clit with both hands and a map.”
To this, Billy cackles, throwing his head back in genuine laughter. “You got that right. None of them could do to you what I do to you. Not a single one. You stick one of those losers in here, they wouldn’t last the week, let alone make you do the things I make you do. This? This is my band practice.”
Done mopping up her thighs, Eddide begins to tenderly press the wad of toilet paper against her center – nudging in just a bit to make sure she gets between her lips, in between the pretty coral folds, around her entrance. The pressure feels… really good, actually, and it inspires a little frustrated sound to escape the back of her throat. It should not feel this good so soon after getting off. There should be, like, some kind of cool-down period where she’s immune, or something.
Once her skin is about as dry as she can hope for, she starts assessing the state of her clothes. Obviously she can’t shuck the jeans off, walking out of here Donald Duck’ing it would be… admittedly hilarious, but she’s still not going to do it. The underwear, though… those need to go. What clings to those isn’t something that will dry easily the way thin, watered-down coke will. She can see the slick, sticky shine of her own arousal coating the entire hammock of cotton. With a grunt of effort, she yanks off her boots and her pants, then her panties. They get wadded up and, with a regretful final salute for their service, she dumps them directly into the trash can. You served me well, panties… rest in peace.
The jeans, she does her best to blot dry with toilet paper, only to get the genius idea a minute later to hold them under the stupid hand dryer, banging the knob with her elbow every five seconds once it turns off. There’s not nearly enough time to get them anywhere close to actually dry, but she tells herself it’s better than nothing, anyway. She tugs them back on one leg at a time, grimacing at the uncomfortable dampness settling once again between her thighs. What a pain in the actual ass.
One last thing before she goes, though… smart thinking, she figures, would be to grab a wad of toilet paper to stuff down in between her legs, just in case of any… residual fluid, or in case it starts acting up again. It’s wicked awkward and a little bit like what she assumes wearing a diaper feels like, with all that wadded up padding stuffed down her pants, but hell, better that than nothing at all, right? Right.
Okay, then. Here we go. She takes a deep breath, washes her hands, fixes her hair, and steels herself. The time she spends with her bandmates after practice are some of her favorite memories, and she’s determined not to let this whole ordeal take that away from her. Firmly adjusting her clothes, she holds her head up high, turns, and marches out of the bathroom, intent to save face with her pals.
They have, by this point, mopped up the coke mess from the booth, and they don’t pay her much mind as she slides back into her place. That’s good, she thinks – they’re none the wiser about the cause behind her little spill, and especially in the dark about the flash flood that happened only minutes ago. Her stupid, unruly libido is not going to take this away from her.
Between her legs, Billy smirks. Having that little back-and-forth with her was more than a little fun, it was also inspiring – not to mention the water park ride he got to go on just before it. Yeah… he thinks, We’re only just getting started, aren’t we, sweetheart?
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This would be set in a version of House of the Dragon where the Dance of Dragons happened a few years later than in canon. Additionally, tiny people are common throughout Westeros.
Lucerys (who is 18 and has always been tiny) finds himself trying to escape on his dragon, Arrax, from Aemond and Vhagar. The events of canon occur, with Vhagar biting down on Arrax, killing both the dragon and Luke. Instead of the cold embrace of death he'd been expecting, Luke finds himself regaining consciousness lying on a stone floor but is too tired to open his eyes. Based off the smell, he quickly realizes that he's somehow in King's Landing. He then feels the ground begin to tremor slightly as a normal-sized person approaches him. As his exhaustion leads to him nodding off, he swears that he can hear his mother's voice, albeit different from usual.”
CHARACTERS: Lucerys, Aemond, Rhaenyra
WARNINGS: Violence, Dragon Vore?
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
He has never known so much terror as what he knows this day. The desperate evasive maneuvers that toss him about his custom saddle, the gargantuan beast made of teeth pursuing him, the laughter of Aemond… Luke knows in his heart that he is going to die.
It does not happen in slow motion. He doesn’t get the benefit of that extra time. One moment he’s alone in cloud cover, and the next: a great mouth, snapping down all around him, chomping everything into bits with no hesitation or remorse. Lucerys closes his eyes, feels the world begin to compact around him, and sobs only once before the world goes black. There simply isn’t enough time for anything else.
And then… And then…
Hard, cold stone under his back. The resounding quake of footsteps softly vibrating the floor beneath him. One heavy step after another, someone approaching.
“-ou alri…” he hears dimly, distantly, and thinks… thinks that sounds remarkably like his mother? The effort it takes to try and open his eyes is enormous; they barely manage to slit enough for a blurry shape to manifest above him before the blackness comes again, swallowing him whole just as Vhagar had.
She’d sounded different. That’s the last thought he manages to complete – that she’d sounded just a little different.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This would be set in a version of Game of Thrones where tiny people are common and often treated like playthings/servants (except those born to noble families). Jon, who has always been tiny, finds himself being sold off to traders by Catelyn (without any of the others knowing) after she finally grew tired of his presence. Despite his begging and pleading, she sells him and leaves. Now alone in a cage as the trader's ship sets sail, he's forced to wonder what life he will eventually be sold into. ”
CHARACTERS: Jon Snow, Catelyn Stark
WARNINGS: Slavery
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
“Please,” he hears himself begging, and even to his own ears it sounds pathetic. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll stay out of sight, I’ll never bother you again. Catelyn, please-”
Her regal head held high, Catelyn doesn’t even bother acknowledging him. All he can see is the sharp cut of her jaw, the hardness in her eyes, the way her lips purse into a thin, unhappy line.
“Won’t give you much for ‘im,” the trader warns, one gold tooth catching daylight in his sharp grin. “Little thing like that, hardly worth anythin’ at all. Grew up too soft, y’see. Don’t rightly know how to behave like a common smallfolk.”
“I don’t care about the price,” Catelyn says sternly, pushing Jon forward on the table with one implacable, enormous hand like he’s a stack of coins at a betting den. “I just want to be rid of him.”
“Aye, well, that we can do, My Lady. That we can do indeed. You’re sure?” The trader asks one last time, his hand – missing the smallest finger at the knuckle – hovers in the air above Jon, waiting to descend.
“Please… Cat… please don’t do this…”
“I’m sure,” she says firmly, and that’s all the trader needs to scoop him up.
He finds himself caged in a big, wire-mesh dome like the kind people use for birds. It hangs from a hook on the port side of the ship, swaying this way and that with the momentum of the bobbing vessel. Deckhands work behind him to swiftly prepare for the journey, and Jon can only hold onto the bars, staring out at a land he may never see again.
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “This is a direct continuation of the last part of the Jon/Cersei story, but now from Jon's POV.
Having been startled by the appearance of Cersei and being picked up by her, he quickly greets the queen and believes he's about to be lectured for not staying out of sight like a tiny bastard should. Instead, Cersei sets him on the steps and takes a seat beside him (intentionally giving Jon a close view of her rear as she sits down, although he tries not to stare). To his shock, she then greets him kindly and uses his actual name rather than calling him "bastard" or just Snow. Disarmed by how she's acting after having heard stories from his father about how terrible she was, Jon soon finds himself falling into pleasant conversation with her as she seems genuinely interested in him.”
CHARACTERS: Jon Snow, Cersei Lannister
WARNINGS: None
COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill
——
Jon braces himself for any number of things. He thinks what little exposure he’s had to Cersei Lannister has been more than enough to give him a glimpse at her character, and he hasn’t been particularly fond of what he’s seen. He’s expecting a lecture, something cutting and cold, telling him about his proper place out of sight, out of mind.
What he isn’t expecting is for her to delicately lower him down onto the top of the stairs, or what follows after. From his place on the stonework step, he sees the full shape of her behind, rendered clear and shapely as she draws her dress up out of the way to lower herself slowly down to seated beside him. It’s hard not to blush at such a display.
Soon, they’re seated side by side, companionably, with her pretty face looking down at him from on high to kindly ask, “Are you quite well, Jon?”
When’s the last time anyone outside of his family called him Jon? It’s always bastard or Snow, but she says his name with a comfortable familiarity that surprises him.
“I s’pose so,” he fumbles, brow knit lightly in barely-restrained confusion. “Just… not one for feasts and the like.”
“Neither am I,” she sighs, shoulders slumping into an uncommon slouch – as though she’s finally willing to display the truth of the weight of the world to him. “All those people… the drinking, the way the night gets louder and louder as it drags on… I expect it all must be quite overwhelming to you, at your stature.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he agrees, blinking, taken aback by the consideration.
The conversation continues from there in a manner surprisingly easy. It’s a new side to Cersei he’d have never expected, and as the exchange continues, he finds most of his wariness gradually easing, bit by bit, until he forgets entirely the friction this woman seems to have with his entire family. She is not a Lannister, and he is not a bastard. They’re just people, talking.
My story and rp queue is officially clear, so anyone interested in commissioning something that you'd like completed before my vacation in June, now's a great time to request it! 😊
REQUESTED SUMMARY: “Part 16 of Stranger Things Genderbent AU
Eddie manages to make it to the jam session on time, her arousal bled out over the rush over on her bike and the rest of the session goes great.
After a long and loud jam session everyone is starving, especially Eddie who slept in a bit and didn't eat yet today. So they all agree to go out to eat, settling on a greasy spoon they frequent. They'd usually be there for an hour or two, half eating and half shooting the breeze. Eddie is tucked in a booth seat with a friend flanking her on each side, and they all dug into their food.
Billy meanwhile was grateful that things were a bit quieter now, having been jostled about on the bike ride only to put up with the extremely loud band sounds before more bike jostling. He decided he'd get his revenge now, and jostle something himself for a change as he sneaks his way back inside her.
His journey so far only causing minor ripples for Eddie, still chattering on through a mouthful of fries and having a good time. Though her good time becomes a 'good' time as a pleasant warmth builds beneath the table.
Billy notes the increased 'water' level with amusement, as he hasn't even started doing anything yet. Soon he's back at the spot, ready to rock her world.
Eddie immediately choked a bit on their meal as pleasure erupts from an unfamiliar spot deep inside like an underwater mine going off. Her friends continued yammering on, and her mind was struggling to process a new erogenous zone and trying to keep a straight face, afraid to speak up lest she moan instead of talk.
Unable to vocalize an excuse, she remained trapped between her friends without a way to slip out to the bathroom.
Downstairs, Billy is soaked to the bone as the flooded area around him convulses and the tunnel 'caves in' occasionally as involuntary contractions hit. He continues on though, eager to see this through to the climax. He wonders how Eddie is handling it, if she still feels like 'one of the guys' with all this going on.
Eddie is currently adopting a smile and nod approach to coasting through the conversation, her coughing fit earlier made no one blink twice at her red face for now, and she was still trying to ground herself enough to utter "I gotta go", three words that would let her escape to the privacy of a bathroom stall...might as well have been three miles. The deep seated pleasure spikes continued hammering away at her resolve like a pickaxe, the shame induced panic didn't help none either.
Just like the D&D game all over again, she was beginning to fear the inevitable. This time she had no impassioned speech to disguise it, maintaining silence was her only option as an explosive orgasm thundered through her pelvis. A very unfortunate setting to squirt ones self.
A pause as Eddie's mind recalibrates, she hastily picks up and pretends to spill the soda on herself as she drinks it, finally having a way to excuse herself from the table to escape to the bathroom. Lingering aftershocks plaguing her as she slides out of the booth and forced herself to walk properly to the bathroom.”
CHARACTERS: Genderswapped Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Other Side Characters
WARNINGS: Unaware, Insertion, Humiliation
COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page +3 Add-on
——
Band practice goes incredibly well. Whatever pent up energy Eddie may have had going into it is completely gone midway through; all of her focus and her attention is on her guitar, her fingers working to absolutely nail a new solo she’s been working on for the better part of a few weeks. The music is a balm to her mind and to her mound in equal measure, and the whole crew really syncs up today for a harmonious, loud, completely badass sound.
They’re all in high spirits by the time the session wraps up – and they’re all completely starving. Eddie especially is assaulted with a loudly rumbling stomach, practically loud enough to be heard over Kick’s drumming. It doesn’t occur to her until that exact moment that she’s actually ravenous, that she hasn’t eaten all day. Suddenly, nothing in the world sounds more appealing to her than an enormous, greasy bacon cheeseburger.
The gang heads to their usual spot, a homey little diner on the edge of town called Murphy’s. They’re a regular crew there, frequenting the place so often the waitress already has most of their orders memorized by heart. Eddie piles into her usual spot in the booth, tucked comfortably between Kick (their long-haired, bandana-clad drummer) and Barney (their laughably square-looking bassist).
She’s comfortable here. It feels good. The guys press in on either side of her, they’re all sweaty and riding an endorphin high from the session, and she really feels like she belongs. It’s never a question with the guys, it’s never awkward, and while they might lovingly give her shit for being a chick sometimes, they’d also kick the ass of anybody that seriously screwed with her. She loves her bandmates. which makes what’s coming even more mortifyingly awkward.
Food hits the table, and the bandmates devolve into a comfortable, casual rapport as they turn their attention toward their food. Eddie wraps both hands around her burger, takes an absolutely massive bite, and moans dramatically in pleasure – earning a laugh and an elbow to the ribs from Kick.
Down between her legs, Billy is eternally relieved by the reprieve. It’s been something of a nightmare. His girl still hasn’t learned not to bike with her clit mashed against the rigid bike seat, and he spent the whole ride to band practice plastered against the surface of it, half-smothered by her pressing, hot, suffocating lips. And that wasn’t even the worst part, no, no. The worst part came after, in an absolute cacophony of sound. Pounding drums, screaming guitar, amps and amps and amps. Not even the layers of Eddie’s clothes and the padding of her pubic hair could muffle things enough not to leave his ears ringing and his head singing with a migraine that’s only just now beginning to recede. And what did he get after that? Another bike ride.
Well, he thinks, now’s the perfect time for a little punishment – and a perfect time to finish his postponed experiment from earlier. She’s sitting comfortably, she’s still, she’s not going anywhere for the better part of an hour at least. It’s time to make sure her next bike ride home is done a little more mindfully, he thinks, climbing his way carefully down her lips to stand before the dark, deep entrance. He takes a deep breath, prepares himself, and then strides into only partly familiar territory. Things are about to get… intense.
The gentle, trailing sensation of Billy’s migration past her entrance to her more sensitive parts has Eddie flexing subconsciously. It’s barely even the twinge of a sensation, but it’s enough to send movement rippling through her channel, a flexing flow of muscle that threatens to unbalance Billy entirely once or twice. He huffs out a fond, amused laugh and trails a hand along her wall with a firm pat the same way one might pet a horse, murmuring a low, “So sensitive, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Above the table, Eddie hasn’t fully noticed the stirring. She’s cramming french fries into her mouth with enthusiasm, struggling not to choke as she laughs at some stupid joke Barney cracks about their lead singer Martin, who throws a balled-up napkin at his face. It’s business as usual, or so she thinks, unaware of the tiny intruder plunging ever further into her depths. Things feel… warm, good. It’s easy to mistake the low pooling of excitement for humor and camaraderie.
Billy knows better, though. The gently rising tide at his feet goes from a resting state of barely-there dampness, to a new kind of slickness beneath his feet. The further in he treads, brushing his hand over her walls, the higher the water level rises, until he’s splashing his way through puddles with a smirk on his face. He’s barely even done anything, and she’s already starting to get worked up. She’s so eager for it, she can’t even wait.
Soon enough, he arrives in front of that spot, that bundle of nerves against her pelvic wall. He stands before it for a long moment with his hands on his hips, graciously allowing her a final few moments of normalcy, listening keenly to the ambient sounds that drift in through several feet of fat and muscle and tissue… and then he reaches out, and gives those nerves a deliberate, enthusiastic shove.
Above the table, Eddie promptly chokes on her fries. She sucks down potato mush into the back of her throat, coughing like crazy. Kick reaches behind her and thumps her firmly on the back, a couple deep, hollow-sounding slaps that have her coughing french fry into a napkin. “Woah, easy there, Eddie,” Barney laughs, “I know I’m a comedian and all, but try to keep it together.”
She offers him a wobbly smile and shakily says, “You wish, I was trying to choke myself to death to get away from your shitty fucking jokes,” and the guys all lapse back into laughter again, ignoring her momentary eruption. Which is a huge fucking relief, because she can barely wrap her head around the sensation that shot through her just now. It was a sudden, deep, clenching kind of pleasure with the force and intensity of a pounding foot pedal on a bass drum.
Holy shit, her breath is still a little shaky from the force of it. She exhales unsteadily, wrapping her hands around her burger, desperately trying to convince herself it won’t happen again. That it was a fluke. Deep down, though… deep down, her mind circles around English class, and tabletop night, and all the other times her pussy has gotten the better of her… and a deep, red flush begins to creep up her cheeks and the tips of her ears. A swooping sensation hits low in her belly, a combination of dread and wicked anticipation. She knows. She knows.
And she’s right. It begins slowly but steadily, this new sensation deep inside her pelvis. If the stimulation to her clit had been sharp and pointed, this sensation is thick and resonant, dull but strong, a comprehensive toe-curling series of waves rolling through her like high tide at the beach. Pushing, pulling back, never quite receding before the next wave is already lapping over top of it. It’s building. She needs to get out of here.
She opens her mouth to excuse herself to the restroom, just in time for a higher, hotter, thicker wave of pleasure to roll through her body, leaving her nipples tight and her panties suddenly moist. She very nearly chokes again as she clamps her throat shut, only barely stopping the low, needy moan threatening to escape her. God, it feels so good, it just feels so fucking good-
A soft, inaudible noise squeaks out of her. Mortification runs through her and she drops her burger, fists clenching and releasing, looking for purchase on anything at all and finding none. She know deep in her heart, the second she opens her mouth all manner of filthy, animalistic sounds are going to escape her. She can’t, she can’t, not here, not at the table, not in front of the guys. She’ll never live it down, she’ll die of embarrassment, she’ll absolutely lose it.
But the alternative… the alternative is this: sitting still, her thighs absolutely rigid, her fists clenching, her breathing shallow and stuttering, feeling the mounting pressure of an inevitable crash, knowing full well she’s going to cum all over herself at a table full of her bandmates – and there’s nothing she can do about it.
Deep in the confines of her pussy, Billy is fighting the surging fluid like a ship captain during a sea storm. It lurches, it rolls, it rises and falls, threatening to drag him under the current. The thing is, though… Billy was a lifeguard. Billy knows how to handle the water. This is why he’s still here while Harrington isn’t. Why this is his domain, and nobody else’s. Because nobody else is equipped to tame this creature, this environment, this force of nature. Nobody except him. Fierce with determination and arousal, with mischief, with malevolent want, Billy grins a feral, cutting grin and doubles down, yelling, “That’s right, sweetheart, that’s just fucking right. Give it all to me. Good fucking girl-”
It mounts, and mounts, and mounts, until Eddie’s thighs are quaking under the table. Until her hands are trembling, and she has to clench her fists to keep from reaching out to grab something or someone. Her eyes squeeze shut, and it’s a miracle and a half none of the guys are paying attention to her over their food right now, otherwise they’d see it in her screwed-up expression. This one… this one is going to be big. She just needs to excuse herself, but it’s taking everything in her power not to outright sob. She’s going to fall apart the moment she tries to utter a single syllable.
When orgasm hits her, it flows out of her like wine flowing from a tipped carafe. It pours from her, hot and wet and constant, each spasm of muscle forcing fluid through her pussy with such strength, it soaks her panties. It drenches her pants. It squirts from her with such force, she can’t keep her mouth from dropping open in awe and horror. She’s never- she hasn’t ever- she didn’t even know it was possible to-
Billy gets only but a brief handful of moments to see the chaos erupt all around him, the spasming of muscles, the torrent of floodwater, before he’s violently swept out of her. Down, down, down he goes like a water slide, slamming roughly into her panties just in time to behold the glorious sight of her squirting; it slams into him with the force of a fire hose, nearly drowning him in the impact. Again. Again. Each clench of muscle, another, slightly smaller eruption cascading over him.
Eddie’s drenched all the way down the insides of her thighs. Deep, dark patches of wetness are obvious in the denim of her pants; she can feel the cool diner air biting at her thighs, sapping warmth from between them, wicking away moisture at a rate far too slow. She’ll never be able to stand up, not like this. Only one of two alternatives could possibly happen: either they’ll think she pissed herself, or they’ll know she just came, right there in front of them, hard enough to soak through two layers of clothing. Oh, god. What the hell is she going to do?
An idea strikes like lightning, and she has to act on it before she can second-guess herself. If she takes too long to examine it she might chicken out, and the instant it occurs to her, she knows it’s her only hope for escape. In one convulsive, jerky maneuver, she yanks her coke across the table and sends it spilling into her lap – and all over the seat, all over Kick and Barney.
The two of them jolt, Kick stumbling out of the booth to stand, arms up, as both of them shout protests of, “Woah, woah, woah-” and “What the hell, Munson?!” Ice cubes hit the floor, soda drips down the booth, and Eddie’s lap is absolutely sodden with it beyond belief. It worked.
“Shit- sorry-” she manages hoarsely, her voice quaking a little as she gracelessly scoots across the booth, dragging herself through spilled soda – just to make sure the back of her pants are equally as covered as the front. “Crap, I better go wash this off-”
Walking to the bathroom is an ordeal. The second she stands up, her knees almost give out on her. She wobbles, slapping a hand down on the table’s surface to catch herself before she drops. With every scrap of effort she’s got in her, she straightens, taking one wobbling step after another toward the restroom, her thighs gently parted, sticky-slick cum sliding around her lips and her panties with every single step she takes.
The moment she’s in the clear, hidden behind both the bathroom door and the stall, she slams the thing shut and presses her back against it, sinking down, down, down to the floor. Her entire cunt is still throbbing with the force of her orgasm, aftershocks rolling through her one after another in muscle-spasming waves, desperately clenching around air. She’s never, ever cum that hard in her entire life, and the worst part is, she has no fucking clue what that was.
Between her legs, a soaking wet Billy is deeply, deeply satisfied.
