You shouldn't be messing with Dmitri - you know you shouldn't. He's dangerous, here in secret, hiding from his government, a little too old, and your brothers friend... he's warned you off before, but he never turns you away. And lately he's been seeking you out.
Yes it is a cheesey 'Hoppers Sister' fic, and I have no regrets because taboo 'we shouldn't be doing this' feels and needy, touch-starved, ruined Dmitri have a chokehold on my soul and libido.
Tagging @believeinthefireflies95 because they asked to tagged in Dmitri smut 😄
Originally posted by brieattea
The dress was an innocent mistake, or so you told yourself when you arrived. Light and flowy with a floral pattern, it certainly looks innocent. No one would think you wore it to drive a man mad... but most people don't know that Dmitri has a thing for sundresses. For pressing innocent, sweet women up against walls in quiet places and making them just a little less innocent.
No one, not even Hop, would have noticed the way his face changed when he saw you, because even when he's at breaking point, Dmitri Antonov has a face that could be best described as taciturn. It's in the eyes; those hooded eyes widened just a fraction when he saw you, then narrowed again, their heavy lids creasing slightly at the corners, and the right side of his lip twitched up for a second. Then he continued speaking to Ted Wheeler, but he did that sweet thing. That thing he always did when something had amused or shocked him; when he smiled, one side of his mouth turned down slightly. He licked his lips and rolled his shoulders.
You should have known how it would end when you saw that, but it was still a surprise, the way he found you at just the right moment, in just the right place and used the bulk of his body to push you against the side of the house... just out of sight.
The party doesn't stop when he buries his face in your neck and drags one of your legs up onto his hip. Anyone could walk around the corner in a second and there would be no explaining this away... somehow that makes it better,
"Dmitri," you whisper, pushing at his shoulders weakly; it's a pointless and frankly disingenuous pretence. Every time your hands slip ineffectually up onto the top of his strong shoulders, they grip him and pull him closer. You can feel him smiling against your skin, and the smugness of the curve to his mouth, more than anything else, is what makes you prolonge the lie, "we shouldn't."
"I know," he mumbles against your cheek as his lips search in the gloom, finding yours a few seconds later. His free hand comes up to hold your throat gently,
"No, we really shouldn't," you gasp, "not here."
"Then tell me to stop," he says against your mouth, free hand pushing up under the gossamer material of your dress to cup your ass while he slides one denim-clad thigh between your legs. "Go on," he pushes you, voice teasing,
"I told you-"
"You say we shouldn't," he whispers, "not that you want me to go away. Tell. Me. To. Stop." He pulls your hip, dragging you up his thigh, then pushing you back down with each word. You let your head fall back, "no?"
Perhaps its the liquor, or maybe it really is the dress, but he decides to be cruel and pulls away,
"Dmitri," you whine, seeing his teeth glint in the barely there light that seeps arund the side of the house,
"What is it, princess?" He leans in, inches from you, "you say we shouldn't," he shrugs, "so we won't." When you make a frustrated sound, he chuckles, "you want me?"
"Dmitri..."
"Dmitri," he mimics your tone, thin and high and pleading, then rubs his nose to yours, "tell me what you want."
"I..." you shake your head, making him grin,
"Ok," he says and turns away again, making it two steps before you grip his hand and drag him back,
"Please," you whisper, and this is what breaks him. He sighs,
"How can I say no to those pretty eyes, hm?" This time it's his hand that slips between your legs, pushing under your barely-there panties as he hisses through his teeth and leans down to nip the skin on your shoulder, muttering something you can't understand. Mostly, anyway. You've picked up a word or two of Russian while spending time with him, and the word 'wet' jumps out at you first. Then 'tight' - that one is branded into your mind and skin, making you blush as he curls two fingers in you. As you whine and shudder, he raises his head, craning his neck to make sure you're still alone, then pulls the neck of your dress to the side. "Feels good?" He asks,
"God yes," it's not even your voice; its high-pitched and breathy. Desperate. Shameless.
"God," he chuckles, "I'm not sure he has anything to do with this, Y/N..."
You fall apart so easily for him, shuddering around his fingers, then he nudges your legs apart and pushes between them, fumbling with his belt,
"Gentle," you whimper as he pushes into you in one hard thrust. Dmitri lowers his head to kiss your shoulder apologetically,
"Forgive me," he murmurs, "I can't think when you're so close. You turn me into an animal..." he's speaking against your skin now, between licks and kisses, "can't... fuck... can't get close enough to you. No matter how hard I try." His teeth press into the sensitive skin on your shoulder and he sucks gently,
"Dmitri... you're going to leave a mark," you whisper, unable to articulate just how bad it would be if Hopper saw a goddamn hickey, but he's mindless, rocking in and out of you so slowly that you feel like its all one motion. Constant friction. The comforting weight of his body,
"Good," he almost growls as he pulls away and covers the aching mark with the fabric of your dress before he lifts your other leg and speeds up, craning to look over towards the corner of the house again, "have to be quick," he gasps and you nod, "keep quiet, yes?" You nod again biting your lip as he speeds up, knocking the air out of you with every roll of his hips, "good girl." He almost groans, but stifles it, shuddering as he cums, then pulls away quickly, kissing you firmly, helping you to fix your dress before he deals with himself. He slips away seconds before Joyce rounds the corner,
"Y/N, hey, where've you been?" She asks, and you're glad she can't see the blush on your face,
"I went and sat in you and Hop's room for a while," you say, which is part of the truth, "needed a few moments of quiet." She takes your explanation without question,
"Well, we're bringing out a keg, come on."
It's only as you walk back into the firelight with her arm hooked through yours that you realize you're still bare beneath your dress. Are your panties on the ground back there, you wonder with a flash of panic. Dmitri smirks at you across the fire, then, seeing your look of panic, rolls his eyes and taps his left pocket.
"Fucking animal," you mouth at him when no one's paying attention, but he only smiles and raises his glass.
You're lonely while baby-sitting your brothers' kids and call your best friend for some backup... of course, things go a little sideways when the kids go to sleep.
AKA I'm now on an Eddie kick and no one can stop me; some needy, cunt drunk, gentle switch Eddie for you guys.
If there's one thing you know about Eddie Munson, it's that he's great with kids. Calling him in to make baby sitting duties easier wasn't quite what you had in mind this Saturday, but any time with him is time well spent. He comes into the house like a hurricane and within five minutes he's embroiled in some complex game which seems to revolve around him chasing Piper and David while they compete to see who can scream the loudest.
The neighbours will be pissed, but at least you finally have time to make the mac and cheese they've been begging for all afternoon. As you drop a handful of sharp cheddar into the pot, Eddie skids into the kitchen, red-faced and panting,
"We need juice," he says, and you laugh,
"Fridge, Eds, they're not allowed coke or cream soda before dinner, give them orange juice or water... or milk. Whatever they want," you say, "and there's beer for you, too."
"Well alright," he says with a grin, but you feel him turn as he passes you and when you look over your shoulder he's standing by the refrigerator with a strange smile on his face,
"What?" You frown,
"Nothin' Princess," he says, but there's a flush on his cheeks still, "don't see you wearing a dress that often is all. Looks good, it new?" His eyes flick down and you feel a flash of heat go through you. You turn to the steaming pot and start to stir again - damn him, why is he so... delicious?
"No, well, kinda," you say, "I bought it a while ago but it's the first time I've worn it. It was so hot out today." It's true, and a total lie; you were wearing an older, less flattering dress before you called him. You changed into this, not sure why you were doing it, after Piper spilt paint on you.
It's so not you; light and fluffy and skimming the middle of your thighs. Buttery yellow with spaghetti straps. You're starting to realize you wore it for him, and that's a mortifying thought you can't settle with. He's not interested Y/N, if he was, he would have said something by now. Get a grip, girl.
A cold, condensation-beaded bottle of beer thumps onto the counter beside you and his broad hand rests next to it. You can feel the heat of his body behind you, hear him take a swig, smell the sharp aftershave and chemical soap and cheap shampoo he uses,
"Seems a little... fancy for babysitting," he says, voice low and heavy,
"I was... wearing an older one," you say, "Piper spilt paint on me."
"Shame," he says, "but this is a nice dress. You should wear it more."
"I might," you say and your voice is a low, shivering whisper. Piper runs into the room,
"Come play Eddie," she stamps her tiny feet,
"On my way," he says and hands her a cup, "here's your juice." For a second you'd love to throttle her. Jealous of a six-year-old, fuck I'm pathetic.
"Mac and cheese in ten," you call after them and he turns to look at you, his eyes dropping to your chest for a second, then he blushes and nods,
"Ten minutes, yes ma'am," he repeats with a mock salute and disappears. The screaming starts again; all you can do is pray you don't hear a crash any time soon.
They eat like they've never been fed before; all elbows and lowered heads, and Eddie widens his eyes at you, smirking before he takes a bite and theatrically rolls his eyes,
"You're right David," he says, "Auntie Y/N makes the best mac and cheese. What's in this?"
"Oh, you know," you say, "cheese, milk, butter," you shoot the kids a glance and mouth, "mustard." He raises his brows,
"Really?"
"Mmmhm," you say and he winks, reaching over to ruffle David's hair. The gesture almost makes you melt. Is it bad, you find yourself wondering, to picture him as a father? It seems weird; neither of you is twenty yet, and he's still trying to get out of high school... but he would be a great dad. You can feel it. Hell, you can see it.
And that makes you... well, feel things.
They protest being sent to bed and wheedle an extra long bath to compensate for going to bed at the same time they do every night. You can't say no, though; they're too cute, and when you come back out into the living room he's lounging on the sofa watching TV,
"All sleeping?" He asks with a smile,
"I think so," you sigh and flop down next to him, smoothing your dress self-consciously, "thank you, Eds, they were too much for me today."
"Hey it's all good," he says, "they're good kids. "
"They are," you sigh and press your head to his shoulder, felling him stiffen a little, "tell me you brought weed?"
"Of course," he snorts, "outside?"
"Yeah."
It's not hot anymore; it's not even warm. The cold night air kisses your bare legs and makes you shiver as you take a drag, and he drapes his heavy jacket over your shoulders,
"Thanks," it's hard to think of anything else to say; the smell of him on the fabric is dizzying,
"You're welcome, Princess," he sighs and leans back against the wall. "So I take it they're staying here tonight?"
"Yeah, Mom and Stan are in Portland for their honeymoon, Jade and Chris have gone down to Ohio for a wedding. They're here till Monday." You shudder. "It's gonna be a long weekend."
"You want me to head off and let you sleep?" He takes the joint from you and draws in smoke,
"No!" You say it a little too loudly maybe because he narrows one eye and smirks at you, "no, Eds, please I haven't talked to anyone over the age of six since Friday morning." He snorts and nods,
"Ok, well, I have time," he holds out his hand, letting you take the joint carefully, "I can come back over tomorrow and help if you want?" You nod,
"That would be great, as long as you don't mind?"
"Sounds like a good day to me," he says, "we can hop in the van and go out to the lake if you want?" And just like that it feels a little too intimate. Like they're your kids. Like they're his. You shake your head and then shrug,
"Uh, maybe, let's see how the weather is, radio says it might rain." The sudden cold in the night backs that up; it's like you can feel the thunderclouds rolling in as he takes the mostly gone joint from you from you and stares up at the sky,
"Halfsies?" He nods to it and you smile,
"Sure," you say, but he doesn't move,
"You look really good in that dress," he says suddenly, and there's no hint of teasing in his eyes now.
"Thank you," hot, blushing, unable to raise your voice, you almost whisper those words, feeling tiny and strangely exposed in his oversized jacket,
“I mean it,” he shifts so he’s facing you, “shame you don’t wear it more often.” Then he narrows his eyes and raises his hand to his face, hesitating as your eyes fix on his thick fingers and the chunky rings that they always hold, “sure you only wore it because of a wardrobe malfunction?” He asks suddenly, and though his voice is steady there’s a hint of anxiety on his face, take the plunge. This is it.
“No,” you say, “I wore it because I wanted you to see it.” He nods and looks down, then draws the last of the smoke into his lungs, before reaching out to pull you forward. Inches from your face, he blows the smoke gently into your mouth, and the rush you get breathing it in has little to do with the weed.
He takes a low, slow breath when you break apart, rubbing his nose against yours before he grins and whispers,
His hand slips under the heavy jacket, slides across the fine material of your dress, and pulls you against him just before your lips touch. Just like that, he’s not your best friend anymore... or at least he’s not just your best friend.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so fuckin’ long,”
“Why’d you wait till now?” You whisper back,
“I would have waited longer...” he said, “but I nearly had a nosebleed when I saw that dress.” You snigger and shake your head, try to step back, but he drags you forward again and buries his face in your neck, “I swear to God, Y/N, you better wear this again... not... for other guys though.”
“No?” You ask, and there’s a giddy smile spreading across your face,
“Absolutely not,” he almost growls,
“So when can I who should I wear it for then?” You ask though you know what he’s going to say,
“Me,” he murmurs, and drags your hips closer, stealing any reply you might have had when he presses himself against you and it becomes clear just how interested he is. Maybe it's the giddy exhilaration, maybe it’s the weed... or maybe it's just him, but you know you’re about to make a bad decision when you take his hand and drag him inside, pulling him to your brothers' bedroom, hushing him as you close the door.
All that bravado, all that presence melts away when you push him back onto the bed; he just stares up at you with those big doe eyes and lets you climb onto his lap. He’s so passive, so still that you feel a moment of panic,
“You... do you want to...?” You ask, blood chilling until he nods eagerly and he tugs your hips,
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie mutters, but he still doesn’t take over. Not like the other guys, well the other guy, you dated; he pushed and tugged and manhandled you... and it was fine. But the way Eddie lies back and stares at you as if waiting to be told what to do... it makes you feel itchy and needy and hot.
“Take your shirt off?” You ask tentatively and he almost tangles himself up in the material in his eagerness to comply, leaving you giggling, God he’s so perfect, as you trace the lines of his tattoos with shaking fingers, “you’re so beautiful,” you whisper and he blushes.
“That’s my line, Princess,” he mutters, pushing his hands up your thighs, all the way under your dress to toy with the lace of your panties. There’s something new about him, something vulnerable and tender and so achingly soft that it almost makes you want to cry... but there’s something else under that feeling. You want to sink your teeth into him, just devour him. He strokes your legs, shifts his hips, but doesn’t try for anything else, even when you kiss him. Even when the kiss goes on and on and on until your head is light and he’s whimpering and gasping,
“Shh,” you murmur and cover his mouth; his eyes flutter shut and suddenly you get it. “You gonna be a good boy for me Eds, hm?” He nods. “You gonna be quiet while I ride you.” He whimpers into your hand but nods nonetheless, so you lean down and take your hand away. “If you make a sound,” you whisper, watching emotions flit across those big, dark eyes, “I’ll stop, and you’ll have to wait until next weekend to get what you want, ok?”
“Y-yeah,” he whispers back and you can feel him shaking under you, big bad Eddie, shaking like a puppy... why does this feel so right?
“You sure you want this?” The question is genuine, but he gives you a look of such stupified contempt that you have to stifle a giggle.
“Then shut up and stop squirming,” you murmur, running your tongue across the shell of his ear, “keep your hands to yourself, and do as you’re told, ok?”
“No,” he draws it out rolling his eyes, “I’m terrified, all five-foot jack shit of you is so much that I couldn’t leave if I wanted to - ofcourseifuckingwantthis.” He whispers the last part so urgently that it almost sounds like a shout.
“You’re a little freak,” he whispers, but he’s grinning,
“You know where the door is Munson.”
“Wild horses couldn’t get me out of here,” he lies back and lets his arms fall back beside his head, “not a peep.”
“We’ll see.”
The heavy belt buckle takes a little more work than you had thought, but his jeans slide down easily once it's undone. He’s hard, almost painfully so, and there’s a wet patch on the front of his boxers; you raise your eyebrows at him, and he flushes, looking away. There’s a shiver of apprehension; he’s big, maybe not huge, but bigger than your one and only boyfriend... and when you pull down his boxers his cock twitches. His eyes are closed, breaths coming in slow, measured waves until you run your tongue across the velvety skin at his hip.
The little hitch is like music; you chase it, nipping and sucking the skin on his belly and hips until he’s twitching and letting out soft, desperate huffs. When you run your tongue along his length he makes a stifled, strangled grunting sound, but stays still, just like he promised.
His cock twitches in your hand as you line him up with your entrance, and when you sink onto him, taking every inch so slowly that it makes you dizzy, his eyes roll back and his mouth moves.
“Please, please, please,” he’s whispering over and over again like a prayer, but when you shush him he clamps his mouth shut,
“Good boy,” you murmur and run your hand down his chest to the start of the fine, dark hair between his legs, feeling him twitch in you when you utter those two simple words. “Look how good you look in me,” you whisper, not quite believing that the filth is coming from your mouth; when his eyes open they’re hazy; he’s wrecked, holding on by a thread, and the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you almost destroys him; Eddie jams one knuckle into his mouth and bites, a strange, growling sound exiting his throat. Still, he does exactly what you told him, and the feeling of power mixed with the desperate need that’s been building in your belly becomes so heady you think you might break too.
And that’s how it goes; slow, almost silent, both of you trying to make no sound until you’re shaking and you slump over him. It’s only then that he takes over, rolling the two of you, pulling you down onto the floor on the side of the bed farthest from the door, tugging the neck of your dress down as he murmurs nonsense words and phrases that jumble together in the hot, slick spaces between you,
“so fucking wet for me - should’ve done this months ago- fuck, that’s my girl, -”
Eddie goes on and on and on until you can barely think, and then it’s his turn to cover your mouth, growling in your ear as he rolls into your, slow and hard, the sheer weight and bulk of him making your hips ache and your body shake while he worms one hand between you to toy with your aching clit. When you cum it rolls over you like a thunderstorm, muted by the way you focus on keeping silent, wrapping your legs tight around him, so tight that he has to force them open to pull away before he fills you. Then it’s just the silence of the house, the muted sound of the TV still playing in the living room, dogs barking in the distance.
“Fuck me,” he pants, half whispering, “where the fuck did that come from, Princess?”
“I dunno,” the words are dreamy and soft; he kisses your forehead and helps you up, putting you back together before you step out into the hallway, quietly makes his way to the living room before you peek into Piper and David’s room on the other side of the bathroom. They’re sleeping peacefully.
Everything is exactly as it should be... except he has to go. That’s the part that sticks in your throat, even though he peppers you with kisses and soft words and promises; it feels wrong for him to go, now.
Hi there! I’m looking for more body worship/pleasure dom fics. The one with Eddie and the shy chunky reader was so gooood
Oh man have I got you covered; this request opened up a chest of inspiration today.
Just the Touch of Your Hand
Highschool had been hell; in the era of super slim, super cute, dainty girls with glossy, sleek hair, you were the furthest thing from an 'it' girl as it was possible to be. Adult life would be different, you told yourself, when you had a job and a place of your own...
Of course, it isn't. Working in a bar with the same super fit, super slim girls, serving the same rude guys who look at you as if terrified a single smile would give you the wrong idea is hell too, God forbid the chubby chick thinks you like her, right?
Is it any wonder you need to let loose now and then? That's what you tell yourself as you drive out to Eddie's trailer. You just need to let loose; the weed is a way to relax and definitely not a way to forget you're... well, yourself, for a few hours.
He opens the door with a wide grin and leans on the frame, his dark hair messy and wild around his face, a sliver of smooth skin showing between his belt and his shirt,
"Y/N," he says and shakes a finger at you, "you're not a cop now, are you?"
"In this body?" You scoff, "no, Just a pissed-off barmaid."
"The cops would be lucky to have that body," he whispers, winking before he turns on his heel, leaving you no chance to reply. You roll your eyes and follow him, closing the door behind you. It's always been the same; he always has something smart to say, but when he plops down on the couch and hands you a baggie you force a smile.
"How much?" You asked, pulling your wallet from your purse,
"Sit and smoke with me and it's free," he says, then spreads his hands in mock surrender, "I'll be a gentleman, I just wanna catch up. Seems like it's been forever." You hesitate; you just want to be alone, but when he smiles at you like that it's hard to say no,
"Ok, Eddie," you sigh as you sit at the other end of the sofa, "let's chat."
He grins like he's won the lottery, and that joy is infectious,
"Great, you want a beer?" He jumps up, clapping his broad hands together,
"Sure," you nod and stretch, letting the cool air the fan blows around the room and the muted music from his bedroom soothe you. He places a can down gently and starts filling a bong.
The problem with Eddie Munson is that he can't help but be charming. The guys in school who called him a freak were assholes; he was weird, sure, but in a goofy, kind of endearing way, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see the desperate longing in his eyes. He just wants people to like him... boy do I know that feeling,
"So," he blows smoke out in a plume before he hands you the bong, "you're a barmaid."
"Yes." You nod and take the bong,
"Do you like it?"
"Hell no," you laugh and take a drag,
"Fair enough..." he leans back, watching you hold the smoke for a few seconds before you let it go, one hand in his thick hair, "your own place?" You nod. "Hey, that's great."
"Thanks," you say and raise your eyebrows, "it's a shithole."
"Well, it's your shithole and that matters," he says, then winces, "let's forget I said that, it sounded wrong." You nod and laugh, feeling your mood lift despite yourself,
"You graduate yet?" You ask
"No," he said and grins, "but this is my year, Princess, I can feel it."
"I bet it is, too," you say as you pass the bong back, folding one leg under you, "You still seeing that chick? With the red hair?" He shakes his head,
"Nah, she moved to Portland." He shrugs as if it's nothing, but you can hear a little hurt in his voice,
"Shame," you murmur, hating yourself for being glad. He's just too cute, even if there's no chance, "she seemed nice."
"She was," he says and then his eyes slide to you with a mischievous glint in them, "you got a boyfriend these days?"
"No."
"A girlfriend?" He asks, wiggling his brows,
"No, Eddie," you say and slump back into the soft cushions. He frowns,
"Why not?" He asks, "no-one you like?"
"No-one that'll have me." The ceiling is stained with smoke, but the lights are clean. Everything is strangely clean. He scoffs and leans forward and the smell of his aftershave seeps into the air between you, fresh and sharp
"Then they're idiots," he whispers conspiratorily,
"Nah - I don't mind."
"You should have some poor guy wrapped around your little finger," he says and his eyes are warm and dark. The way he looks at you, it feels... wrong. Nice, but wrong. This isn't the way men talk to you.
You sit up, heart hammering, certain there's a blush spreading across your cheeks.
"Anyway, that's all for guys, really," you say, scrambling for something that will take those eyes away from you,
"Dating?" He asks with a quizzical grin, eyes already a little hazy. You shrug, suddenly embarrassed,
"Yeah, no, I dunno, Eds," you say and take a drag from the bong, "the whole... all the stuff that comes with it, you know?" You shake your head, feeling the world go soft and hazy, "the.. sex stuff. It's not really for girls... well, girls like me. We just kind of put up with it... or... you know, not, in my case." You laugh, but he isn't laughing along. "Guys don't really like me," you confide in him without any filter, yeah, that's what weed does dumbass, "but I don't mind."
You realize you've shocked him, you must have because he's silent and there's a line between his brows. When he opens his mouth, at first, he says nothing, and by the time he thinks of something to say the phone rings, calling his attention,
"Stay... right there," Eddie says and crosses to answer it. As he speaks into the phone, you realize you've said too much, but by the time you're gathering your purse, he's back, and he's on his knees in front of you looking at you with that same strange, almost hurt look, "ok, look, before you go..." he says, "I know you probably think you said too much, but you didn't."
"Ok," you say, and your voice is small,
"I'm sorry some shitbag made you feel like you're not good enough, " his hands land on your knees and they're so big. Your head spins. "You are. You're more than good enough... and any idiot that made you think it's 'not for you'," he makes air quotes, "if I ever find 'em, I'm gonna run them over with my van."
He's so earnest that you laugh and cover your mouth, and this time he does laugh with you. But he reaches up and takes your hand away from your face,
"Don't hide that pretty smile," he says softly, "please."
"Ok," you say, standing up with his help. Eddie presses a fresh baggie into your hand,
"Drive safe," he whispers, "and don't be a stranger.... please."
Just like that, you're in the sticky night air again; you stop your car and take a few deep breaths. Did that really happen? As if in answer to your unspoken question, his trailer door opens,
"No," Eddie almost shouts, "you know what," he leaps the steps from his trailer and crosses the ground between you, pushing a broad hand into your curls moments before he stoops to kiss you. It's hard and needy and feverish; you whimper into his mouth and let his weight push you back against the side of your car. He doesn't cop a feel, but the way his hand grips your hip has the same feeling; like you're helpless and exposed and completely at his mercy.
He pulls away, eyes bright and glittering in the gloom,
"Sex is not just for guys, Y/N, it's for girls too... especially girls like you," he whispers and rubs his nose against yours, "do you believe me?"
"I..." the words don't come; you're trembling, silent, and his face starts to shift,
"Shit, sorry -" he mutters, "I'm a fucking idiot, I'm sorry-" You cut him off with a kiss because it's the only way you can express what it is you wish you could find the words to say, and he turns to you like a sunflower following the light.
"I'm not sure I believe you," you whisper when you pull away, "but you can try to prove me wrong if you like."
He grins like you've given him the world and takes your hand,
"I will," he says and steps back, not tugging or pulling you, just inviting you to follow, and God it could be a bad idea but you do. All the way to his bedroom where he pulls off his shirt like it's nothing. You wish you had his confidence; the thought of taking off the loose, long dress you're wearing is like ice down your back, and he sees that, "hey," he says gently, "it's ok if you changed your mind."
"No... I haven't I'm just..." you trail off as he approaches,
"Lil' shy?" He teases, but his voice is warm. You nod, "that's ok... do you trust me?" You nod; you always have. He's a nice guy, really a nice guy; the kind of good person that wouldn't let anyone be pushed around. He was always kind to you, and that doesn't seem to have changed. When Eddie trails a hand along your arm, you shiver; the next kiss is gentle and slow. And it goes on and on until you think you'll lose your mind; as you slump against him, his arms slip up around your waist and he holds you like it's easy. Like you weigh nothing, "can we lose this?" He murmurs, tugging the skirt of your dress gently.
Time to be brave, Y/N, it's now or never.
You nod and help him undo the buttons down its front, but you keep your eyes closed as it slips away and the cool air tickles the fine hairs on your arms and belly.
Silence.
Then he whistles through his teeth,
"Where have you been hiding?" He asks, voice a little thick. When you open your eyes they don't meet Eddie's, because his are fixed on your body. He takes a few steps around you, and for a moment it's hard not to feel like a rabbit being circled by a wolf. Then he steps up behind you and kisses the side of your neck, fingers tracing along your hips and waist,
"Nowhere," you whisper,
"You've been hiding in these baggy dresses," he mutters, "you shouldn't have, Princess, you're perfect." Those big, warm hands slide over your skin, around to your belly, up to ghost over the fabric of your bra,
"Hardly," you scoff, but he just nips your ear lobe, making you squeak and squirm, and you can feel it against your back, how hard he is. Somehow it makes you feel small. Toes curling in the flat hightops you haven't gotten around to taking off, you're almost floored by a sense of clarity. Of how you must look in your underwear and shoes. It feels vulgar, but not dirty.
It's strange, you realize, how he moves you without pushing or pulling at you. It feel natural to move to the bed, perfectly natural; its like he's guiding you. There's no pressure or negotiation; if I say no, he'll stop. Just like that. He won't even be mad. The thought is like warm water, so when his fingers touch your back, you lie on the bed on your belly without thought, and smile when the thud of his knees hitting the floor shakes the matress.
Lips ghost over your legs and back, his hands slide slowly, almost lazily over you until he snaps your bra strap against your back with a chuckle,
"Hey!" You whine and squirm,
"Sorry, Princess," he says with a laugh, "couldn't resist. Damn I can't believe you're here..." he tugs the strap again, "yes? No?"
"Yes," you murmur, when was the last time you were this relaxed? You can't remember. When the clasp comes free and he gently pulls the bra away you sigh,
"Can't believe you're really here," he says again, "God I wanted you so bad when we had English together." The absurdity of that thought makes you giggle,
"Can't believe I believed you when you said you were gonna be a gentleman," you tease and he feigns offence, lowering the weight of his body onto your back as he whispers,
"I am being a gentleman," he says, "I'm gonna take such good care of you." You roll over, almost by your own volition, but raise your arms. This time he does pull; pulls them down, "none of that," he mutters and lowers his head to kiss the skin under your collarbone, working down to lick your nipples, placing a kiss on each one, "don't hide from me. Promise?" Those eyes are like pools of warm chocolate. How can you say no to them?
"Promise," you say, and he raises a hand,
"Pinky swear?" There's a teasing edge to his voice, he pushes one leg between yours and shifts, rubbing the rough denim of his jeans against the thin material of your panties,
"Pinky swear," you gasp and wrap your pinky around his, grinning when he leans to kiss it,
"Good, 'cause if you do, I'm gonna have to punish you," he says, grimacing, "detention for you Princess. "
"Gonna make me write lines, Eds?"
"Not what I had in mind," he rubs his leg against you again, eyes flicking over your face as you flush, then leans down, "you cold?"You shake your head, "no? Then why're you shaking?"
"I don't, ah, I don't know." When did it get so hot in here? He sighs and sits up, eyes trailing up and down your body until the urge to cover yourself is so strong it's almost tangible. He tuts,
"'Sex isn't for girls like me,'" He mimicks you with a roll of his eyes, "bullshit, this," he runs his hands from your hips up to your breasts before pressing his knee against you firmly, grinning when your thighs squeeze around it, "sweet," he leans to kiss your neck, "soft," another kiss, lower down, "perfect," and another, lower still, "little body is made for it." His chin digs into your belly, his hands tug your panties, "please?" He pouts, dragging laughter out of you again. Are you supposed to laugh this much when you're naked?
You nod.
"Fuck me," he groans, "even your pussy's pretty, what the fuck Y/N?" That's it, the last straw; you buckle, curling around yourself, shaking with laughter, "no, no, no, I know I'm hilarious but you better bring that pretty ass back over here." He says, sniggering. Domineering isn't the word for Eddie Munson, but he manhandles you with ease; the strength in him shocks you as he wrestles you onto your back and presses the length of his body against yours, "you do understand that it's unfair to be this cute?" He's grinning like a child, watching you blush and laugh and shake your head, "it is, yes, it's unfair and it should be illegal, but it won't stop me from eating that pretty little pussy until you scream, so are you gonna behave or do you need a minute?"
"I need, Jesus, Eds, I need a minute," you gasp through the gasps of laughter and the fiery blush. He flops beside you on the bed,
"Fine," he says, turning to look at you, "do you want a beer?"
"No, thank you."
"You want a pop tart?"
"No Eddie," you snort shaking your head,
"So what do you want?" He props himself up on one elbow,
"I want you to lose the jeans, for a start," you say, feeling your nakedness with painful clarity, "even the playing field a little. "
"Oh the playing field," he drawls and hops to his feet, undoing his belt without ceremony, discarding the jeans with a flourish, "you don't fool me," he points, "we both hated gym."
"True..."
Even on his knees, Eddie seems to loom, he can't help it. You smirk as he approaches, putting his elbows on either side of your legs,
"I'm literally on my knees, " he says, "can I please eat that perfect pussy?"
"God you're so rude," the eye-rolling, the admonishment; it's a front. You're shaking, terrified and exhilarated... and maybe, just maybe, enjoying the strange power he's given you.
"Please," he bats his eyelashes comically, dragging you closer until our hips are at the edge of the bed, "pretty please."
"Fine," you drag the word out, trying to mask the shivering excitement that's building in your belly.
He parts your legs like he's opening a gift, which is precious, but there's no time to tell him that; he doesn't start slow. Trying to breathe through the onslaught of sensation is enough to keep self-consciousness at bay until your body understands what it's feeling. The hot press of his maddening, the way his tongue slips over the flesh makes your head spin, and when he sucks, just enough to make you whine with need, your hands find his hair and tug.
Hips moving in time with his rhythm, you suddenly get it. Suddenly all the fuss makes sense; this is what it's supposed to be like. Those half-hearted fumbles with boys who were only interested in being able to say they had fucked anyone feel like they happened to someone else. This is how it should have been.
When you cum, it's like lightning; blinding and sudden hen you, and when you come back down to earth, Eddie's tapping your thigh,
"I do need to breathe," he says, muffled by your legs which, you see, are clamped around him.
"Shut, Eddie, I'm sorry, I-" he cuts you off with a kiss, and you can taste yourself on his lips,
"Don't be, that's exactly how I want to go out." Just like that, it seems to be over; he lies beside you and pulls you close, kissing your forehead and your hair,
"What about you?" You peek up at him and he smiles,
"I'm good," he says quietly, pressing his nose to your hair,
"You don't want...?" It's funny, you don't know how to ask him. It seems silly, this is the perfect time to ask him, just say 'Eddie, don't you want to fuck me?' The words don't come,
"I do," he murmurs, voice hot and sweet in your ear, "but this is about you."
"I want to make you feel good," it's the bravest collection of words you can assemble, so you slip your hand down to cup him while you say them and watch his eyes flutter closed,
"Yeah?" He asks, voice catching,
"Yeah," this time you're the one who moves, trying to put him on his back, but Eddie rolls and traps you under him,
"Well, who am I to refuse a lady," he chuckles and buries his face in your hair as he reaches over to fumble in the drawer of his bedside table, what...? Oh, "sure?" He asks, shaking against you as he pulls a condom free,
"Uh-huh," you can't help but watch him as he pulls his boxers down and kicks them off.
"You're so fucking cute when you blush," Eddie almost growls as he climbs back onto the bed, "... you sure about this?"
"Aren't you?"
"Fuck - what... how the hell can you ask that?" He demands A look of stupefied irritation on his face as you snort,
"Just checking," you say and realize, finally, that all this, the jokes, the teasing, they're to make you less nervous. And it's working, because your legs are up on his hips and you can feel the hard, hot press of him against your entrance... and you don't feel nervous anymore. It's Eddie, and when he sinks into you, muttering something barely audible about how good you feel, about how wet you are, the only words you hear that matter are simple,
"my good girl"
It's that simple, you realize, and that complex; it doesn't really matter what everyone else thinks of your body it doesn't matter if other men don't agree with him. As long as he says those three words again. As long as he holds you close and kisses you just like this, it doesn't matter if your stomach isn't flat, or if it ever is. Because he's got you. "You feel so good," you whisper it into his ear, along with everything else you've wanted to say all night. You tell him he's precious and adorable and handsome, that he makes you feel small in the best way, that he was right, that he proved you wrong and you want to do this again and again, and in the end, he only jokes about not actually being a superhero. So, you both agree to call a pizza and watch a horror movie while you wait.
Extremely displeased to announce I just opened my writing doc to find the fic has not yet written itself. Will check back in tomorrow to see if it’s made any progress
Is much older than you, so definitely loves to baby you after sex, will clean you up, run a bath or shower for you, will lay your head in his lap
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His favorite body part is definitely his arms. Being a Russian prison guard wasn’t exactly a cake walk and he’s soooo muscular and he loves it because he knows he can overpower you (nudge nudge wink wink). His favorite body part of yours? He’s definitely an ass guy.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
He doesn’t mind getting messy, but he definitely prefers to cum inside you or down your throat. He likes seeing you take him.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Loves talking dirty to you in public in Russian. No one knows what he’s saying, you can only pick out half of what he says, but it turns him on saying nasty stuff to you in public and no one can understand what he’s saying. Would also loooove keeping a pair of your panties in his wallet.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
As experienced as the next person. Isn’t innocent or a virgin by any means, but hasn’t had a large amount of sexual partners either, but he knows how to please you.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
Missionary because eye contact for him is just >>>>
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Tends to stay more serious in the moment, but not to the point where you’re scared you’ll embarrass yourself during it
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Not completely shaved, but well groomed
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
This man is a charmer on the streets and in the sheets. Will whisper all these sweet nothings in your ear while he’s shoving his full length inside you as hard as he can, and would definitely leave sloppy, intimate kisses all up and down your body no matter what position you’re in
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Would much rather just fuck you, but will jack off on the phone with you or to a picture of you if you’re apart for a good amount of time
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Man definitely has a breeding kink. Would also love pulling your hair. He’d also be into slapping and choking, but only if you were comfortable with it
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Tends to like doing it with you in the bedroom, it’s really intimate for him there, but would definitely love car sex from time to time
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Mini. Skirts. Wear something that shows off your thighs and hugs your ass and this man will literally not know what to do with himself, man will get hard on the spot
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Despite having a slapping and choking kink, would never ever leave a mark on your body other than hickeys where no one can see them.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Loves receiving head and would definitely face fuck you if you let him, but loves eating you out even more, and he’s soooo good at it to, he could tease you for hours and would give you three orgasms before ever trying to get himself off.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Would start off slow and sensual, but as you both get more heated and turned on, he would definitely get faster and rougher with you as you both get close to an orgasm
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Typically prefers to fuck for hours and hours and tease you in the bedroom, but would absolutely be down for a quickie somewhere semi-private but still taboo
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Loves trying new stuff with you in bed. Will typically stick to his usual positions and favorite ways of pleasuring both of you, but is always game to try new positions or spicing things up in the bedroom like tying you up or blindfolding you
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
Can last for hoursssss and can go for two or three rounds, especially if he spaces out his orgasms with teasing you and steamy makeout sessions
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Definitely is not a guy who likes using toys. Would use a vibrator on you if you wanted him to, but really prefers to pleasure you himself and prides himself on being able to always do so
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
This man loves to tease you. He loves seeing you squirm because of him, and will do this to you for hours until you are literally begging him to let you cum
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
Isn’t super vocal, and definitely isn’t loud, but like I said before will whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and the faster and harder he slams into you, especially when he’s close to an orgasm, his breathing will get really heavy and will occasionally let a deep groan escape from his lips, especially if he’s fucking you in doggy style
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
Loves to smack your ass in public. It turns him on to see you get all flustered when he slaps your ass in front of people, especially if it’s in front of your friends
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Man is packing. 8 inches when he’s hard. Doesn’t rely on his size in bed though, knows how to use it and he uses it welllll
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Above average for a man his age, but nowhere near as high as yours. But he’ll usually initiate things
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Usually doesn’t fall asleep very soon after. Always makes sure you’re cleaned up, given aftercare, and fallen asleep before he even tries to go to bed
can't believe it's 2022 and we still have posts around about not overusing "said" like seriously? Imagine if I made a list of words to use instead of "and." wouldn't that be stupid?
A'right, I have an idea and I want to know if anybody would read that, before I decide to start writing the damn thing at all (I haven't written fiction in like 2 decades so it's kind of a daunting task for me) : a romantic, angsty and smutty pre-canon story with a Dmitri/Atheist-nun-OC ship. My word count goal would be 8 000 maybe more. Hit the little heart if you think you'd like that. {by the way my main Tumblr account is @feelingstoo}
If you see your name down here, it means I have read and loved your stories and your honest opinion counts for me! Kthx bai
I’m such a sucker for over-the-top, cliched worthiness/unworthiness situations in romance fanfics and i’m shamelessly honest about why.
I love the idea that one character is just so smitten with another that they cannot fathom being worthy of them because thats how i feel about people when I fall in love… and I would love for the person I love to feel that way about me too.
So, when Kurt (Greedfall) says
“I still find it difficult to believe that someone as gracious as you may have found an interest in someone like me.”
my dad–also a writer–came to visit, and i mentioned that the best thing to come out of the layoff is that i’m writing again. he asked what i was writing about, and i said what i always do: “oh, just fanfic,” which is code for “let’s not look at this too deeply because i’m basically just making action figures kiss in text form” and “this awkward follow-up question is exactly why i don’t call myself a writer in public.”
he said, “you have to stop doing that.”
“i know, i know,” because it’s even more embarrassing to be embarrassed about writing fanfic, considering how many posts i’ve reblogged in its defense.
but i misunderstood his original question: “fanfic is just the genre. i asked what you’re writing about.”
i did the conversational equivalent of a spinning wheel cursor for at least a minute. i started peeling back the setting and the characters, the fic challenge and the specific episode the story jumps off from, and it was one of those slow-dawning light bulb moments. “i’m writing about loneliness, and who we are in the absence of purpose.”
as, i imagine, are a lot of people right now, who probably also don’t realize they’re writing an existential diary in the guise of getting television characters to fuck.
“that’s what you’re writing. the rest is just how you get there, and how you get it out into the world. was richard iii really about richard the third? would shakespeare have gotten as many people to see it if it wasn’t a story they knew?”
I'm writing about the death of Scots folk culture and the frustration and loneliness cause by alienation from cultural, history, and the land that birthed you
It's too easy to get Dmitri started; a smile, a fond pat of his shoulder, or simply telling him how good he's doing when he's working on something. The car, organizing books, a massage, it doesn't really matter what, you can hear it - the little intake of breath that means his heart rate is on the rise.
"You're so good for me," you mumble into the pillow while he eats you, and that's just cruel. You know it is - he's already wound tight as a violin string, but it's true.
It is true; he's kind, he's sweet, he does everything right. He's made it so easy to feel safe again.
He's good for you.
But when you say it here, now, you know he hears that he's being good for you. He groans and his broad hands tighten on your thighs. So you pat his head, twine your fingers in his hair and arch your back to encourage those hands to wander... not that they need it. They slip up to your hips, your waist, strain up to touch your breasts and pinch your nipples, tugging the rings. The piercings were a surprise for him, but now that he knows how they make you when he pulls, just a little...
Is this the third orgasm, or the fourth?
The room is hot, humid, smells like sex and he hasn't even taken his jeans off. Hasn't even unbuckled his belt. You have to push his head away, shuddering,
"Off," you pant, motioning to his jeans, "those, off." He complies eagerly, hands fumbling the belt, "good boy," you murmur and he tries to chuckle, shaking his head, but it's a jerking motion, a rough sound. His hands shake when he touches you, his whole body shakes so much that you have to steady him.
After that it's a quick process; he's already on the edge, and he gasps something, short and sharp, as he crumbles, tucking his chin into the space between your shoulder and neck, unable to even keep a rhythm.
When he spills he groans and holds you so tightly that it stings and then his weight settles onto you.
"You know exactly what you're doing to me," he pants and then rolls to lie beside you. "Witch."
"Good boy," you whisper, pinching his belly lightly before sleep comes to claim you both.
Can you write more about Dmitri’s breeding kink? 👀
Of course 🫠 I might write a fic soon but here are my HC's:
Loves to cradle the little pouch at the base of Readers belly when hugging (or taking) them from behind because he can imagine how sweet they'll look pregnant.
Dirty talks about how much he wants to breed them
Not your average breeding kink - he's Serious. Will absolutely follow through and will be Delighted if Reader falls pregnant.
Will go feral if Reader plays into it - "do you want me to make you into a Daddy, Dmitri?"
Summer dress season is... ✨️ tiring
Is high-key ashamed of it, but absolutely is I to the idea of having Reader as a little captive that he can breed.
Will get drunk and horny and talk shit about what/how he's going to breed Reader- "Going to tie you down and keep you in my bed until you're full - you'll look so sweet begging for me"
Give him permission to be domineering and he will confiscate underwear - Reader will find themselves cockwarming him and taking more than one load while he does paperwork
Highkey into primal play? Is delighted to realize he's not a Monster and that there is a Thing where chasing down and rutting your partner like a wild animal while they fight for control.
